I am in the fortunate position of looking considerably younger than I am. It is lovely, and I do what I can to keep it this way; face yoga, meditation, seeds in my porridge. Daily smoothies packed with ground seeds and powders. I also take about 14 different supplements every day.
Stepping into the business world as a young-looking person, however, is a different story. People struggle to support a young person, emotionally. It is a primal urge. I hold no judgement. Ageing is hard – hence the aforementioned daily routine.
I think compassion is the only way through it, for the young and old. We all have our struggles. Remember young people do not have the experience to understand their emotions yet. Growing up is a rough time. Likewise society persecutes us for ageing, despite all the experience and understanding and philosophising we offer.
“The amazing exhibition of talents by our young people is enough to allay the fears of those parents who are jittery about where their progeny would get jobs when they grow up. Of course, they will create their jobs. What parents should concern themselves with is the provision of opportunities for quality education for their offspring. If well equipped with the necessary intellectual prowess that quality learning offers, these young ones will rise to the challenges of their times.”
Image above: Michel Montecrossa at the exhibition of his paintings and drawings at the New Art Gallery in the Filmaur Multimedia House, Gauting near Munich, Germany – previews of Michel Montecrossa’s paintings & drawings: http://michelmontecrossa.com/gallery/paintings-drawings
6 Kms to the south of Haldwani is Patwa Dangar, a place so high that you could touch the clouds with raising your hand just above the shoulders. This is sort of an unexplored hill station which surprisingly has a circuit house and a small village scattered over the highs and lows of steep hill.
12440 ft. (3792 m) above the ground you have to be really tough to live out here.
This is one of the first accounts of my adventures starting from college days. I shall post the series in continuation of the same. Watch this space for more!
“What I see young people doing gives me confidence that they will be up to the challenges of their times. That is very comforting. What we cannot do, I see them doing with much ease. With them, there is hope for a brighter world.” Romilia Quotes.
Listen to your parents;
They will give you good advice;
They know better than you;
And understand life;
They like to see you succeed.
Don’t ignore what they say
Else you run into trouble;
If you obey your patents,
And show love to them,
They will bless you.
Send your order to: Filmaur Multimedia, Danziger Str. 1, 82131 Gauting near Munich, t: +49 (0)89-8508555,
To know more about and plan your visit to Michel Montecrossa’s ongoing ‘The Energy Of Art’ Exhibition (Mirapuri New Art Gallery, Italy) and the ‘Deep Brain Art’ Exhibition at the New Art Gallery in Germany (Filmaur Multimedia House, Gauting near Munich) please visit these links:
How wonderful to see children full of excitement and going to school. School should be a happy experience. However this is not the full picture because there are some children who are not so happy at school because of bullying. Having to suffer in later years for things that happened during this time, having life prospects, physical and mental health derailed is a terrible thing.
The onus is still on parents to notice the effects of bullying while it is happening. Sometimes we put tensions and occurrences at school and home down to teenage angst, when the child is actually going through intense humiliation from name calling, hunger from pocket money being taken and emotional and physical abuse. So let’s be quick to only to observe and save our children but to secure their future happiness. Cover them with prayers too.
Let’s also push for governments, education authorities and schools to put some policies of Zero-Tolerance to Bullying in place.
A simple but good Elevenses meal of Cereal, with Almond Milk, Toasted Wholemeal with Apricot Jam, some Fruits and Water.
Blurry Faces of the city is a series of illustrations of the people who are living around us but are rarely noticed and acknowledged in mainstream. I have attempted to see their lives and struggles as they go through the ordeals to keep themselves and their dependents alive – in hope for a better tomorrow.
Clock is about to strike 11 pm. We came out of a restaurant and started walking on the eastbound road alongside a now-slept market. On the road there are auto-rickshaws lined up with their drivers wandering around looking for passengers. Some auto-rickshaws are rushing down the road and some others slowing down to ask if we are intended to go somewhere. Some of them would try to guess the place we are likely to go and shout – ‘So and so much money for blah-blah place… Get in!’ We would answer some and ignore others. I know it is their daily practice so it hardly makes a difference what we really say. Deal is – are we getting into it or not? Actual listening would start only after either we nod to a fixed amount or the meter is down – which would be rare thing to happen so mostly for us and for most of the commuters it is the first one.
Amidst this, a police car came and from it a policeman wearing a washed away shade of standard-brown-police-uniform shouted on the owners of the roadside food stalls to close the business. Meanwhile a companion of the theirs, a motorcycle-ridden policeman, patrols the adjacent alleys and then signaled one of the stalls to bring food to the police car.
This must have been a routine for these stall owners and the patrolling party too.
We kept walking towards the end of this market where there is a traffic signal – mostly ignored by all during this time of the night. Just before the signal, around a corner standing in ebony skin was a thin boy of age around 17 with his ice-cream trolley.
He had his skeleton prominently visible. All the features of it – the cheek bones, eye-ball sockets, collar-bones, elbows. His head appeared large though – due to unkempt hairs those fashioned a brownish color owing to dust gathered in them.
One can easily be startled by an ‘apparently unprecedented’ form of living being when least expecting. Not even in figment of imagination I would have thought this structure of bones, flesh and blood.
So I reacted, – “What are you doing on this side of the road!? There are no restaurants or anything luring for people to crowd around!”
“Cars stop here sir.”, came a reply riding on a voice that was sure of itself but also a little sad. “They buy from me. I am here for those customers.”, he added sounding defending his ground.
“Why not move a little closer to the market behind the bus stand?”, I said almost rhetorically.
“There is already a trolley on the northern corner. Two of us can’t sell together, we have to cover larger area, plus we have to follow a strategy of being visible at a certain place in continuation of positions – a series of trolleys placed at a certain distance from each other would form such a chain that would induce the ‘desire’ by repetitive stimulous to vision and mind”, he spoke in authoritative and compelled voice while narrating his sales plan.
He was getting into it. I’d drawn him into a conversation now. Earlier it was merely asking and answering. By this time, I had understood that he could talk more freely now. His body language suggested that he was at ease and the cover of defense that mind had created was gone.
I could see him more clearly now, for now he didn’t feel embarrassed, or offended, when I ‘stared’ at him.
Those eyes could not have been more alert and skin did not wear wrinkles and a nice bath would have had brought-out a smooth chocolaty tone instead of grainy and dusty brown one.
Teeth were surprisingly white against the common notion about tobacco eating mouths and surely one would have been able to count all the ribs if he’d took off his yellow-brown shirt.
He probably read my thoughts for he spoke suddenly, “I’ll put on some weight once my worries are over sir.”
I looked at him in awe and he went on with his story of leaving his village in Buxar (Bihar)and coming to Delhi to work in a factory that produced packaging items.
There came a mention of his father and his eyes lit up, his hands clutched the pushing-bar of his trolley harder as if they were the hands of his father whom he probably has longed to grab and cry, sharing his ordeals. It became ‘necessary’ to talk about something else to do away with the emotional overwhelm.
“So which ice-cream do you like?”, I made an attempt to change the subject but came no reply from the him. I felt a little embarassed to ask such a stupid question after a heavymoment. I, however, threw away that feeling and asked another question.
“When do you start your sale?” I asked, while pretending to read from the items’-chart hanging from the top of the trolley.
“From afternoon 3.”, he glanced at that menu chart and looked away on the road to our right.
“And when will you go home?”, I continued.
“I am waiting for some friends, the other trolley manning men, who would be going with me. It is risking life and property to travel alone on these roads due to some anti-social elements who will strip you of everything and wouldn’t hesitate to put a knife into you, so we go in groups.”, he said gravely while his forehead frowned.
The timing of this response could not have been worst, so to lighten the air I asked, “For how much did you sell today?
“Not much – only 1200 Rupees. Usually I make 2000-2500.”
“I understand that that money goes to the company. What do you get?”
“16% of my sales amount.”
“So you get it monthly?”
“I wouldn’t survive on monthly salary if it is this less! I keep my 16% every day… and I don’t like ice-cream sir.”
His friends arrived and he left with them; talking while waving hands animatedly. Sharing stories from the day. Sharing their common worries and pacifying what’s there to pacify.