devscarapace

  There’s this boy who stole my heart. He calls me Amma! To my impatient boy … who wants tomorrow to happen yesterday….Today (13th October) is a day you’ve waited for … Don’t rush it. Be 21 and then 22, and on and on and on……. As your mother, I want the best for you and want to see the best in all that you do. I would like to see you a bit more mature, with a mind fairly clear,  and choose the right path in the making of your future career. God, in some form, will help you fix every odd you might have gotten yourself into and will lead you to perfection. Be proactive; begin with the end in mind; sharpen the saw; magnify your talents and find your niche. May you be transformed into a fair and regarded individual and receive unceasing bliss from everyone! Sometimes I miss that little boy, the one who used to play with cars ranging in sizes and colors spread all over the bed, the one who was fond of Power rangers; the one who was delighted with The Adventures of TinTin, Blistering Bar

Grey water, accounting for approximately 50% of our household water, can be treated effectively, economically and efficiently for further reuse in plethora of applications. Greywater is a resourceful commodity and its reclamation is considered as a sustainable solution for managing water shortages in many parts of our country. Groundwater and surface water sources are becoming increasingly vulnerable to anthropogenic pollution. The best cost-effective process to reduce water scarcity is the reuse of grey water. Grey water typically breaks down faster than black water and has lower levels of nitrogen and phosphorus. The key difference between greywater and sewage (or black water) is the organic loading. Sewage has a much larger organic loading compared to greywater. Hence the need for a separate treatment system right on the premises of the house or an apartment block or hotel, from where the grey water arises, and where the treated water would then be used would be the sustainable solu

  En Katta Paiye If Buddha was alive today, he would have asked “Katta pai illadha veedu edhu”? Katta pai had permeated in all our houses replacing basket bags or “Koodai pai”.   Once we were using “koodai” in different colours and styles and carried them to temples, shops and to pack food while travelling. Koodai pai has become a past and has been slowly replaced by katta pai which has myriad number of uses. Also it is strong, durable, colourful and multifaceted.   Be it wedding, betrothal or any function, most of the stuff is packed in a katta pai. Earlier iron man in our street used to collect clothes wrapped in a lungi or veshti- now Kattapai replaced it. Amma used to buy monthly groceries in cardboard boxes – now Kattapai replaced it. Schools started distributing books using katta pai because of the added strength of wooden handles. Garment shops compliment katta pai to customers and we are delighted to see the katta pai as equal to the stuff in it. Once it is used to maximum ex

  I understood much later that a full time PhD (even if it is from a higher ranking institute), won’t necessarily help you get a decent job, forget your dream career. A disproportionate number of PhD degree holders join industrial R&D labs and startups, however, academic positions still remain the foremost option for majority of PhD scholars, at least in India. Lucky few are able to enter Tier I colleges (at the cost of moving to remote places) while many end up with a position in the academic front as an Assistant Professor (with meagre perks) in Tier II colleges. You are considered as either over qualified or under experienced. You will still be hired for your PhD degree and not for your superior research skills and quality publications (Does it really matter?). Except to watch and envy your friends and colleagues already on their second or third promotion up in the ladder, you can do nothing much. If you are moving ahead with mustering spirits and many compromises, you will be l

Hello! I am Balakrishnan’s granddaughter speaking. May I know who is on the line? As a six-year old, I would be waiting to answer such phone calls in the evenings after school hours. It was not the phone that excited me. The excitement was in uttering the words I am Balakrishnan’s granddaughter. Yes, I am Balakrishnan B.E. ’s granddaughter. The excitement was in the degree. I determined to be an Engineer and gain a B.E degree even as a six-year old.   All I knew at that age was an Engineering degree would earn a violet shade ink pen to sign papers, chauffeur driven car (Ambassador MSR 1777), a personal assistant and loads of respect. Whenever an opportunity arises, I enter his office room (an annexe in the house) and gingerly and secretively grab the white pen with violet ink and try writing a few words. I admired his charisma, his power and authority, his “Netri kan Thirappinum Kutram Kutrame” attitude, his profession, way others called him as “Engineer Sir” and children callin

Her name is Rosy. That is how she was fondly called. From the day I remember, I have seen her walking in a different way. She had an abnormality while walking and wore slippers at home. She had two pairs - black and white; white was used at home and the black while going out which was very rare indeed. They were custom-made slippers with a heel lift in one. Does it mean her two legs are structurally unequal? Was it congenital or due to any leg fracture? She sits on the floor in a different posture. Does she have a hip injury? Or does she have any terminal illness? Somebody said she fell down when she was ten years old and was hospitalised for a year and after which Rosy’s walk changed. Someone else said Rosy woke up one day with high fever with serious infection after which she lost her walk. And yet another said Rosy was given two choices either to possess a normal walk and depend on others for her work or have an abnormal work and do her chores on her own. Rosy chose the la

I was walking with my eight-year-old son in the street. My son wanted to have tender coconut as it was a very hot day. As there is no one best time to have coconut water, I agreed. A person was selling fresh tender coconuts in a rickety cart. I asked one with full water and was curiously observing how he effortlessly cuts the coconut with a sickle. While he was speaking incessantly to the neighbouring vendor while chopping, he had a minor cut in his finger and immediately blood was dripping. He was least bothered about it and wiped in his lungi.  For him, the sale of the tender coconut counted rather than the minor cut. He then handed us a straw. As soon as I paid, my son was ready to drink it. I told him to have it later. My son was puzzled about my firmness in having it later. After moving far away from the cart selling the coconut, I saw a poor man begging on the streets and I gave the tender coconut to him. He was happy to have it and blessed us. My son was about to thr

I am an anxious mother awaiting the results of plus two marks of my son. I was not so  two years back when he took his tenth board exams. I was pretty cool with only slight  jitters on the day before his social exams when he slashed a glued page which was  waiting to be opened right from the day he bought. On the day of result announcement, I  experienced anxiety, tension, churning of stomach and heart palpitations for the first  time, when many of my friends surrounded me to know the result while opening  cbse.nic.in website. Goodness Gracious… And soon after that I had plethora of calls not  just from my well-wishers, but from people whom I lost touch years back. My former  not so friendly neighbour, quarrelsome next street aunty, distant relatives, faraway  friends and many numbers not in my contact list started calling me. Some were little  disappointed with his decent marks (probably they expected much less considering his  carefree attitude), few commented that he could have pe

Rs. 4500 is too big an amount for a self-effacing college professor in early forty to spend for a border attachment in a sari. (Thank God, the amount includes matching blouse and stitching charges). The ridiculous part was the trivial cost of the sari compared to the astronomical number of 4500.  My mom stitches fantastic and never I have endeavoured outside for stitching. Many a times, she has attempted to teach me stitch, hem, sew, darn and embroider but I use to politely snub her. I decided to stitch outside for the first time since my mom was still recuperating from a major surgery. I entered a tailor shop (I later learnt it was a boutique) with a saree worth Rs 550 and a matching fabric for the blouse. According to the designer (Until then, I thought everyone inside were seamstresses), black does not go well with pink, why not choose a golden border and gold brocade blouse which will suit any saree. Oh yes, I silently kept my black fabric inside the bag and chose a perfect matc

Every time I see a fussy eater tossing with food in his/her plate or a dieter gently ignoring the food in the platter, I become serious not just because of the direct implication that we waste food in a country where many die of starvation, it is more because of the environmental ramifications associated with wastage of food. Wastage of food is by default a grave matter if either intentionally or apathetically you allow food to go waste.  It means you are wasting the resources needed to grow your food, it means you are increasing the landfill methane emissions; it means you are contributing to global warming and it definitely means you are an environmental traitor. According to the UN Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), every year 1.3 billion tonnes of food is wasted. At the same time, 1 in every 7 people in the world go to bed hungry and more than 20,000 children under the age of 5 die daily from hunger.  In fact the food waste in any country makes up the largest perce