The Legacy Of A Mother...

When school reopened last August, as I waved goodbye to my children from our balcony, I noticed a new child riding the school bus. My daughter had mentioned that one of her friends had recently moved house and had now switched to their bus. I asked if the child I had noticed was her classmate. She replied in the negative and said that her friend was picked up after they were and this was another boy who had just moved to Kenya from another country.
Soon this child, although a few years older than my son, became good 'bus' friends with him. One of their favourite topics of discussion, as related to me by my son, was guns and warfare in their respective countries. Much as we all try to deny it and curb it, guns do hold a certain fascination for boys. My paternal grandfather and father were in the Indian army, my father in law used to head the quality control department of the ammunition factory in Pune and had set up the entire Ordnance factory in another town in our state, after being trained for the same in Germany. So it would be fair to say it is in my son's blood and the other child's ambition being to join the army, they got along famously and enjoyed their discussions. Of course, no guns were actually involved! At that time, the bus used to pass Westgate Shopping Mall everyday, and once when it was pouring and a flood of water was flowing through the open channels by the road, this child had dubbed it as 'Westgate River'. No one knew then that soon those would be rivers of blood and how horrifically and deeply he would be affected by it.
Around a month later, my son came home with a little gift from his new friend, a set of small colourful rods with magnets in them which could be made into various shapes. I explained to him that we do not accept gifts from anybody unless it is a birthday or a special occasion and asked him to return the gift to the other child immediately. I further added for good measure that the friend's mother, whom I had never met, might say that he had simply taken the toy and then what explanation would we have? We could be called thieves! I knew I was exaggerating but I really wanted to press home the point to my son! He agreed to return it the next working day,after the weekend, which happened to be a long one, as the school had given a holiday on Friday.
If we could have prevented what happened the next day, I would not mind being called a thief a hundred times over...The child and his mother were at Westgate during the terrorist attack and the mother was fatally injured. She passed away and the boy spent many days recuperating from his injuries in hospital. The little magnetic game was right next to my laptop, ready to be returned, even as my daughter gave us this horrific news, after she got it from friends on Facebook. My son sorely missed his bus friend and we all prayed for him and even though I had never met the child, he was continuously in my thoughts...His mother's role and mine could have so easily been reversed...given the fact how often I used to be at Westgate.
My son was delighted to have his friend back on the bus after a month and they continued their friendship as if the nightmarish events had never occurred in Nairobi. My son, always quick to help, made sure he escorted his friend who had to use crutches for a few months as a result of the attack,as far as he was allowed to, given the fact their classrooms are in different sections of the school and Elementary students are not permitted beyond a certain point.
Just before the American Thanksgiving weekend, the child mentioned how lonely he would be at home for the next three days.  When my son told me this, I told him to invite his friend over to spend an evening with us. He accepted the invitation and I finally had the privilege of meeting one of the best behaved and most polite children I have ever come across!
I had made the very popular Indian snack of  spicy, fried potato cutlets for the kids. When I asked our guest if he liked Indian food, he said yes he loved chappatis! I asked him to come for a meal one day so I could serve chappatis. Then it struck me why not make chappatis? Just because we eat them for our main meals, it was no reason to deny them to this child.
I began rolling out chappatis and he was delighted to have them with coconut chutney and kept thanking me for making them. After a few of them he said he did not want any more.We persuaded him, saying we had plenty of dough and it was easy to make them, he could have as many as he wanted! In my own mind, I could hear a mother telling her son when he was a tiny tot, not to be greedy and to mind his manners! How well she had taught her son in the thirteen odd years she had with him. I have fed so many people over the years, family, friends, relatives, neighbours but the satisfaction I felt that day when I made chappatis for this child is unmatched. Finally I could do something to make someone, who had suffered so much, happy, albeit for a few hours. Maybe from somewhere a mother's distraught soul looked down and she could see another mother feeding her son a hot meal...
Nowhere did I see any bitterness in this child. As he was leaving, I handed over his crutches and he happily told me he had almost forgotten he had them and soon he would not be needing them anymore. Oh to have the resilience and forgiving heart of a child! We invited him to come over again soon.
A few days later I was standing in the balcony, waiting to wave to the kids. I could see this child in the front seat though he could not see me. He removed a chocolate bar from his pocket, quickly broke off a piece and handed it over to the bus driver. Again a mother's voice echoed in my mind, share what you have with others around you, is what she must have taught him. He was doing just that! I wondered if I would be so generous if I had lost so much...
When he came over the next time, he had brought a tiny cross bow and arrow that he had made himself for my son, his scarred hands notwithstanding. It worked perfectly, except that the arrow was an old refill from a ball pen and there was still a bit of ink in it. As my son shot the bow, black ink spilled out on my sparkling clean, cream floor. I told my son that the house help would not be too happy to see the mess on the floor. The other child quickly grabbed some tissues and mopped up the mess even before I could say another word. Again, the words of the mother came to me, always clear up any mess made when you have been playing, specially in someone else's house. He had certainly taken those lessons to heart! Believe me, children do not automatically learn these things! Mothers have to reinforce them time and again, often by example.
I do not encourage my son's friends to come over when he has school the next day. But I do make an exception for this child, because I can only imagine how awful it must be to go back after school to a house without a mother in it. One day when they both got off the bus together along with my daughter and I had given them their hot snacks, I reminded my son that he had home work. The other child immediately offered to sit down with my son till he finished his work. My son told him not to worry as I would not let him sleep even if it was ten in the night, unless he had done his homework. The boy told me that his mother told him it was fine if he did not do his homework, as long as he bore the consequences the next day. She would not write any note to the teacher asking her to excuse him! My admiration for this lady went up another notch. She had taught her son to face the consequences of his actions and today, though she is not physically present in his life, her words ring in his ears...
The child carries his I Pad to school and all the boys like to play games on it en route to school, which can sometimes be really violent ones. I had told my son to stay away as I do not believe that he should start the day by playing on an electronic device. Finally I told his friend that my son was not allowed to play games unless it was a teacher recommended site and for that, too, he had to use my lap top. The child now puts away his I Pad when on the bus and even when he comes to our house, they only play songs on it. What a relief to find that obedience is among the many admirable qualities his mother has drilled in him.
A popular saying goes' God could not be everywhere. So He made Mothers'. Sometimes, for reasons beyond our comprehension, he takes away a mother too, much before her time. But as I am witnessing almost every week, the legacy of a mother lives on through her child, though she may have passed on from this Earth.

Hell's Gate : Gorgeous Gorge Getaway!

We had made no concrete plans to go any where this December. My parents had been unwell for the last few months and there was a chance that I would have to go to India along with the kids if the pathological reports, in my Mom's case, were not too good or if my Dad's deep vein thrombosis did not respond as expected, to medication. By God's grace, all's well that ends well, we did not have to go to India and we landed up spending the vacation in Nairobi with tons of books for company! Not that we minded in the least!
But there was a national park, very different from the rest of them, a little more than an hour's drive from Nairobi, that we had been wanting to visit for some time. My husband had the brilliant idea that this would be a good way to celebrate my birthday and decided to make it into an overnight trip. Old friends of ours from Dar days were keen to join in but they had to drop out as they were expecting visitors from India. An American family who has recently moved here from the States joined us, my husband asked for and got the day off, and we were on our way to Hell's Gate National Park, in Naivasha, in the Great Rift Valley.
We made good time despite the fact that our friend's car had a flat tyre even before we had left Nairobi and a couple of hours later we were at the entrance to Hell's Gate. This national park is the only one in Kenya where one can actually walk in the park or cycle in it, as might be one's fancy! As we drove to the Ranger's Tower inside the park, we saw plenty of zebras, wart hogs, gazelles and people huffing and puffing on their bikes! We opted to walk from the Ranger's Tower and visit the gorge, as bicycling such a great distance around the park with four kids in tow did not seem to be a very viable option. And this decision turned out to be a fantastic one, as we were in for a visual and, for the fit among us,a physical treat!
I had first seen pictures and then  read, at my mother's knee, about a gorge in our book about Rivers! I had studied about gorges right up to twelfth grade. But, not even in my wildest dreams had I thought that a day would come when I would actually be walking, nay, scrambling, up and down a gorge, family and friends in tow and that too in Africa! When in Africa, expect the unexpected!
The first thought that came to mind as we followed the Ranger into the gorge was that the word 'gorgeous' surely comes from the word 'gorge'! It was breathtakingly beautiful! Sheer rock walls rising almost sky high on both sides, cool water flowing down the centre, hot, sulphuric water falls tumbling around in little nooks and corners and ice cold water falls roaring in other crevices. A flat bed rock, the guide told us, was dubbed the 'Devil's Bedroom' which resulted in my son promptly christening two of the water falls as the Devil's Hot and Cold Showers, for remember, we were in Hell's Gate!
Extremely steep sides, resulted in us taking the utmost care, during our hike. In some places where huge stones blocked our path, we had to climb up the sides of the gorge and then climb down again. A slip of the foot could have sent us tumbling below... This one is certainly not for the faint hearted! Mount Longonot lies in close vicinity, can be seen from this park and had last erupted in 1900! We can still see the volcanic ash and the children were thrilled with the huge chunks of shiny, black obsidian that lie around the entire gorge, thanks to the same volcano! A tall, natural tower from the same surrounding rock, rose from the gorge and was known as the Central Tower. This was very near a cave, high up, where baboons, intelligent creatures that they are, reside! This was also the site, the ranger informed us, where parts of the Hollywood movie Tomb Raiders Part two was shot.
 At regular intervals, there were emergency exits out of the gorge. The guide told us that flash floods are very common here, specially during the long rains and the water level rises so suddenly that people in the gorge are often caught unawares. In fact, a few students had died here some time ago. That was a sobering note, and we were glad we had chosen to visit in summer when the river was a mere gurgling stream! A long hike up the side of the gorge brought us to a scenic view point where a lady had strategically set up a stall, selling us cold soft drinks! Hot, tired, throats parched after the hour and a half long hike, the children begged to be allowed a Coke (no explanation needed!) and a Tangawizi, a famous ginger drink in these parts! I had to give in but contented myself with a bottle of water! I had burnt a tidy amount of calories and there was no way I wanted to take them in again through a sugary, acidic drink!
Lake Naivasha Sopa Resort, where we had planned to stay, is practically across the road from Hell's Gate and we reached just in time for some delicious lunch, needless to say, in our case, Indian and vegetarian! Beautiful cottages line the large grounds of this resort which covers a hundred and fifty acres and whose borders touch the shore of Lake Naivasha. Zebras amble around, water bucks placidly chew their cud, a friendly giraffe comes up to the dining area, royally ignoring the hordes of children who chase it, shooting pictures from their parents' mobile phones! A baboon steals a tea bag from the tea/coffee/cocoa station set up near the pool, sucks it and disgusted by the taste, spits out the entire concoction! His fellow baboons delicately lap water from the shimmering blue pool, after polishing off a few stolen croissants. Why should they bother to go to the lake when the pool is closer at hand?! My son hires a bicycle and rides it for hours amongst these myriad animals. The golden rays of the setting sun light up the grounds as we walk around the resort. What an idyllic way to spend a birthday!
A surprise awaits me after dinner. My husband has organized a birthday cake for me and, right on cue, the dining room lights are switched off and the entire team of servers comes banging pots and pans, carrying the egg less chocolate cake, a flaming torch held high to light their way, singing songs in true African tradition! At the end, the lights come back on, the entire room, with its hundred plus occupants, bursts into applause as I cut the cake! Our kind friends have got me a beautiful gift and a card I will always treasure...
 As night falls, the hippos leave the lake and come out and a bunch of them graze right behind our cottage! We are enthralled as we have always seen them in the lake during the day and did not expect them to come out and wander around like domesticated cows, with just a glass door between them and us! This, is, indeed, the icing on the cake for me! After eight years in Africa this is our first sighting of 'out of the water' hippos as they leave the water only after sun set!
The next day we head for ' Crescent Island' which, during the summer months, is accessible by road. We take an hour long boat ride from here on Lake Naivasha and come withing touching distance of the hippos again, who are, of course, back in the water now. We spot a pelican who takes to graceful flight when our boat goes too close, we identify different kinds of birds all of whom are nesting on clumps of thorny bushes in the middle of the lake! This is a bird watchers and bird photographers paradise...We are ready to head back home to Nairobi.
Recently I watched the movie 'A Royal Romance' in which Wiliam and Kate play the ' Never Ever Game' with their friends. Here are my questions:
Have you never ever had hippos grazing in your backyard?
Have you never ever had baboons quenching their thirst in your pool?
Have you never ever had a giraffe join you at tea time?
Has your son never ever bicycled between two water buck and wound his bike in and out between six zebras?
Has your daughter never ever tumbled half way off while scrambling down a gorge?
Have you never ever taken a boat ride with hippos within touching distance sharing the lake with you?
Have you never ever cut your birthday cake to the chant of Swahili songs with a hundred other uninvited guests looking on?
If you have answered yes to any of the above questions, you have surely lived in or visited Africa at some point in your life!

                                           Chiselled edges of the gorge.

                                             The rocky Central Tower...

                                              The baboon cave!

                                               Goodbye Gorge!
                                                The Pelican takes flight..

                                              The sun sets on my birthday!

                                              Hippo out of the Lake!

                                               Hippos in the Lake!

                                             'Our' picturesque cottage.

From Kenya To Kodai ( Via Pune, Chennai And Madurai... )

I have been getting a large number of mails from the Head Office in Mumbai pertaining to the next conference for the Speech and Drama program whose franchise I hold in Pune, my hometown. This time it is going to be held in a tiger sanctuary next month and sadly I will miss it as I will be in India only by next June. But those mails reminded me that so many things have happened since I attended the last conference in June in the beautiful hill station of Kodaikanal in the state of Tamil Nadu in Southern India , that I never got around to writing about it.
The first step, after I was invited for the Kodai conference and was told it was compulsory to attend, was mentally preparing myself to spend three nights and four days away from my children who I would have to leave with my parents since my husband would still be in Nairobi at that  time. Linda Goodman's typical Capricorn mother that I am, staying away from my kids even for a couple of days is a huge challenge for me and I am continuously haunted by questions like  'Have they brushed their teeth and have they had their milk?!' Little wonder then that she says and I quote ' If you have a Capricorn mother you do not have to worry for the rest of your life..'
The next step was figuring out tickets which I bought on line in Nairobi and thus discovered that I would be travelling from Pune to Kodai via Chennai and Madurai. I had forayed into Tamil Nadu more than two decades earlier just after my tenth standard board exams to visit my Aunt and Uncle who were based at the Army Staff College at Wellington (yes, the colonial touch still reigns and we still have towns named after Brit Lords!) near yet another famous hill station, Ooty. But I had not visited any of these cities whose glimpses I would be able to catch now. An added bonus was that I would be staying at the very same hotel 'The Carlton', where my husband had stayed many years ago for one of his conferences. He had said then that we should visit this place together and since then we have been all over the world but have never visited Kodai. It seemed I was destined to visit it by myself !
My Dad dropped me off at Pune airport and I, as usual, popped into the airport book shop to arm myself with a good book. After all what's the point of spending so much time travelling if you do not use it to read? Soon we were winging our way to Chennai and all our Tamil friends came to mind. Chennai is one of India's safest metros and I have read about the pure silk saree clad, top to toe gold laden 'atthais' (Aunties), fragrant jasmine flowers in their hair, who move confidently around town and  have no fear that their jewellery will be snatched by bike riding thieves, just the way women could move around in Pune a mere twenty years ago...
I only got an aerial view of Chennai and of course there was a brief halt at the airport as I changed planes to head to Madurai but I liked what I saw and someday I would love to visit this city. The next aircraft was much smaller and sadly the airline served no food. Used as I am to good Indian vegetarian meals on all our international flights, it hurt to buy food but it could not be helped and I bought a packet of tortilla chips at an exhorbitant cost!
Finally I landed at Madurai where my colleague received me at the airport and we began the last leg of my journey to Kodai which was still a three hour drive away. Clean air was a welcome relief after my poor polluted Pune and swaying palms were easy on the eye. Driving on winding roads, through small villages, climbing up into the hills, with a GPS navigator by our side, there was no way we could lose our way and sure enough we soon reached Kodai, ready to participate in the conference. Our meals were included in our package and we bonded with fellow franchisees from all parts of India including Manipur, over Dosas and Sambar, Idlis and Vadas ( that is typical and very popular South Indian cuisine for the uninitiated!) rounded off with ice cream at every meal! Every one else loved the cool Kodai weather but since I live in Nairobi, another hill station, all year round, it was the norm rather than the exception for me!
Chocolates, supposedly hand made, tea, fresh from the surrounding hills, medicinal oils and spices were on my shopping list as Kodai is famous for all these and my suitcase was full to bursting point by the time we were ready to leave. I also won a rolling trophy at the conference on an all India level and that, alone, made my trip worthwhile! The cuddly 'Bear Trophy' was also added to my 'threatening to burst at the seams' long suffering suitcase!
 We drove back to Madurai very early in the morning and I was blessed to witness a beautiful, golden sunrise, a sight I would have otherwise surely missed, as getting up early tops the list of things I hate! Since our flights were in the evening I was invited to my Master Franchisee's sister's house for the day. After dropping another colleague who had an early morning flight, to the airport, we headed straight there. And, thus, I had the fortune of meeting some of the most generous people I have ever met in my life!
 What is it about small towns that somehow manage to produce people who actually care about others? We, from the big cities are so busy with our own lives, that we rarely have a minute to spare for anything or any one that does not directly concern us. The saddest part is that things were so different even in a mini metro like Pune just a handful of years ago.. My host's father actually made it a point to go up to his aged mother and tell her he was leaving for office and he also increased the volume of the television set so that she could clearly hear the religious discourse that was on. Most people I know seem to have forgotten these minor courtesies and look upon their parents as a burden they cannot wait to get rid off.
My hosts ensured that I got to visit the famous Meenakshi Temple of Madurai that has visitors from all over the world! They personally dropped me close to the temple, where their friend who owned a huge garments shop right in the temple premise, fixed up a guide for me and then they told me they would pick me up and take me home for lunch! I would have been content to study the marvellous architecture alone ( my M.Phil thesis dealt with temple architecture!) and would have worshipped from afar but thanks to these people whom I had met for the very first time I was able to go right  up to the sanctum sanctorum of the temple. I was mildly surprised to find that only Hindus were allowed inside the temple...Since I had not expected to enter the temple, I had dressed comfortably for travel in a pair of knee length capris and so I was stopped by the lady security guard and told in no uncertain terms that I was violating the dress code of the temple! Oops! I assured her I would not make the same mistake twice, begged her to let me enter and she finally relented!
My mother's birthday was coming up soon and I was determined to gift her some gold from the South. The kind shop owner sent one of his sales ladies to guide me to a reputed jewellery store. The same lady accompanied me to an ATM machine to withdraw cash for my purchase, without a word of complaint, when my credit card refused to work due to network issues. Yes, small towns have their share of problems! And then I had to practically force a tip in her hand. There was no expectation nor was there any sign of the greed  in her eyes that one normally sees in our metros.
A delicious home cooked lunch followed by juicy mangoes and a short rest later, it was time to leave for the airport. I thanked my hostess, who despite having had a baby just a fortnight earlier, had taken great pains to ensure that I was comfortable during the course of the day. I invited them to Pune and I hoped I would be able to reciprocate at least a fraction of the hospitality I had experienced that day!
Hitherto my only experience of Madurai had been through A.K Ramanujan's poem that I had studied in school. 'In Madurai, city of temples and poets who sang of cities and temples....'. Well they should have sung about the amazing people who live here too! I would not have been blown off my feet by all the kindness shown to me then!
It was only fitting that my trip to India that had begun with a journey to Chennai should end with watching a movie just a day before we came back to Kenya, whose name begins with Chennai....I am still recovering from that particular experience and am in no hurry to repeat it...

                                           Carved Shikhar of the Meenakshi Temple, Madurai

                                                  The room with a view at the Carlton, Kodai
                                                          The lovely lake and stately trees.

Amboseli-In The Shadows Of Kilimanjaro...

We are blessed in the sense that wherever in the world we may be living, we never feel the need to get away from it all. By God's grace, we are perfectly content within the four walls of our house, be it in Pune or in Nairobi or earlier in Dar Es Salaam,St.Petersburg and Krasnodar. Pubbing,clubbing,partying, is not our cup of tea, though we do have delicious cups of 'masala tea' of course! This is not to say we do not travel or never go anywhere. We do, as my blog testifies, but that is more to expose the children to their surroundings and to make them appreciate beauty in nature and not because we have had it up to here at home! More often then not, all evenings of every week end or all day on other holidays finds all four of us with our noses buried in our individual books, surfacing only for lunch or dinner or, in my case, to cook as well. I do not get tired of cooking either nor do I feel hemmed in by my kitchen and the amount of vegetarian variety of food churned out of my kitchen would put a Michelin starred chef to shame! This, of course, would be true of any mother of Indian origin. As I often say, feeding our kids and making them study tops the agenda of Indian Moms, regardless of whether they work outside the home or are homemakers.
The last couple of months have been difficult for us. It is not that we are mall rats but I used to go to Westgate even to buy the flour I need for making chappattis for every meal and to buy the rice without which no Indian meal is ever complete. Considering that Westgate is exactly a kilometre away from our house, it was simply the most convenient place to shop for our groceries. The tragedy there left us, like everyone else here in Nairobi, completely stunned and questioning the very purpose of our lives. The pall of gloom that had descended over Nairobi affected each one of us because every one of us knew someone who was at Westgate that day and did not come out alive. It is as if the very fabric of our lives has been altered and for the rest of our lives there will be always a before Westgate and an after Westgate for us, no matter how much we may try to deny it.
The other issue we have had for the last few months was that my husband's permit was under renewal and it had got delayed due to the revamp that was taking place in the immigration department, after the change of government in Kenya last March. Our daughter is in tenth grade this year and our biggest fear was that if it did not happen soon and we had to return to India, she would lose an academic year as no student can join tenth grade in India once the session has begun due to the board exams that take place in this particular year. So we were under tremendous pressure.
Finally the permit came through after a three month delay and its arrival coincided with the School's 'Spring Break'(yes, we are at the onset of summer here!)  and a national holiday in Kenya, which meant my husband was free as well. So in the span of an afternoon he made the bookings and we were off the next day to Amboseli National Park, to 'get away from it all ' a feeling we were experiencing for the very first time in our lives!
This national park is located on the road to the coast but short of Mombasa we turn towards South and it is very close to the Kenyan- Tanzanian border. In fact, its claim to fame is the magnificent views of Mount.Kilimanjaro- the highest free standing mountain in the world and of course, the highest mountain in Africa, located not in Kenya but in Tanzania. But borders are man made and this glorious creation of nature towers above them all!
A four hour drive found us at the gates of Sopa Lodge where we were staying and a cool welcome drink of fresh mango juice washed away the dust and the thirst from our throats- for the drive from Nairobi had been hot and dusty! Soon we were escorted to our rooms,styled in the shape of Masaai huts, for remember we were in Masaai land again! Even the curtain rods were in the shape of Masaai spears, the curtains had elephants printed on them and the shower curtains had giraffes!All this set the tone for the week end! A very Indian lunch lunch of aalu mattar (peas and potato curry)  and parathas and then a siesta in our four star 'hut', with a lovely breeze blowing through the windows refreshed us and did not make us miss the lack of electricity at all. The lights ran on generators and came on only for a few hours at night. We did not mind in the least-our main aim was to leave the city behind! We were now ready for the first of our four safaris..
As our driver was buying tickets at the entrance to the national park, a number of Masaai women thronged around our van selling beautiful Masaai jewellery and other crafts. My daughter and I indulged in a bit of retail therapy by buying some charming beaded Masaai bracelets- a few for ourselves, others to give as gifts to friends and cousins in India.
Then it was time to spot animals! This, being the dry season, we were told, is the best time to visit this park. The grassland is dry and yellow, forcing the animals to come out and congregate near the few water bodies that have not run dry yet. We saw large numbers of giraffes, hundreds of zebras and wildebeest, impalas, frisky gazelles, more ostriches than I have seen in any other national park, hyenas, wart hogs and at one point we counted more than seventy elephants at a stretch! I was struck by one elephant in particular- he was a magnificent tusker but seemed young. He trailed at the end of the herd and appeared to be dancing by himself, embodying, as we say in French, an absolute 'joie de vivre'- a joy of life and living. He taught me a big lesson- he knew he could meet with a poacher's bullet anytime (when will people learn only elephants should wear ivory?), as humans can meet terrorist bullets anytime, even while simply having a cup of coffee or buying groceries, and yet he was completely at ease and just savouring life! And yes, elephants know. Beryl Markham, in her autobiography, 'West With The Night' clearly says that elephants began co relating her air sorties to spot tuskers with hunters coming on the scene soon after. The females used to quickly form a head to head circle around bushes, the minute they heard her aircraft overhead,  thus concealing the size of their tusks (African female elephants also have tusks) , confusing Beryl and giving the male elephants time to flee.
On the second of our game drives we saw two huge lions guarding their freshly killed wildebeest- we had just missed the hunt! They were there all morning, too lazy and content to move after their massive meal. And who would dare disturb the King of the jungle?! The scavengers had to patiently await their turn.
The lake had flamingos, many kinds of cranes, ducks and storks and the heads of thirty five submerged hippos, all enjoying the cool water on a hot summer's day. As the last volcanic eruption changed the salinity of the soil, it is not unusual to see palm trees thriving in the middle of Amboseli! So you have palms , golden Savannah grassland and fresh green grass by the swampland, a sight I have not seen any any other game park so far.
The setting sun threw light on Kilimanjaro, highlighting the snow on its peak. Its highest peak is also a dormant volcano. The last time it erupted, many millions of years ago, it changed the whole topography of Amboseli. Who knows what will happen next time it roars to life! Sadly the snow at the top is now rapidly melting thanks to global warming and yet the mountain stoically stands upright. Stoicism is what the world needs now, in the light of the uncertainty of our lives, specially in all the major cities of the world. Stoic is what I have to be as I catch a glimpse of the face of my son's friend on the school bus every morning, whose mother was shot and died at Westgate, even as he hobbles around on crutches due to the bullets he took in his legs. Being stoic is what helps when I happen to see the piles of burnt cars brought out and kept outside Westgate while passing by, even as I try to avert my eyes from the bullet marks that have gouged out concrete at the side of the building and where the window panes still lie shattered...
As we headed back to the Lodge, the disc of a full, orange moon hung over the sky. Used as our eyes are to the halogen lights of the city, we had to blink twice before we could ascertain that it was, indeed, the moon rise that we were watching! It was just the soothing sight that our jaded, weary souls needed. Nature, in her own inimitable way, had readied us to face life in the big city again! The shadows of Kilimanjaro had somehow chased away the shadows in our hearts....

                                                   Sometimes clouds have a golden lining!

                                                   Kilimanjaro- the life giving mountain!

                                                            The dancing elephant!

                                                   Game for the lions...

                                                  Our Masaai Kraal (Hut)!

                                                  Lions on guard near the carcass

                                             The varying topography of Amboseli.

                                                        Masaai essentials-masks, shields, spears..

Parvatibai Khale-The End Of An Era

Yesterday my mother called me up from Pune and gave me the sad news that Parvatibai Khale had passed away. Who was Parvatibai Khale, that she merited an international phone call? Was she our close blood relation, or was she a dear neighbour or a good friend? Oh no, she was none of these and yet she, in her time, had more than fulfilled all these roles. She was our house help and had been since the early 1970s until a few years ago, when she grew too old to work anymore.
Parvatibai (bai is a sobriquet that is often used for house help is all parts of India) or 'Parubai' as she was first conveniently and later fondly called, came to work for my grandparents when my paternal grandfather retired from the Indian Army in the early seventies, constructed a bungalow in Pune and settled there. Our housing society had only a handful of bungalows then and Parubai rushed in and out of each house like a whirlwind -sweeping, swabbing, washing clothes and utensils by hand (and all for a pittance), for this was an era when dishwashers, washing machines and vacuum cleaners were unknown in India. And she did not have a choice- she had ten children to feed and a drunken husband to boot. But in every single house the vessels gleamed like brand new mirrors, the clothes were spotless, the broom swept every corner of every room- such was her dedication to what some might term 'menial work'. She took pride in what she did, a rare quality nowadays! Once, when I was in high school, I had spotted her entering a bedroom but when I came in, she was nowhere to be seen! As I looked around in astonishment, she crawled out from under the bed! She had gone there to clean this unreachable area.I mentally doffed my hat to her...
A diminutive, spry figure, clad in the traditional Maharashtrian nine yards saree, she found that she had a new skill when the children of the seventies began being born in those bungalows. She was a skilled masseuse of new mothers and newborns, this being a traditional requirement of Indian society! The baby, it is felt, will not achieve it's full growth potential till it has been rubbed and scrubbed with oil every single day followed by a hot bath and then snugly swaddled in a cotton cloth. And so Parubai found a welcome second occupation and it added to her sparse kitty, besides giving her joy, for she truly felt connected to those babies as she tenderly ministered to them...
I was one of those babies she oiled and bathed and going by the Indian theory her skills certainly seemed to have worked on me, given that I have surely reached my 'full growth potential' as I am 5 feet 8 inches tall, rare among Indian girls of my generation!
My mother and Parubai formed a bond that only two mothers can when one of them shows special consideration for the others child. Parubai had no choice but to get her tenth baby, who was born at the same time as I was, to work with her and she kept the new born child under a tree in our garden when she came in to work, just a few days after she had given birth. She, of course, could not afford the luxury of a lying-in period. My mother, the minute she noticed this, made her get the child inside, made up a little bed in a corner for the baby boy and gave Parubai enough time and privacy to feed the child at regular intervals.
When my grandmother's younger brother met with a fatal accident in the mid seventies, she had to close the house at a minute's notice and fly to Delhi. When the day for paying salaries came around, she despite her terrible grief (her brother had young, school going children), made it a point to phone my mother from there, and asked her to go and pay Parubai, for she knew how much this poor lady needed every paisa she earned. At this time, my Dad was doing a course in the Army Engineering College on the outskirts of Pune and we were staying there, a good many kilometers away from my grandparents bungalow. I was a toddler, my mother was expecting another baby and yet she did not hesitate for a minute after that phone call. She and I got into an autorickshaw and came all the way to the other end of town, left a message for Parubai with the neighbour asking her to visit our house, and settled down to await her.
The minute Parubai saw my mother, she guessed why she had come and promptly burst into tears.She said 'How could I think of money at a time like this, I feel as if my own brother has passed away, why did you come?' Such were the emotions of a lady who eked out a hand to mouth existence..My mother had to finally force the money in her hand but neither of them forgot that day, so long ago.
 The years flew by. My Dad was posted all over India but we came home to my grandparents house during every vacation. When it was time for us to leave, Parubai made it a point to prepare a snack for us in her own house, pack it, get it to our house and put it in our hands.'To eat on the train' she always said...
 Parubai continued bathing babies, though by then, she had grown too old to do the more strenuous household work in other people's houses. My Dad retired, came to Pune and she continued working for my parents, even as my grandmother passed away. I still remember her admonishing me for eating too many mangoes during the last months of my pregnancy, as she felt it would be harmful for the unborn baby! When my daughter was born it was, of course, Parubai who bathed her! I had put my foot down where vigorous massage for the baby was concerned and she endlessly grumbled at me for the same but took it in her stride. She contented herself by complaining to my new born daughter who hung onto every word and stared at her with huge eyes! Such was the magic that her voice had where new borns were concerned. I was the first person in Parubai's history of bathing babies where she had bathed the mother and then, more than two decades later, the daughter! She was so happy when my husband and I gifted her a pair of pure gold earrings to mark this momentous occasion! Gradually, of course, she catered to the second generation babies in all the bungalows which had been built in the seventies but we were the first!
Five years later, when my son was born, it was time to call her again. How can I ever forget the gentle way in which she lifted his many chins (he was a chubby newborn!) and cleaned underneath them? And this time it was she, who with her very generous heart, gifted him a gold finger ring, when it was time for me to leave for Tanzania with the children.
I have photos and videos of her cooing to my children and such lovely memories too! Her passing marks the end of an era, when feelings mattered and people were not ruled by money, no matter how great their financial need and how dire their straits.
I take solace in the fact that the day she passed away was also the day of my paternal grandmother's sixteenth death anniversary. There surely is an eternal connection and as we remember my grandmother on this day every year, we will remember Parubai too, whose willing, glass bangle clad hands served us for so many years and who will always have a very special place in our hearts!

Westgate- It is finally over.....

A Saturday that had begun on a happy note and had rapidly turned into a nightmare was about to come to an end. We were finally all together and home safe after my son's return from the birthday party but hundreds of others in Nairobi waited desperately for news of their loved ones. We had switched on our television set as soon as the news had broken and we were continuously glued to it. Given our residential compound's proximity to Westgate, we were in the ambit of the Kenya Police helicopters and the military camouflage patterned plane that were doing rapid rounds of the area. The only thing we usually use our television for is to watch the news and that too the news as it unfolds in India. Now for the first time since our arrival in Kenya we were rapidly flicking through all the Kenyan news channels, hungry for any morsel of news that we could get about Westgate.
The sales person promoting the Wipro Unza products was at Nakumatt Westgate that day as she would be on any other normal day. I kept telling myself that if she did not get out alive, I would blame myself for the rest of my life. No logic-it is just the way the mind works in such situations.Mercifully my husband was able to find out later in the day that she had escaped safely after hiding in the store for a couple of hours after the attack began.
We watched on live televison as people were rescued and came running out or stumbling out or were carried out.We waited up till midnight hoping against hope that the crisis would be over and the hostages would be freed. We knew there were many more people  inside as we know how crowded Westgate is every weekend. In fact my husband used to joke that if you are an Indian or a person of Indian origin, it is mandatory that you visit this mall each weekend! I loved the way the sales figures of the Wipro products skyrocketed each weekend in all the malls and as my husband gets the sales breakup of each Nakumatt branch everyday, I used to always observe that the Westgate Nakumatt Branch more often than not had the highest sales given the high number of footfalls there! Someone else, it seems, used similar statistics to plan and execute this attack in this particular mall...
A disturbed night's sleep punctuated by thoughts of people who were still trapped inside led to a Sunday that began on a very sombre note. The choppers and plane began doing the rounds again and we knew even before we had switched on the televison that it was not over yet...And it continued throughout the day with tragic stories of what had transpired that day from the mouths of eyewitnesses and survivors. We know every inch of this mall. So we could relate to every single picture that they were showing about the scene inside. As we identified each location the whole scene looked even more unbelievable and horrifying to us. Our thoughts and prayers were with those who had lost loved ones. If we were in this mental state, only God knew what they were undergoing. This is the first mall I ever visited in Kenya, given that it is right next to the service apartment complex that we stayed in when I came to scout for schools in Kenya, before the children and I decided to move here. This is the mall where I dropped off my then about to turn fifteen daughter a day before we all left for India for the holidays at the end of last May. It was her school friend's birthday party and it was the first time ever that I was leaving her with a group of friends with no adult supervision. After I had dropped her right up to Java coffee house in Westgate where her friends were waiting, I had messaged my sister that I had taken the first big step towards letting go. And she had asked me if it was safe. I have my answer even today on my Whats Aap and I quote," Oh yes, the malls are absolutely safe and Westgate has a lot of security.."
Monday began with sniper mounted choppers whirling overhead. The school had given us the option of not sending the kids and given our location, we chose not to send them and spent the day watching the news.
By four in the evening thick smoke began swirling upwards from Westgate.Loud and rapid explosions began as the operation to end the siege reached a critical stage. Now we had come to a point where what we were watching and listening to on our television screen was also what we could see and hear from our rear balconey. This was a first for us and to add to that we could smell the smoke too.. I had tears in my eyes, which I struggled to control for my son's sake, as I thought of the victims inside and those striving to free them and also because a lovely place was being ravaged.
Another night spent tossing and turning, another dawn with sniper silhouettes against the sky,with no news of the end. By now every sound had began to sound like gunfire or blasts to us- the dryer of our washing machine, a car door being slammed, the carpenter hammering away while renovating a flat a couple of floors below us, the toddler next door banging away on his iron safety door, the flush in the washroom...The news we got that day from my daughter's friends was that my son's school bus friend had been injured in the attack finally broke my defences and I burst into tears. Surprisingly my son who cannot bear to see me cry was the one who rose to the occasion and consoled me and said his friend would be fine and that I should not worry.
Finally by Tuesday night, after another day of keeping the children home, there was confirmed news that it was over. I messaged family and friends who had been so worried about us, that one part was over. I know the other part has just begun. While watching the smoke over Westgate, my son had said that he wanted his Westgate back! He said he had so many good memories there. I know. I have the same memories too. As do my husband and daughter And I promised him that yes, Westgate will rise again, like Phoenix, from the ashes rose, and we will go there again. No one can stop us! The only difference will be that we will pay a silent homage to those who died there that day and we will salute those who risked their lives to save others there, every time we run up those familiar steps.They died but the Kenyan spirit did not die and will not die..

We Could Have Been At Westgate....

Yesterday, 21st September, was not a typical Saturday for us. It was a day when there was going to be a deviation from our normal routine. A normal Saturday finds us starting our day slightly later than usual, then my husband drops off our son for his cricket coaching and then heads out to see the latest stock and sales position in many of the malls and shops that carry the Wipro Unza products, meets the promoters and addresses any concerns that they may have and takes actual on ground feedback. More often than not he lands up going to the distributor's office to discuss issues that may have cropped up in the previous week or that need to be handled for the forthcoming week. Our daughter spends the morning studying and then both the kids head out for art class after lunch.
But, yesterday, as per plan, was going to be different. My daughter and I had been invited by one of the teachers in our school along with seven other teachers, to visit an NGO called Heshima which meets the needs of differently abled children, by selling products under the label Dignity Designs, made by the mothers of these very children. This ensures their financial imdependance, skilled therapy for the kids and the right to lead a dignified life. So early last morning we hopped onto the school van from a predesignated place which was the very popular Java coffee shop near the school and my husband dropped off our son to his classmate's house whose parents were taking the boys out to a resort on the outskirts of Nairobi to celebrate their son's birthday. He would be out all day and my daughter and I were to come back home after lunch.
Then my husband headed out towards Westgate, which he had visited exactly forty eight hours before, on Thursday. Stock positions there were running low and he wanted to ensure deliveries had been made as per schedule just before the huge weekend crowd of shoppers thronged this mall. Halfway there, thanks to modern technology, he read a mail on his phone from his boss, asking him to urgently give some details about another matter. So he asked the driver to turn around and take him back home so that he could respond immediately.
In the mean time, after our fruitful visit to the organisation, my daughter and I, along with the teachers had stopped for lunch at yet another popular mall similarly crowded with shoppers. A quick lunch and we were on the way back home when one of the teachers got a call from her husband asking where exactly we all were. Then he updated her about the tragedy unfolding at Westgate and asked that they avoid that area on their way back to the school. So we were dropped off across the road from our house and the teachers rushed back by an alternative route. Our car picked us up as it's not the wisest thing to walk around on the roads and we heard the first updates about the situation on the car radio. I called up my husband and told him to turn on the television.
Westgate is in the same area we stay in,Westlands, and is a less than a ten minute drive in heavy traffic from our house. Whenever people in India ask me about the security situation in Nairobi I tell them the malls are absolutely safe! Westgate is the only place, in fact, where I used to feel safe enough to go and watch a Bollywood movie as they have guards systematically checking you no matter from which entrance you come in. In fact I had mentioned to my sister on facebook just the previous day that I would be watching the critically acclaimed new movie 'Lunchbox' this weekend, where else, but at Westgate.The Nakumatt at Westgate is where we buy our groceries most often and that branch of Planet Yogurt is most frequented by us. As we watched live on television some of the blue coated  Nakumatt staff rushing out,some of them carrying kids to safety, I thanked God that at least some of the people who cheerfully serve us day in and day out were safe.
A call to my son's host confirmed that she was aware of the situation and they, too, would be taking an alternate route back to their house as they brought the boys back from the birthday party venue. Again I thanked God they had not chosen Westgate as their party venue. We heard that someone else from our school was actually having their party at Westgate at that hour. My son was home finally by 6:30 p m and my heart was in my mouth till then.Many little children who were at Westgate yesterday did not make it out...
In the meantime, everyone around us was talking of whom they knew who was hurt or dead. Disturbing images were being circulated on the social media and this brought back memories of 26/11 in Mumbai.
Police choppers and planes began circling continuously overhead, as they are even now thirty hours after the siege has begun, even as I messaged our small group of friends asking each if they were safe. I called up immediate family in India and gave them the news first hand as all of them are well acquainted with Westgate.
What if my husband had made it to Westgate if the mail had not made him turn around? What if many malls had been simultaneously targeted including the very large and popular one where we had had our lunch? What if the birthday party venue had been Westgate? What if the attack had been planned for the evening when we would have surely been there for the movie? What if the breakfast crowd at the coffeehouse from where the teachers picked us up had been targeted as well, given that it's location is very close to the United Nations East African Headquarters?
The school sent us a mail telling us of the tragic death of a parent in the shootout at Westgate. His daughter was injured but is recovering. Ironically on the evening prior to the attack I had read out a story to my son in my mother tongue Marathi about how a mother monkey first tries to save her baby by holding it above her head as the water level of the river rises. But as it keeps on rising she stands on the baby to elevate herself in an attempt to stay above the water. My daughter was listening too and all  three of us vehemently agreed that any mother (or father) would always save the baby first never mind if they died in the attempt. The most precious life is your own, that is, until you are blessed with a child whether biological or adopted. That, I am sure, is what happened during yesterday's tragic events and many parents protected their babies or died doing so....
The siege continues with hostages still holed inside. Now I am just praying that there are no children still trapped inside. My nine year old son is hoping if, God forbid, there are children there, they are helping themselves to Nakumatt's stock of candies, peanut butter, Nutella and bottled drinking water.
O child, if only life was just about chocolates and Nutella it would not be called life.....