Empathy???

“The world doesn’t just revolve around you. There’s a lot of talk in this country about the federal deficit. But I think we should talk more about our empathy deficit.” Barack Obama

A friend once told me that empathy, unless acted upon is as useful as a chocolate teapot.  She was 15 when she said this; I was 15 when I heard this; perhaps I did not realise the wisdom of those words then, but now with all the experiences that life has handed me down, I believe it is the mother-lode of all sayings.

There is no doubt that empathy is one of the highest forms of virtue; a beautiful emotion to behold; perhaps one of the inherent components of humanity.  Some would say it is what keeps the world afloat.  Then comes the million dollar question – shouldn’t the world be a better place with this key virtue in existence?

So here I am struggling to put on paper the conflicted emotions that run through me while I keep debating within myself how useful is this emotion in actuality.  Perhaps in my case, it is an imagined case of survivor-guilt but then deep down I know it is not guilt, but more of shame when I take stock of what is happening around us and our reactions to it.

The world around us is plagued by some kind of disaster or the other – if not natural, then man-made.  Just in the short period of a few weeks, we have seen almost everything; deranged bombings, building collapses, civil war casualties, plant explosions and nature’s fury.

Lives have been snuffed out in the blink of an eye.  One minute these people were living, breathing like you and me, perhaps even living their lives to the fullest and yet today they are nothing but memories that only matter to their nearest and dearest ones.  To the rest of the world, they are mere statistics of rather unfortunate events; a mere blip on the radar of the living.  So much for all the New Age writing about butterfly flapping its wings!!  In reality, Boston bombing – a blip on the radar; earthquake in China – another blip on the radar and the blips sadly continue.

Of course, we mourned, but to what use?  With the existence of this rather abundant virtue called empathy, we steeled ourselves to watch the graphic images, made commiserative clicking sounds, tweeted incessantly, paid homage to the dead and then continued on our own plodding journey of life.  Some amongst us, perhaps the most generous and the noblest would have gone the extra mile, organised fundraisers or rushed to the affected zones, volunteering in any kind of capacity possible.

But the majority of us, turning a blind eye to the blessings in our lives, would have returned to our own insular worlds driven by egocentric emotions that would out beat empathy any given day.

I am no exception. While someone out there was losing the battle between living and dying and having their choices stripped away cruelly, I was getting worked up that I wasn’t been given options with my minor medical procedure.  While someone’s life expectancy was drastically shortened, I was kicking a furore over the duration of my swimming class. Long story short, while people were dying, I was taking my life for granted, frittering away my emotions on rather petty issues.

 How easy it is to lock ourselves in our own little dramas and blow our superficial and insignificant issues into Herculean proportions?  This is what my whinge is about and perhaps my guilt too.

We may be empathetic to what is happening around us, but we do not seem to learn any valuable lessons from it.  Our empathy seems to be short-lived and once the moment is past, we seem to have very selective memory about it and maybe even resurrect our emotional barriers again.

Why can’t we possibly learn from the happenings around us; perhaps use our instinctive emotion not just to feel and forget but reach out a little from our blinkered worlds.  Perhaps all we need is a healthy dose of perspective which might do the trick and teach us to value the people and the blessings in our lives, maybe even treasure our lives and others’ as we see the ones around us, perhaps more deserving than us, losing theirs, for no fault of theirs!!

I will refrain from regurgitating well-intentioned but overused clichés about the brevity or fragility of our lives; however the next time we are tempted to throw a tantrum, or work ourselves into a rage over something petty, or wallow in self-pity, or refuse to be magnanimous and forgive others, it is our cue to don on our empathy hat and see the world without our blinkers and barriers.

Weekly Advertiser Link:

http://www.theweeklyadvertiser.com.au/2013/05/08/embracing-empathy/

Reason in Madness?

“If a black cat crosses your path, it signifies that the animal is going somewhere.” 
― Groucho Marx

As soon as we saw a little black cat darting across our path, all three of us in the car screamed “black cat”!!  Probably the cat heard us too; anyway it had second thoughts and darted back to the safety of the curb.

Laughing at having narrowly averted the alleged bad luck, I couldn’t but wonder how come the three occupants of the car, from three different countries with totally different upbringing can still balk at the sign of a tiny little black cat.

Most cultures have certain beliefs, notions or in some cases fears, not always based on reason or knowledge.  It is quite fascinating to see when and how some of these beliefs came into existence but the whys are not always answered.  Black cats have always been the protagonist of most folklore beliefs in most countries, and yet not many can say from where the myth originated. Meanwhile even the most rational amongst us, given centuries of unexplained superstitions ingrained into us, shy away from the alleged harbinger of bad luck.

However, sometimes there seems to be reason in madness too; some customs that came into practice to address certain problems or at times merely the symptoms cannot be simply pushed aside as mere mumbo-jumbo. Some of them seem to have plausible scientific explanations to them.

While growing up, I was constantly admonished by my mother never to lie on my back after a meal.  Of course, try telling a body especially in sleep consciousness state not to lie supine.  I later found myself having several traumatic episodes unable to wake up and sensing an alternate presence in the room.  As these so called experiences were few and far between, I didn’t freak out much. Instead, I submitted myself to further such beliefs thrust upon me by my protective parent to thwart such experiences, including her constant insistence on changing my sleep position.

It was only in the last few years, I realised I was suffering from “sleep paralysis”, sadly the recurrent type.  Even though not the slightest dangerous as a health problem, it is extremely tiresome and insanely frightening especially given the hallucinations and inability to wake up immediately from such a state.  However, the not so funny part about this is that sleeping in the supine position is the prominent trigger for such episodes.

It is said that some cases of recurrent sleep paralysis may involve a genetic factor.  So ironically all those years of mindlessly following a custom handed down generation after generation seemed to have some kind of influence on keeping such episodes at bay.  Quite the light bulb moment for me!!!

Over the centuries, symptoms of sleep paralysis have always been attributed to paranormal or evil presence plaguing the hapless humans at night.  Having read only abridged versions, I wouldn’t be the one to know but looks like even Shakespeare had borrowed the Old Hag for his “Romeo and Juliet”; ever wondered about the expression “hag-ridden”, well it was an old term for sleep-paralysis.

Almost all cultures have had stories of shadowy nocturnal creatures associated with such episodes; but now most of these cases of magical and spiritual possession can be explained including some of the so called ‘alien abductions’ and ‘out of body experience’ stories as well.

While not all practices have a rational side to them or can be easily backed with scientific explanation, some of them do leave us surprised and in better appreciation of our ancestors, provided we cut through the miasma of fear and weirdness factors associated with these beliefs.

Pictures: Sourced from the Net

A haven of multiculturalism

“Perhaps no place in any community is so totally democratic as the town library. The only entrance requirement is interest.”

–Lady Bird Johnson

It is the week of “Cultural Diversity” in Victoria and the whole state is awash with celebrations of multiculturalism in every nook and corner.

This is the week where almost every ethnic group residing in the state comes forward to display their unique traditions and culture, laying an assault on one’s senses with vibrant colours, visuals, music and gastronomical treats.

It is the week where similar organisations like Oasis Wimmera that are involved with migrant work, come to realise their project outcomes after toiling on it for months; a week where community groups everywhere actually and easily co-exist without resentment or guilt, a week where tolerance, understanding and cultural awareness is at its heights; a week where even jaded cynics like me get emotional and teary-eyed seeing the positive and generous response from the community towards a multicultural festival.

It is also the week where the following kind of jargon flows in abundance – Cultural and Linguistically Diverse (CALD) groups, unity in diversity, cultural pluralism, mosaic, multiculturalism, ethnic fusion, inclusion etc., making one question the excessive nature of the English language; it is also the week where perhaps political agendas that use immigration issues as a red-herring are momentarily set aside.

In short this week is the Mecca of multicultural charm – an epitome of co-existence and harmony; though some might argue that perhaps it is more contrived than natural.

However, as with any celebration, once the festivities are over, the spirit or essence of the celebration goes into hiatus till the next year comes around.  Likewise, once the “Cultural Diversity” week is over, the appreciation of multiculturalism is also packed up and the debate over melting pot or salad bowl continues.

Everyday life, fraught with hectic schedules and personal agendas pushes cultural awareness and tolerance to the backseat.  It is only a handful of government agencies and organisations along with a few religious and not-for-profit organisations that have their focus on immigration and settlement that continue to promote cultural diversity.  Multiculturalism in general is seen as a challenge and perhaps even a barrier in everyday life, sometimes irrespective of which camp one belongs to.

But there is one unassuming institution that opens its doors wide to everyone and performs a huge service to migrants throughout the whole year and of course, is not always recognised or appreciated for its service. Have you ever dropped at your local library and taken a moment to reflect on how much a library gives to its community, including the multicultural community?

In most countries, it was the libraries than educational institutions that nurtured and educated migrants to enter the mainstream community before the digital age.   This tradition seems to continue even today even though libraries are losing their prominence in the society trying to keep up with the advances in the technology which makes information readily available to people in their own homes.

Given my avid interest in reading and my children taking after me, we are regular visitors to the library.  Used to borrowing only two books on a card in huge and silent mausoleums under strict and authoritarian librarians while growing up in India, I was ecstatic to learn that I could borrow books and other materials without limits in Australian libraries.  I was equally thrilled when I learnt I could get books (and movies) in Indian languages from the local libraries for my mother, another voracious reader, while she was visiting me.

Later I discovered that libraries here were more than just a resource centre.  Especially after moving to Horsham, I understood first-hand that libraries were in addition, a community centre and also a first stop for migrants.

It really gladdens my heart when I see many new arrivals visit the library with their families.  Whether it is enhancing their own knowledge of English or promoting the reading habits of their children or making use of the internet facility or just spending time with their families, the library is versatile in meeting their needs.

In most communities, libraries turn into this secure haven where people from CALD groups seem to mingle without much inhibition or intimidation. It is this inherent trust that such groups place in their libraries that pushes the latter to the forefront of catering to the needs of the multicultural crowd and showcasing the cultural traditions or history of immigrants and also being their cultural voice wherever required.

Oasis Wimmera was first launched during the Harmony Week Celebrations in the Horsham library two years ago – what more proof one needs to corroborate the words behind this article.

Weekly Advertiser: http://www.theweeklyadvertiser.com.au/2013/03/20/sharing-our-cultures/

A fitting tribute

Some of us may have a powerful voice in Western countries, but women globally often have very little voice in comparison with men. However, saying that, at the same time, when women get together as a group, it’s immensely powerful.

-          Annie Lenox

 I came to know about “International Women’s Day” only a few years ago.  Perhaps I was too wrapped up in my own life in the city or maybe I had moved amongst insular crowds; either way the day had gone unnoticed by me for decades.  However, it didn’t stop me from embracing this day with much gusto once I came to know about it.

But lately I wonder what is it I celebrate – is it a genuine appreciation of the relative freedom and empowerment enjoyed by women in the society that I currently live in or is it belated gratitude that I have somehow escaped the confines of second class treatment showered upon women in developing countries.

Not all is wrong with societies around the world but then not everything is right as well.  Even in cultures where women are on par with men, it is not a victory that is easily conceded to the deserving.

It saddens me beyond words when women are still being victimised everyday around us.  All it takes is being born in the wrong country, raised in the wrong social conditions, existing in the wrong relationship, sometimes even as simple as being in the wrong place at the wrong time – the odds continue to be stacked against women in their struggle to stay alive let alone their endeavours towards equality and an identity.

As much as we are weighed down by the plight of women in some parts of the world, we cannot but not appreciate the growing emancipation and the enduring spirit of womanhood around us.

If International Women’s Day is about celebrating the survival spirit of womanhood and her achievements, then I would like to take this opportunity to pay tribute to some migrant and local women I have come across in the Wimmera.

Running a group like Oasis for migrants, I have often met exceptional migrant women whose resilient spirit never ceases to amaze me.  Most of these women have been uprooted from the only life they know but yet they remain undaunted by what their new life throws at them and engage themselves fully towards integrating into the society.  It is not easy to step out of one’s comfort zone, tackle a new language and break down any cultural or personal barriers and yet these women seem to do it unwaveringly and above all selflessly pushing them-selves for the betterment of their children and their families.

These are smart women who fully understand how they are not always viewed as equals in the society and in some cases even exploited as token crowd or mere statistics portraying migrant engagement within the community but yet quietly and diplomatically assert themselves when the situation arises.  Their magnanimity in overlooking the subtle discrimination and overbearing patronisation that are occasionally directed at them only wins them more accolades from me.

As for the second group of women, these are exemplary local women who look after their families, run farms, have an extra job or a business, donate their time and efforts generously to various committees and volunteering efforts and still find the time to live a fulfilling life and inspire others.  I am wowed by some of these amazing and inspiring women with whom I have crossed paths.

Having lived a cushy life in the city, with perhaps the most daunting challenges being the tantrums thrown by my kids or peak-hour traffic jams, I cannot but help marvel at the strength and endurance displayed by these women in the face of natural disasters and other exacting conditions of rural/farm life.  These are women who seamlessly transform from one arena of their life to another, comfortable in their skins, be it out on the farm in their gumboots or chairing a meeting. Their down-to-earth attitude, unbridled optimism, unfaltering sense of loyalty and obligation, genuine compassion and above all their sense of humour makes them standout even to people relatively new to the region.

The women that I have mentioned above might come from extreme ends of a broad spectrum, but nevertheless their defining qualities are more or less the same regardless of their origin or culture or social standing.  It is this indefatigable spirit and the life-force of womanhood that I salute and appreciate.

To the women out there battling the odds and still staying afloat…….

Weekly Advertiser: http://www.theweeklyadvertiser.com.au/2013/03/06/a-salute-to-women/

The battle of the bulges

The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight, because by then your body and your fat are really good friends.

~Author Unknown

 I am yet to come across a woman who says she is happy with the way she looks and especially with her weight.  Perhaps even Angelina Jolie in all her glory of anorexic looks would start her day complaining that her skeletal frame weighs more than it did the day before.

I am not sure if men commiserate with their mates over their growing paunches and receding hairlines. However, I am certain that women seek comfort in sisterhood, exchanging a volley of “I have gained weight”, “no you haven’t”, “I am so flabby”, “me too”, “you look good”, ”no, I don’t” while catching up with friends;  rituals of female bonding that gets exercised every single time without exception. We dare not have the same conversation with our family members, especially our spouses, lest their candidness affect our fragile sensitivities and upset our occasional complacency about our weight gain.

As for me, I belong to the group of women who whinge about their weight at the slightest excuse and do absolutely nothing about it.  Perhaps if I actually get around to making some attempts to stave off the kilos that I seem to attract instead of simply talking about it, I might get somewhere.  But as it is, I have always been a couch potato, shying away from any kind of physical exercise.

However with the years creeping on, one can no longer excuse oneself from physical activity, can we? We are not only faced with the perplexity of body parts heading south but also the added insult of one’s metabolism not cranking the way it used to; as a result, our relationship with the weighing scales goes sour as the kilos creep on.

Then begins the denial phase with the camouflage game of hiding the extra bulges, burning money on an entire new wardrobe to drown one’s misery in; even resorting to the alleged leverage of high-heeled torture to offset the horizontal spread but just when we think we are ahead of the game, we realise we have fooled none but ourselves.  There is always someone out there to get us, breaking the sacred code of sisterhood and uttering the words we least want to hear “oh have you put on weight?”  What do we do then, we don’t kill the messenger, do we – as much as we are tempted to for bursting our bubble??

If you are anything like me with an aversion to workouts, I guess the battle against the bulges starts through food. Scouring the net for the perfect diet is easier said than done especially when one ends up getting lost in the abundant maze of information out there.

There was a time when I used to look with disdain at gym-junkies especially when they say no to delectable rich food treats.  But now I salute their steadfast loyalty towards discipline, an alien concept however to a sweet-tooth like me.  Even after cutting-down my patronage of the fast food restaurants and converting to healthy drinks, snacks and meals, I find it hard to give up totally on my sugar-cravings.

What if this is my only shot at existence and here I am denying myself my little indulgences of comfort food? Rather than having drawn-out metaphysical conversations with myself, I choose to continue my cosy relationship with cheesecakes and ice-creams.  After all, what use is having a cake and not eating it?

So with the diet games not yielding the results I want, I find myself left with few alternatives. I do not want to go through the oft-repeated path of signing up for gym memberships and giving up after two or three weeks.  In fact the family now staunchly believes that the only slimming that happens is to my wallet and not to me when I go on a gym-spree.  Walking, swimming, biking – all seems to be short lived options given my abhorrence of the slightest winds or chilly weather and above all, not being a morning person.

So when a friend organised hip-hop classes for women with the Horsham School of Dance, I decided to try it out already convinced that it was one of my short-lived ventures.  However after 8 weeks, I am still going strong and it looks like when you do something you like, you stand a better chance at lasting it out. So even in the battle of the bulges, there is no one size that fits all – instead the trick is finding out what works best for you.

No magic overnight cure for the bulges yet, however I am breaking out of my sedentary lifestyle and very proud of the baby steps I am still continuing to take while enjoying an opportunity to dance and bond with my girl at the same time.  Perhaps someday when I get on the workout bandwagon, I might not find it as daunting as I do now.

Weekly Advertiser: http://www.theweeklyadvertiser.com.au/2013/02/13/a-battle-of-the-bulges/

A summer saga

“Because it’s summer and the memories are just waiting to happen.”

-          Anonymous

A few nights ago, while flicking through the music channels, I heard a singer crooning about a nostalgic summer and I couldn’t resist walking down the memory lane myself.  While growing up, summer holidays were the best times of my life. It not only brought me deliverance from school but even my parents took a break from their usual parenting rules and allowed me to run wild with the neighbourhood kids.

Unlike the wired generation, being a child of the 20th century, my childhood days weren’t influenced mightily by technology.  Most kids from my generation had a lot of things to be grateful for, especially the simpler joys of childhood. We did not grow up with iPods or mobiles or the net, cocooning ourselves indoors with electronic entertainment. On the other hand, summer holidays usually saw the neighbourhood kids playing together and having some memorable times.

It is amazing how for someone who can hardly remember what happened a week ago, I can still vividly recollect the sights and smells of those summers long gone by. During the day, the heat was at its scorching best but we paid no heed to it; instead we spent the days in lazy languor on the cool verandahs playing games and usually up to some mischief.

We gorged on summer fruits – cool cucumbers and water-melons and drank greedily glasses of cold water from the earthen pitchers that sat on wet sand which helped retain the cold.  Occasionally, we used to raid ice from one or two houses that had a fridge, quite a novelty then and plead with our mothers to make us some cold drinks.

But yet the heat never saw us indoors.  As dusk fell, we swarmed to the streets, playing hopscotch or riding our bikes; the usually deserted back streets filled with our raucous laughter and shrieks of delight.

Our world was still safe then so even our customarily over-protective parents never said no to the summer fever that typically gripped us once schools closed and let us run amok in the neighbourhood streets.

Summer holidays still come around but now as a parent, I groan at the mention of it.  Especially when both parents work full-time and have no other family support, there comes the question of who is going to look after the kids during the holidays.  With holidays usually spent visiting family and friends overseas, there is often very little leave to spare to take care of kids during school holidays.

Furthermore, I don’t remember my parents ever organising a play date for me, but now as parents, we are also responsible for keeping the children occupied during the school holidays and personally I don’t think I fit this added responsibility well into my already juggling act of parenthood, career and running a group.

Children too groan when school holidays come around, atleast in my household.  My kids were adamant this year that they would no longer go to vacation care. Despite the various interesting programs on offer, they wanted a true break from their usual routines of being dropped at 9 and picked up at 6.

So now I have kids at home lost to the world of television or computer games, showing no will or drive to get away from the couch.  They pay no attention to what goes around them and unless I run away with the iPad charger or the pantry runs dry, I don’t think my absence will be noted.  With all extra-curricular programs put on hold during school holidays, they are at the mercy of their technological devices.  Gone are the days of an apple a day, the latest adage is an apple app a day. My only consolation is that both my kids are avid readers, so they spend some portion of their holidays devouring books as well.

Twenty years down the track, if my daughter were to write about her nostalgic summers, I wonder if she would find anything remotely glorifying about her summers to write about.  Maybe she would boast about her ability of watching re-runs of her favourite teen programs or the way she cleverly manages to drown my nagging with the incessant drone of the television or perhaps the number of levels she gets upto on the various mind-numbing apps she plays on the iPad.

But truth be told, I think I forfeit the right to complain.  There are prices to pay when we decide to be full-time working parents and one of them is not being around to give them the kind of holiday the kids deserve and enjoy.  Also the society today has changed drastically to what we had as kids; as a result, even in small communities we hesitate to send the kids unaccompanied anywhere, let alone play outdoors on their own unsupervised.

My only consolation is that today’s children, lost in their world of technological haze will never get to know what they are missing and perhaps ideas of Utopian childhood summers are only ours and never theirs, in the first place.

Weekly Advertiser: http://www.theweeklyadvertiser.com.au/2013/01/24/the-saga-of-summer/

A clean slate

“The object of a new year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul.”
– G.K.Chesteron

I used to look forward to my first day at school after the summer holidays. Everything had a fresh and new look – the uniforms, the books, the bags and even the same old me with batteries recharged. Excitement and anticipation of the new school year would overwhelm me and I used to vow to turn over a new leaf and stick to the resolutions I had taken. Everything lasted for about a week – the newness still lingered but not my resolve. School became yet another stale run-of-the-mill activity.

With the onset of the new year, I am always taken back to my memories of first day of the school year. The difference is that I am no longer a carefree school girl; nor can I play truant at this school of life that extends well beyond 9 to 4.

Even before I realise, the past year has gone by in a wink. The Christmas break that I had longed for has come and gone. The countdown is over and the clock has been wound back.

Another year has begun – a time meant for new beginnings, fresh starts and New Year resolutions or so the legend says. This year I saw my kids getting swept up by the celebrations of the New Year though not fully understanding the significance of it. How easy it is to be at an impressionable age and be caught up in the moment allowing oneself to be enveloped with infectious energy?

Somewhere along the way in an effort to appear more rational and grownup, most of us have steered clear of clichéd resolutions and frivolous hype associated with New Year. But in doing so, we seem to have lost our faith in new beginnings and fresh starts; our attitudes more attuned to the banality of everyday life with change seen as an uneasy intrusion.

Perhaps for most of us, New Year starts and stops with the eve, the fireworks and the TV specials being the culmination of the entire event. When the sparks dissipate in the skies and the furore of the crowds die, so does our faith in ourselves and our capacity to turn over a new leaf. We resign ourselves to life’s hamster wheel of routine and monotony burying our hopes and dreams in a shroud of ennui and apprehension. Our optimism for the coming year is coloured more by the failings and mishaps of the previous year(s) leaving us with a jaded and acquiescent outlook not just of the New Year but rather of life.

Perhaps it is time to let ourselves be more vulnerable and open to the winds of change, squashing any voices of doubt or fear that surface within or around us. Any day should do for us to embrace an opportunity to better ourselves, so why not we seize the new year, mould it to our expectations and enjoy the promises that it has to offer?

However, let’s not forget the secret ingredient – our attitude. When the transformation relies only on external elements and influences with self far removed from it, all resolutions and changes become superficial, going up in smoke within a few weeks. Armed with the right outlook and resolve, we can relive the magic of the New Year every day.

To us and to this New Year……..

Weekly Advertiser: http://www.theweeklyadvertiser.com.au/2013/01/09/cleaning-the-slate-for-year-of-opportunities/