Some months after my entry into UNICEF, the staff association held a meeting to protest the induction of two new National Officers, albeit on short term contracts for the emergency relief programmes in the drought-hit or flooded areas of some North Indian states [yes, as often in India, both existed almost side by side!]. The grievance was that no senior programme assistants had been selected for these posts, which, instead, had been filled by outsiders. Listening to them, I was struck by one point – every time, said some of the staff, when they complained to top management about such happenings, they were told they had no field and direct programming experience, despite the sr. programme assts being the constant factor when international staff came and went after a few years. Many had in fact tutored raw recruits among the latter.
I asked the assembly why they had not protested when I, also an outsider, had been recruited. They pointed out that my post was more a 'technical' one that needed specific planning, monitoring and evaluation experience and they did not have that. But general programming was something they did know about even if they had not independently handled any but the routine or short-term parts of it [e.g. When the officer was on leave or travel]. Anyway, a delegation went to the RD with their protest, and he promised to set up a committee to look into their grievances and suggest remedies for the future at least [as the two new staff were already on the job]. I was surprised to find I was one of this committee of three, and went to him asking how I could be of any help in this matter, being so new to unicef. He said that was not a problem – he had a hunch it would be good to have me on it. In the midst of the committee delibrations, one night, I penned a confidential letter to the RD basically saying that an organisation like unicef should have a balance between promotions and recruitment from outside, and further, that it should have a systematic training policy and system for local support staff, as otherwise the vicious cycle of none of them, however otherwise good, would have had the field/programming experience to go up the ladder when a vacancy came up. A few years later, the position would still be the same! I added that such training should be both the desk type and on the field – basically through in-house apprenticeships after some workshops etc.
Grun called me to his office the next day and said,'See, I told you I had a hunch about you!. But why have you marked it confidential? It should be shared with the other committee members and all senior staff'. I told him I did not want to stir up any hornet's nest and so had marked it confidential but it was up to him to decide to make the suggestions as public as he wanted.
In any case, the new policy did come through, perhaps not universally as it depended on individual section heads and other officers delegating and training their programme assistants in a systematic way. But it also led to another major development when the new Regional Planning Officer, Satish Prabasi, and I took up the task of conducting a series of workshops on Programme Preparation or Planning, Evaluation and Monitoring [PEM] for all programme staff. This was to be supported by HQ Planning Section both in the form of resource persons and funds. I guess it was never stated which level of staff would be included, but immediately, our Planning Section was approached by some senior support staff asking if they could be included in these courses.
Actually, the idea of such training courses had their roots in both the annual 'staff seminars' that the training section of HQ conducted among promising young officers and in the drive of the HQ planning section that wanted to instill more systematic PEM concepts and practices in all Unicef offices. I had just been to one of the staff seminars and this sounded a good way to put into practice what I preached as a committee member some time before. I think in all we had three such courses of 3-4 days duration in some exotic location and I do believe the trainees would agree that they were on the whole interesting and refreshing and educational even if gruelling at times. Soon after came another proof of all these various attempts at training programme staff when a number of them made the grade and got selected to both national and international officer posts [Quite a few made a mark in such assignments too].
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Special Relationships
Annaiya's being at home was a blessing for Aditya [and so for us, especially since I worked full-time [or more, often!]. Not that he actually looked after the baby, but I guess we felt more easy leaving Adit with the help, and they too might have been more careful in their care-giving, due to his presence. Naturally, the two became very close. Aditya would show off his skills to his grandfather, and they kept company at lunch-time from the beginning. When the toddler got to the stage of poring over picture books, and later to that of reading the books and playing with lego or meccano, he found a ready and appreciative spectator/audience too.
At the time of Adit's first birthday, Ramu was unable to come to Delhi to celebrate it; neither did I to take on a wider group all by myself, so I just invited Sundara and Prabha, the only relatives then in Delhi, over for dinner. Seeing Adit hurling himself from one end of the room to the other in his walker that went like a ring with wheels around him, Sundara remarked, 'This fellow is a menace in his walker!'
A very close family link was with Savithri and her family, especially Darshan, who was only a few years elder to Adit. We went often to their place and sometimes they came over. Later when Babi was transferred to Delhi, Adit did strike up a friendship with Uday and Malini, offspring of Lalitha, Ramu's second sister, but they were much older and since it did not begin when A was very young, it was less intimate. Similarly, later when Ramu's youngest sister, Tripuri and Vaman, were also transferred to Delhi, Sahana and Savitha, again elder to him by a few years, were such 'friends'.
Then there was Nirmala, Ravi and Gita's daughter, a couple of years younger to Adit, but they lived some way off and were quite busy themselves, so there was not so much interaction with her.
Adit's second birthday onwards, we began celebrating the anniversary by inviting these families and those of other children he was friendly with, in school or from our circle of friends. Being mid-winter, we would have the party on the pocket lawn in front of our house. When three years old, Aditya demanded an uniform, I think it was an air force one – probably in imitation of his uncle, Vaman. I had to scout around Delhi to get the bluish grey toddler size suit, hoping this was a passing fad, for I had no desire for my son to go into the airforce. Nor the army, for the next year, it was a soldier's uniform that he longed for – we got him a scout's outfit. [pix].
Anyway at about this age, he also had asked for bangles when once we saw some fancy ones; the vendor remonstrated that such things were only for girls, but I chided her, and bought him a pair, telling her, no problem if he wants them. That was certainly a very short-lived fancy.
At the time of Adit's first birthday, Ramu was unable to come to Delhi to celebrate it; neither did I to take on a wider group all by myself, so I just invited Sundara and Prabha, the only relatives then in Delhi, over for dinner. Seeing Adit hurling himself from one end of the room to the other in his walker that went like a ring with wheels around him, Sundara remarked, 'This fellow is a menace in his walker!'
A very close family link was with Savithri and her family, especially Darshan, who was only a few years elder to Adit. We went often to their place and sometimes they came over. Later when Babi was transferred to Delhi, Adit did strike up a friendship with Uday and Malini, offspring of Lalitha, Ramu's second sister, but they were much older and since it did not begin when A was very young, it was less intimate. Similarly, later when Ramu's youngest sister, Tripuri and Vaman, were also transferred to Delhi, Sahana and Savitha, again elder to him by a few years, were such 'friends'.
Then there was Nirmala, Ravi and Gita's daughter, a couple of years younger to Adit, but they lived some way off and were quite busy themselves, so there was not so much interaction with her.
Adit's second birthday onwards, we began celebrating the anniversary by inviting these families and those of other children he was friendly with, in school or from our circle of friends. Being mid-winter, we would have the party on the pocket lawn in front of our house. When three years old, Aditya demanded an uniform, I think it was an air force one – probably in imitation of his uncle, Vaman. I had to scout around Delhi to get the bluish grey toddler size suit, hoping this was a passing fad, for I had no desire for my son to go into the airforce. Nor the army, for the next year, it was a soldier's uniform that he longed for – we got him a scout's outfit. [pix].
Anyway at about this age, he also had asked for bangles when once we saw some fancy ones; the vendor remonstrated that such things were only for girls, but I chided her, and bought him a pair, telling her, no problem if he wants them. That was certainly a very short-lived fancy.
Celebrating Festivals
The many festivals during these seasons also helped. Our observance of festivals was mostly in eating the special preparations that were part of the traditions around each festival. We also lit lamps for Diwali, and bought a cake for X'mas. I had grown up with the tradition of new clothes for the major festivals – Shankar Jayanti [mid-January], Ugadi [March/April] and Deepavali [October/November]. Try as I did to inculcate this practice after marriage in my new household, it just did not click. Ramu only laughed and offered to get himself underwear! So I had to content myself with just getting my new clothes around these festival times and wore new clothes that day.
When Adit was about three or four, a classmate of mine had invited me for Dasara 'Golu' or 'Gombe' [the doll display that is common in the south [except in Kerala] for nine days -friends and acquaintances are invited over to view this display in many homes. When we were kids, we used to love going from one house to another, especially the ones famed for their grand or innovative and beautiful arrangements on improvised steps covered with white sheets. Some also created scenes, often extending all over a large room with special effects - lighting, miniature fountains and some toys that moved ever so realistically]! As we came back from my friend's place, Adit asked why we did not have such a display; could we not have one?
i immediately rejoined, 'Why not?' and that very day we started a small one. this became a regular practice and used to be quite elaborate, with ragi sown on the toy gardens and hills [its young shoots mimic grass], and Adit contributing with his lego and mechano toys to complete a particular scene.
When we moved from India, we turned this into a social afternoon when our friends and colleagues, with their families, would gather and marvel at our displays and the stories around the various figures. Sometimes, due to my frequent tours, I had to celebrate this festival along with Deepavalli [as Diwali is termed in the South – it probably is more authentic than the shorter form] almost a full month late.
?? edited upto here
It was again Adit who started us on celebrating X'mas [apart from being ready to eat that delicious plum cake either on that occasion or on New Year's Eve]. He asked why we did not have a Christmas tree upon seeing one somewhere, and so that first year, we chopped off a branch from our very own fir bush from the front lawn, and decorated it. That became a tradition with us, sometimes with bought trees and later a fake one [horror!] in the USA!
Adit also asked us why we did not celebrate any Muslim festival. I had to say I knew very little of how Muslim festivals were celebrated, other than through public prayers, feasts and camraderie. Truth to say, all our knowledge of Indian Muslim culture was through books, films or newspaper reports! I had no Muslim colleague, let alone friend, barring the Khalakadina children, but they were not typical Muslims and did not celebrate those Eids in any noticeable way. [Their Muslim father had married Margaret, who was on a consultancy to UNICEF Delhi when we became friends; she was a Christian with one ancestor a Bangalore Jew and another a convert from Hinduism – quite an eccletic mix!].
Later, in Addis Ababa, Dr. Salim, who was then the ILO representative there, once chided me for not greeting him and his family on an Eid. I realised then that in North India, among those who were in the same social circle, that was a practice, but I had not even thought of it! Even when in UNICEF, I made a large number of Muslim friends from different countries, their celebration of their festivals seemed never to be public like Diwali or X'mas.
The other festivals we used to observe were Sankaranthi, the day the sun is said to turn back from its end point in the southern horizon [or more scientifically, when the earth rotates to start facing the sun in the northern hemisphere]. The actual day is based on astronomical calculations, but it comes a few weeks after the winter solstice, about the middle of January. Observed all over India, it is one of the most important festivals in a major part of the South – this is due to the winter harvest after the north-east monsoons there. In Karnataka, apart from eating the dishes made of the fresh harvest produce, a snack made of toasted sesame and peanuts, to which is added split roasted garbanzo peas [channa], bits of jaggery and copra, is exchanged among friends and family to 'bind' one another in eternal friendship. It is mainly as a social festival like Dasara and Diwali that I liked to celebrate it.
We also observed Ugadi, the Kannada New Year that falls between the end of March and the middle of April [depending on the moon] and Varsha Porappu [the Tamil New Year] generally centring around the middle of April [ following the solar calendar] – all in the eating rather than any puja. One special feature of these two new years is combining neem with jaggery to anticipate the bitterness and sweetnes of the new year. In Karnataka one chews a bit of jaggery along with a bit of neem [a teeny weeny bit – even that bitterness can be too much!]. In Tamilnadu, one makes a pachadi [a thick liquid side-dish] with roasted neem flower and jaggery.
When Adit was about three or four, a classmate of mine had invited me for Dasara 'Golu' or 'Gombe' [the doll display that is common in the south [except in Kerala] for nine days -friends and acquaintances are invited over to view this display in many homes. When we were kids, we used to love going from one house to another, especially the ones famed for their grand or innovative and beautiful arrangements on improvised steps covered with white sheets. Some also created scenes, often extending all over a large room with special effects - lighting, miniature fountains and some toys that moved ever so realistically]! As we came back from my friend's place, Adit asked why we did not have such a display; could we not have one?
i immediately rejoined, 'Why not?' and that very day we started a small one. this became a regular practice and used to be quite elaborate, with ragi sown on the toy gardens and hills [its young shoots mimic grass], and Adit contributing with his lego and mechano toys to complete a particular scene.
When we moved from India, we turned this into a social afternoon when our friends and colleagues, with their families, would gather and marvel at our displays and the stories around the various figures. Sometimes, due to my frequent tours, I had to celebrate this festival along with Deepavalli [as Diwali is termed in the South – it probably is more authentic than the shorter form] almost a full month late.
?? edited upto here
It was again Adit who started us on celebrating X'mas [apart from being ready to eat that delicious plum cake either on that occasion or on New Year's Eve]. He asked why we did not have a Christmas tree upon seeing one somewhere, and so that first year, we chopped off a branch from our very own fir bush from the front lawn, and decorated it. That became a tradition with us, sometimes with bought trees and later a fake one [horror!] in the USA!
Adit also asked us why we did not celebrate any Muslim festival. I had to say I knew very little of how Muslim festivals were celebrated, other than through public prayers, feasts and camraderie. Truth to say, all our knowledge of Indian Muslim culture was through books, films or newspaper reports! I had no Muslim colleague, let alone friend, barring the Khalakadina children, but they were not typical Muslims and did not celebrate those Eids in any noticeable way. [Their Muslim father had married Margaret, who was on a consultancy to UNICEF Delhi when we became friends; she was a Christian with one ancestor a Bangalore Jew and another a convert from Hinduism – quite an eccletic mix!].
Later, in Addis Ababa, Dr. Salim, who was then the ILO representative there, once chided me for not greeting him and his family on an Eid. I realised then that in North India, among those who were in the same social circle, that was a practice, but I had not even thought of it! Even when in UNICEF, I made a large number of Muslim friends from different countries, their celebration of their festivals seemed never to be public like Diwali or X'mas.
The other festivals we used to observe were Sankaranthi, the day the sun is said to turn back from its end point in the southern horizon [or more scientifically, when the earth rotates to start facing the sun in the northern hemisphere]. The actual day is based on astronomical calculations, but it comes a few weeks after the winter solstice, about the middle of January. Observed all over India, it is one of the most important festivals in a major part of the South – this is due to the winter harvest after the north-east monsoons there. In Karnataka, apart from eating the dishes made of the fresh harvest produce, a snack made of toasted sesame and peanuts, to which is added split roasted garbanzo peas [channa], bits of jaggery and copra, is exchanged among friends and family to 'bind' one another in eternal friendship. It is mainly as a social festival like Dasara and Diwali that I liked to celebrate it.
We also observed Ugadi, the Kannada New Year that falls between the end of March and the middle of April [depending on the moon] and Varsha Porappu [the Tamil New Year] generally centring around the middle of April [ following the solar calendar] – all in the eating rather than any puja. One special feature of these two new years is combining neem with jaggery to anticipate the bitterness and sweetnes of the new year. In Karnataka one chews a bit of jaggery along with a bit of neem [a teeny weeny bit – even that bitterness can be too much!]. In Tamilnadu, one makes a pachadi [a thick liquid side-dish] with roasted neem flower and jaggery.
Trials and Tribulations of life in Delhi – and the Compensating Joys.
Every summer for the ten years that we lived in Delhi, I continued to fret and fume about the heat, the aridity, the exhaustion. It was sometimes too much even to come home in that heat for lunch, despite the distance being negligible and the time on the way being hardly ten minutes. As for exercise, the swimming pool and the lovely Lodhi gardens nearby were our only solace. A year or so after my leaving Ford, however, that pool was barred to us and we had to take a season membership at Claridges hotel.
We had had an air-conditioner installed in the living room, as also a desert cooler in the back verandah. The former was of little use, as there almost always was a ban on its use in the hottest part of the summer, due to the load shedding that the city experienced. The latter did the trick more than adequately till the weather turned humid before the monsoon. In fact, most nights, we had to shut it off in the middle of the night as even the bedrooms that were on the side became too cold!
In office too, the load shedding took its toll on our work. Unicef had moved to electronic typewriters by the time I joined. So when the current was out, our secretaries could only take dictation or file!
In winter, the meagre heat from the room heaters left one shivering, even with all our layered clothing. One visitor from the New York office found himself in this predicament as he came in his shirt sleeves, imagining 'hot torrid India'!
In between these two extremes, the lovely post-monsoon autumn and the gay spring again lifted one's spirits.
One special treat during the Delhi winter and spring was picnicing. Our family cirlce was large, with all three of Ramu's sisters and their families living there at one time and with at least two of them there all the time. On my side, we met occasionally with Malli and Jasbir, Gita and Ravi.
We had had an air-conditioner installed in the living room, as also a desert cooler in the back verandah. The former was of little use, as there almost always was a ban on its use in the hottest part of the summer, due to the load shedding that the city experienced. The latter did the trick more than adequately till the weather turned humid before the monsoon. In fact, most nights, we had to shut it off in the middle of the night as even the bedrooms that were on the side became too cold!
In office too, the load shedding took its toll on our work. Unicef had moved to electronic typewriters by the time I joined. So when the current was out, our secretaries could only take dictation or file!
In winter, the meagre heat from the room heaters left one shivering, even with all our layered clothing. One visitor from the New York office found himself in this predicament as he came in his shirt sleeves, imagining 'hot torrid India'!
In between these two extremes, the lovely post-monsoon autumn and the gay spring again lifted one's spirits.
One special treat during the Delhi winter and spring was picnicing. Our family cirlce was large, with all three of Ramu's sisters and their families living there at one time and with at least two of them there all the time. On my side, we met occasionally with Malli and Jasbir, Gita and Ravi.
AParade of Household Help
Now I could come home for lunch daily and be with Adit for a little while more than before. And I needed to do that all the more as Raji was still not responsible enough. So, I looked out for a cook-cum-nanny type and that was how we engaged Sharada. Raji was to help her, but how much she did is anybody's guess. Unfortunately she got into the habit of standing in the front doorway, all dolled up in the evenings. I had to reprimand her about the message this could have sent to passersby. After a few days I was relieved that she had got out of this habit till Pratima and I found she was flirting with Bhanu. In the Indian milieu, this was not done! Pratima had got Bhanu from his village with a promise that he would be looked after by her and her husband, Pramod, meaning that when he got hitched up, it would be with the approval of his parents. While in the case of Raji, I was under no such obligation, I was certain she was not yet mature enough to make adult decisions but that this was just a fling, having cut loose from the orphanage. Once this was nipped in the bud, she spent all her time in the servant quarters [actually a converted garage] that we had given Sharada, which by itself was okay except that she neglected her work, and soon took up with a driver who was a frequent visitor to that place. Finally, they both ran away! Luckily for her, we found that they had got married soon after. But years later, I met Raji one day on the street, and she ruefully confessed that the escapade was a mistake as her husband beat her and saddled her with a number of children.
I felt sorry for her but she had gone out of our orbit altogether. There was no way she would fit into our household again, nor did she want to. That was the last I saw of her. I have often felt guilty about all this and wondered whether matters would have been different if we had tried harder or through other tactics. One of those unresolved questions.
After a year or so, Sharada was diagnosed with TB and had to go to a sanatorium for treatment. We were truly sorry about this and to lose her – she was gentle with Adit and a good cook too. I wanted to keep her, while she was being treated but was warned that it was dangerous for Adit.
Ramu finally came back to Delhi towards the end of '75, having opted to take up a Public sector post. His new post was as Finance Director, Engineers, India, a Public Sector Undertaking of the Govt. of India. It was in fact considered not part of the govt. services, and he had to resign from govt. after a brief initial period. Anyway, he was back with the family in Delhi, and it was a good move for all, especially for Aditya.
Ramu's driver, Nair, was soon more than just a driver. He became Adit's friend – they would spend quite a lot of time together when he was waiting to take Ramu somewhere. He was instrumental in bringing us the soft-spoken, gentle Sharada [number 2], who was our cook-cum-caregiver for years in Delhi.
I felt sorry for her but she had gone out of our orbit altogether. There was no way she would fit into our household again, nor did she want to. That was the last I saw of her. I have often felt guilty about all this and wondered whether matters would have been different if we had tried harder or through other tactics. One of those unresolved questions.
After a year or so, Sharada was diagnosed with TB and had to go to a sanatorium for treatment. We were truly sorry about this and to lose her – she was gentle with Adit and a good cook too. I wanted to keep her, while she was being treated but was warned that it was dangerous for Adit.
Ramu finally came back to Delhi towards the end of '75, having opted to take up a Public sector post. His new post was as Finance Director, Engineers, India, a Public Sector Undertaking of the Govt. of India. It was in fact considered not part of the govt. services, and he had to resign from govt. after a brief initial period. Anyway, he was back with the family in Delhi, and it was a good move for all, especially for Aditya.
Ramu's driver, Nair, was soon more than just a driver. He became Adit's friend – they would spend quite a lot of time together when he was waiting to take Ramu somewhere. He was instrumental in bringing us the soft-spoken, gentle Sharada [number 2], who was our cook-cum-caregiver for years in Delhi.
New Responsibilities in UNICEF
The week after all this, there was a Regional Meeting and in the midst of it, Gerry suddenly took very ill, and had to be flown back to the USA for treatment. He never returned to UNICEF as after his recovery, he resigned and started working on his own from Washington D.C. Apart from the shock of this sudden departure of a close friend, I found I was handling most of his duties in addition to my own.
A couple of weeks later, I had to again absent myself from office due to Adit suddenly taking badly ill. He, usually so lively, was motionless and did not utter a word. Fearing the worst, I rushed to the doctor – it was severe bronchitis but he recovered fast. I felt then that it was Raji' s fault as she did not seem to be interested in baby care.
Walking to Office
Meantime, the government agency in charge of housing officials in government housing, which had levied a penalty rent on us for continuing in such quarters more than a year after Ramu had been transferred, gave notice that we should vacate them. This was fair enough, and so we now started house-hunting while paying market rent [the highest slab that they levied in such cases]. Since I had been jealous of Ramu for having his office within easy walking distance from home in Pimpri while I commuted 15 km. on that horrendous Bombay-Poona road to the Deccan College, this was my chance to pick a place within a stone's throw of my office.
In December of '74, we moved to Jor Bagh, the same area that the UNICEF buildings were in. 'Buildings' because the office used to straddle five different ones when I joined, and then they added two more. Unfortunately, I had left the Delhi office before the office moved to just behind my old offices in CSD-FF , a really smart one , built by the same Stein, who was the architect for those buildings as well as the India International Centre, all next to Lodhi Gardens.
Sripathi helped me move and that made it easier. Still, the change from a spacious government quarters, open on three sides and with a garden in front and back to a townhouse, hemmed between two other such houses and a hanky-sized lawn and, even worse, a cemented courtyard at the back was quite traumatic. However, all we lost in moving was a teacosy, last seen on top of one of the movers' heads! He must have really fancied it as a headgear.
After having avoided coming home for lunch as the baby was invariably asleep, when we moved to JB, I found that with Adit old enough, it was worth the short walk to do so even at the height of summer. Most evenings we went to the park and on weekends, we met with one or the other of the family. Pratima also lived in Jor Bagh, and our families were often together.
A couple of weeks later, I had to again absent myself from office due to Adit suddenly taking badly ill. He, usually so lively, was motionless and did not utter a word. Fearing the worst, I rushed to the doctor – it was severe bronchitis but he recovered fast. I felt then that it was Raji' s fault as she did not seem to be interested in baby care.
Walking to Office
Meantime, the government agency in charge of housing officials in government housing, which had levied a penalty rent on us for continuing in such quarters more than a year after Ramu had been transferred, gave notice that we should vacate them. This was fair enough, and so we now started house-hunting while paying market rent [the highest slab that they levied in such cases]. Since I had been jealous of Ramu for having his office within easy walking distance from home in Pimpri while I commuted 15 km. on that horrendous Bombay-Poona road to the Deccan College, this was my chance to pick a place within a stone's throw of my office.
In December of '74, we moved to Jor Bagh, the same area that the UNICEF buildings were in. 'Buildings' because the office used to straddle five different ones when I joined, and then they added two more. Unfortunately, I had left the Delhi office before the office moved to just behind my old offices in CSD-FF , a really smart one , built by the same Stein, who was the architect for those buildings as well as the India International Centre, all next to Lodhi Gardens.
Sripathi helped me move and that made it easier. Still, the change from a spacious government quarters, open on three sides and with a garden in front and back to a townhouse, hemmed between two other such houses and a hanky-sized lawn and, even worse, a cemented courtyard at the back was quite traumatic. However, all we lost in moving was a teacosy, last seen on top of one of the movers' heads! He must have really fancied it as a headgear.
After having avoided coming home for lunch as the baby was invariably asleep, when we moved to JB, I found that with Adit old enough, it was worth the short walk to do so even at the height of summer. Most evenings we went to the park and on weekends, we met with one or the other of the family. Pratima also lived in Jor Bagh, and our families were often together.
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