Poornima Manco

Author

empathy

Parasite

by

Last night I sat and watched ‘Parasite’ again. Yes, the same Korean film that won the Oscar this year and what a fitting winner it was too. The first time I’d seen this movie on a plane headed to India, and been shaken to the core by it. This multi-genre marvel with themes that intersected and overlapped, left me awed by its sheer complexity, by how black humour segued seamlessly into social commentary and the inevitable tragedy at the end. How, at the very heart of it and despite all indications to the contrary, Bong Joon-ho’s film was about hope. Hope itself being a double-edged sword with its capacity to wound and destroy.

Before you proceed any further, please be warned that this blog post contains many spoilers. So, if you haven’t seen the film yet and don’t want any details revealed in advance, go ahead and surf away.

As a writer, I am an avid consumer of content from various media. It enriches and informs my own work in many many ways. However, a particular quirk of mine is the inability to shut off the analytical side of my brain which sifts through everything to understand themes and patterns, their usage towards building a story and achieving the desired climax. Bong’s extraordinary talent lies in the layering of multiple ideas with a single motif as the objective.

Layers of society are portrayed in the three families depicted in the film. The Parks are representative of the wealthy upper classes, living in airy open-space mansions with chauffeurs and housekeepers at their disposal, the ability to hire tutors or buy foreign goods and toys for their children and organise picnics and parties on a whim. They are the aspirational top tier of society. Nice and naive – both because of the advantages that wealth affords them.

The Kim family, on the other hand, live in a small semi-basement apartment typical of the poorer sections of the Korean suburbs. They drift from job to job, subsisting on minimum wage, eager to grasp at any opportunity that comes their way. It is no wonder then that they have no compunctions about worming their way into the employment of the Parks, using underhand means, replacing the previous employees through a combination of lies, fraud and deceit.

Bong’s treatment of the two families is even-handed. Each is a victim of their circumstances, each believes themselves to be functioning in exactly the way they should be given their station in life.

It’s when a third family is added to the mix that things begin to get muddier. If it is at all possible, there is a tier that lies even below that of the poverty inhabited by the Kims. It is that of the previous housekeeper Moon-gwang’s husband, Geun-sae, who has lived in an underground bunker beneath the Parks’ house, not having seen sunlight in four years.

When the bottom two tiers clash, there is no honour amongst thieves. Each is capable and more than willing to destroy the other in a race for survival, while the top tier remains oblivious to the internecine wars beneath them. This fundamental disconnect is once again underlined in the conversation that Mrs Park has with a friend inviting her over for an impromptu party on their lawns, commenting on how lush and green it is after a night of unprecedented rainfall that (unknown to her) has flooded the Kims’ semi-basement with sewage, making it completely uninhabitable.

The differences are little and large, setting each group apart from the other. From housing to food to body odour, each signifies a societal placement several rungs afar. Can these distances be traversed? Can the scholar’s rock presented to the Kim family bring them the wealth it promises?

Hope drives the film to its conclusion, even as tragedy unfolds on the lawns of the beautiful Parks’ home. In an unexpected twist, Mr Kim drives a knife into Mr Park, a knee-jerk reaction to the lack of respect that has underscored every perfectly civil interaction of theirs. A fundamental disrespect for those that lie below, even while they serve, accommodate and aim to please. Mr Kim’s escape into the bunker previously inhabited by Geun-sae is his falling even deeper into the squalor and ignominy that he has tried so hard to climb out of. His son, Ki-woo’s dreams of being wealthy enough to someday buy the same house and rescue his father from its depths, are a painful reminder that while hope can fuel a fantasy, the daily grind of poverty will irrevocably douse those flames.

The ultimate question is: who is the parasite? Geun-sae who survives on the food secreted to him by his housekeeper wife, the Kim family who aspire to a larger share of the proverbial pie, or the Parks who cannot live without the labours of those who wait upon them?

In the end, we are all parasites in one way or another. But hope is the largest parasite of all, for it feeds upon so much, offering so little in return.

Watch this wonderful film, if you haven’t already! If you have, let me know what you thought in the comments below.

Pay it forward

by

In today’s world so many of us are too busy being busy, to actually stop and consider how many times we have been at the receiving end of someone’s goodwill and benevolence.

Well, I, for one, would like to send out a BIG thank you to three people who I will not name, but who have shown me patience, empathy and most importantly, kindness.

A few weeks ago I found myself in a technological nightmare of horrendous proportions. It was something I could not have envisioned and had no way of forestalling. Totally unprepared, I threw myself at the mercy of what I later found out to be computer bots. Receiving standard format answer after standard format answer, I was at my wits’ end, totally frazzled, close to tears, when I approached a friend for help. She, in turn, reached out to a family member who had never met or spoken to me. But, at her behest, he started working upon my problem. Not only did he sort it out, he ensured that everything was up and running my end and that I was completely satisfied with the result.

He didn’t need to do any of it. He didn’t know me, nor did he owe me anything. Yet, he went out of his way to solve my issue. In return, all I could give him was a ‘thank you’. He didn’t want anything more. Kindness.

Meanwhile, my daughter has been suffering from crippling back pain. We have been trying to ascertain the cause for the last seven months, as the pain comes and goes. But while it’s there, it is completely debilitating. She has been given Vitamin D supplements and tonnes of painkillers, really strong ones too, but nobody has been able to get to the bottom of the issue. She has taken so much time off from school that it is becoming a concern. It is her GCSE year, after all.

We have been running from pillar to post, trying to get her an appointment with a rheumatologist or an orthopeadic consultant. With her laid up once again, and us desperate and looking for answers, we had one of our GP’s contact us and reassure us that we would get the appointment we required. Not only was she as good as her word, she wanted to be kept in the loop as she could understand our worry, having a daughter the same age as ours. Empathy.

Alongside, I’ve just started working with an editor on my latest book. Our contract was up until the 10th of September. All the monies have been paid, the work mostly done from her end. It is I who is lagging behind. Caught up in work, travel, family commitments, illnesses, I have not been able to keep my end of the bargain. Yet, she has been incredibly sweet and agreed to extend the deadline several times over. Patience.

All of these are such underrated virtues, but my goodness, what would the world be without them? I am so incredibly fortunate to be the recipient of all of this understanding and graciousness, and feel very humbled by it. There is little I can do for all of these people I’ve mentioned, except say thank you. But what I can do, in my own small way, is to pay it forward. To be kind, patient and empathetic towards another fellow human, maybe someone I don’t know too well, but someone who is in need, as I have been. To do something: reach out, provide a helping hand, unselfishly and without expecting anything in return.

Pay it forward. Isn’t that what humanity is about?

All routes (should) lead to love

by

What an incredible weekend I have just had! My first ever Pride parade and attendance at the Attitude Pride awards. It has been illuminating, educational, poignant and exhilarating.

My first contact with a gay person was at the age of twenty. Trinny was charming, funny and ever so handsome. He was also clearly not interested in women. Having just finished an English literature degree, I had a hazy sense of what homosexuality meant because of the multiple references in the various texts I had studied, but this was the first time I was encountering a homosexual in person. Luckily, having been brought up in a very liberal environment in India, this did not faze me in the slightest. Trinny and I struck up an instant friendship. He brought to the table something my other straight male friends never had – an irreverence, a crazy sense of humour and a complete lack of toxic masculinity. Of course, at the time I wouldn’t have been able to describe it in those terms. All I knew was that I felt completely safe with him and we had a blast together.

Time, circumstances and life moved us apart, but I never forgot my first encounter with a gay person. This was to colour all my future interactions. There was always an immediate sense of kinship and safety, and I relished the cutting sense of humour I inevitably came across. Over the years, I have had many, many gay friends and I consider myself privileged that they have embraced me and accepted me into their fold.

Therefore, it is heart rending to note that even today, in so many parts of the world, they are not accepted. Lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender are just labels. We are all living, breathing human beings underneath all of that. Yet, they are discriminated against, criminalised and marginalised in so many ways, big and small.

At the Attitude Pride awards, each of the winners had intensely moving stories to tell. From losing a lesbian partner to a stray bullet, to being sexually attacked as a man by another man, to having to suffer abuse while playacting as a woman in a gay marriage, to fighting to decriminalise an archaic law against homosexuality in India, each story was powerful and disturbing. Yet, in hugely difficult circumstances, they had overcome all sorts of obstacles and in proudly accepting who they were and what they stood for, forced the world, to not just recognise, but also to reward them for their efforts. I was alternately moved to tears, while cheering them on from the sidelines.

We are who we are. None of us choose our sexuality. It is built into our DNA. So why do we view with contempt those that are different from us? Look at the multiple colours that Nature grants to the world. Doesn’t that make for an exciting and varied life experience for all of us? Imagine if every landscape was the same, if there were only two colours to choose from and if everyday was a repeat of the one before? Wouldn’t we just die of boredom?

The LGBT people amongst us are all the colours of the rainbow. They are what add spice and flavour and beauty to our lives. They are, in their differences, in their multiplicities, in their abundance and profusion, as unique and talented and incredible as any of us.

50 years ago, the Stonewall riots, started a movement, which allowed the LGBT community to fight for their rights and let their true colours fly proudly. 50 years on, the Pride parade is a celebration of all people: it’s about diversity, inclusion, acceptance and most importantly, about love.

Even as I sprinted through the various groups marching in the parade, trying to catch up with my own group, I was struck by how much happiness and love there was in the onlookers and the procession. Everybody who was there wanted to be there. This wasn’t just people wanting to watch a spectacle, this was about people wanting to be a part of history. In supporting the LGBT community, we are paving the way to erode all kinds of discrimination, whether that is on the basis of sexuality, colour, caste or creed.

50 years from now, let us hope that humanity will understand and accept that differences are important. They allow growth, change and progress. In learning to love another, despite all perceived disparities and diversities, we ultimately learn to love ourselves. All routes, must and should, lead to love. ❤️

 

 

The ubiquity of abuse

by

I was having coffee with a bunch of ladies I didn’t really know. A common hobby had brought us together and as we met (some, for the first time) and chatted and ordered coffee and cake, the conversation veered off course as it inevitably does when you put women together. This wasn’t a business luncheon, it was very much a ‘getting to know you’ do. Our common hobby had brought us together, but we wanted to know if there was something else, beyond that, which could connect us.

As we talked backgrounds, languages, cultures, careers, husbands and children, we delved into each other’s lives, hesitantly at first, and then boldly, asking forthright questions and receiving some compelling and often hilarious answers. A sisterhood was emerging right there in that little coffee shop.

Interestingly, because we were, in effect, strangers to one another, there was a frankness and a candour to our conversation. There was no previous baggage nor was there any judgement. Each one was free to divulge as much or as little as they wished. Which is perhaps why some shocking truths emerged.

I have thought long and hard about writing this blog post. Am I betraying these ladies’ confidences if I do? Is this a kind of treachery to the very sisterhood I espouse? Am I worthy of being a confidante if I am unable to zip my lip?

However, upon reflection, I decided that yes, I would indeed write about it. No names or details of the women in question will be revealed here. That is not the purpose of this post. The purpose is to highlight the vulnerability of young children and how, it is so important for us as adults – parents and carers, to be vigilant about any possible signs and symptoms of abuse.

70% of the ladies at that table had been subject to some kind of sexual abuse as children. This ranged from an elderly relative using his trustworthy position in the family to inappropriately touch a child, to older children molesting a young girl in their midst, to a cousin leveraging his way into his sister’s affections to try and rape her.

Where were the adults when all this happened? Oblivious, too trusting or incapable of translating the traumatised child’s words and actions as a symptom of their ordeal.

Following on the heels of the #MeToo movement, the awareness of society’s ability to use and discard vulnerable adults has emerged strongly into the forefront. Yet, child abuse is so much more rampant and ubiquitous than anyone of us could have imagined.

All of these women were educated, erudite professionals who had carved out amazing careers and on the outside looked as put together as anyone else. Yet, fragments of their abusive past still lingered, making them feel ‘less than’ and handicapped in ways that even they could not articulate. If our pasts are the foundations to our future, it must have been doubly hard to build their future on the quicksands of trauma, betrayal and abuse.

I have spoken freely about the kind of sexual harassment I encountered growing up in India. Thankfully, because my mother was a very forward thinking individual, she was particularly circumspect about the adults who had access to me as a child. I had been told time and again to tell her if anything inappropriate was said or done to me. I was amongst the lucky few.

How many others had to stay ‘schtum’ because of the joint families they were growing up in wouldn’t tolerate any rent in its fabric, even if the casualty was a child’s innocence? How many parents believed that shrouding the truth or simply disbelieving the child were the only ways forward? How many ‘uncles’ or manservants got away scot-free because the ‘good name’ of the family was far more important than offering the victim love, support, understanding and challenging the perpetrator’s dirty deeds?

Too many.

Which is why it is so important that we talk about childhood sexual abuse. Children have nothing to be ashamed of. They are completely innocent of any wrong doing. It is the sick and depraved adults who choose and groom their victims alongside their families, that need to be brought to task.

I hope there comes a day when that coffee table conversation will not be limited to the tales of abuse suffered by young children, but will go on to elaborate the punishment society accorded to the abuser, and the counselling that was offered to the child to overcome that early trauma. As things stand right now, most children have to find their own coping mechanisms and unlike my ladies, can and do, spiral into self destructive behaviours.

I am not naive enough to believe that we will eradicate child sexual abuse completely. Wherever there is a power imbalance, abuse will exist and thrive. Sadly, there will also always be individuals with a sexual predilection for children. A multi-pronged approach that includes awareness, education, therapy, counselling, stricter laws and most importantly, a gradual erosion of patriarchy, may bring about the much needed change that will protect our children and ensure a safer future for them.

 

 

My Cup Runneth Over…

by

I started my Guest Blog month in the hope that at least 50% of the people I had contacted for articles (people whose thoughts, lives and words I admired) would get back to me with some material. In actual fact, nearly 80% did! Yes I did pester and harangue them quite a bit (SORRY!) but my goodness, the response! I am humbled, grateful and overwhelmed beyond description.

My month overran, once again, like last time. But I didn’t mind and nor did my readers. It’s refreshing to come to a blog and read something new and unexpected. And boy, were the articles different and the topics varied!

André chronicled his unusual life and path in My unlikely journey to fatherhood. It was honest, heartfelt and emotionally uplifting. The response to his article was phenomenal. People reached out to tell him (and me) how much they admired him for his choices. His love for his children and their mothers shone like a beacon, and I hope it allowed other seemingly unlikely candidates to believe that they too can be mothers and fathers. After all, families come in all shapes and guises. It is love that holds them together.

The ghost in the office was Shantanu’s retelling of a mysterious series of events that occurred in one of his early offices. Does the supernatural exist? For a practical and rational person like Shantanu, nothing can explain away the incident he mentions. Spooky and eerie, sometimes there are things that are beyond the realm of our understanding, and maybe it’s best to leave them as is. What did you make of it?

Diya had a cushy existence till she decided to take the plunge and start teaching a group of underprivileged children in My rendezvous with God’s angels. What she found there was more rewarding than she could have ever expected. Their innocence, their eagerness to learn, their love for their teacher transformed her life. She learned to let go of the petty annoyances that plagued her, and immerse herself in giving back. To this day, it enriches her life in ways big and small.

Making mosaics became more than a hobby for Jyoti. It was an unconventional choice of craft and she encountered more than her fair share of problems, from the paucity of tools to the reluctance of other practitioners to share their skills. As a result, she started her own blog with the aim of helping other beginners and amateurs to source materials, tools and provide guidance in the process as well. Not only does she create the most beautiful mosaics, but also believes in the adage – ‘Gaining knowledge, is the first step to wisdom. Sharing it, is the first step to humanity.’ In Why do I make mosaics? Jyoti’s passion, humanity and humility shine through. She is an incredibly inspirational lady.

The Call of a Siren was an article sent to me by someone who wished to remain anonymous. If you’ve read the article, you will know why. The beauty of it is that this man has turned his life around from that lapse of judgement he details, and today he is an incredibly successful entrepreneur. He is also an avid reader and dabbles in the occasional bit of writing. It was my exhorting him to put pen to paper that created this thrilling recounting of an incident from his 20’s. I’m sure you’d agree that it reads like an episode from an exciting television series. My own heart was thumping as I read it for the first time! My friend, if you’re reading this, write more. You do have a gift.

HeartonWheels is Jeanne’s raison d’etre. She spends half her life in these refugee camps in Greece helping children overcome the trauma of escaping from war torn countries and being separated from their families. In extremely difficult conditions, she tries to fill their lives with laughter and with joy. This is not just a part time job for her, it is a calling. She is invested physically, mentally and emotionally in the well being of her charges. Her dream is to provide free education to all children in such conditions and through her mobile bus, which she is raising funds for, she hopes to realise this dream. Do have a read and contribute to her justgiving page if you can.

To say that Mohana has had an interesting life would be an understatement. A straight A student, who, for many years let her academic qualifications dictate the course of her life, then suddenly, on what seemed like a whim, let her art and talent take her on an entirely different journey. Yet, in her article, Life’s Nudges to Eke an Untrodden Path, Mohana explains how the seeds of this journey had been planted many years ago. The daughter of a renowned dancer, Mohana herself was an exceptionally talented danseuse. But it took many years, and many tiny hints from the Universe for her to realise where her true path lay. Unapologetically spiritual, she incorporates elements of her faith in her dance. There is an unalloyed joy that she transmits to her students through her teaching, that elevates her dance from the ordinary to the extraordinary.

Bharat is a writer I admire immensely. His grasp on the English language is breathtaking. He can bend, twist, transmogrify and transmute words into astonishing combinations of sentences, transporting the reader into worlds where these words dance and twirl around one like whirling dervishes. A man whose imagination is so fertile, so fecund that he can trot out poem after poem without breaking a sweat. Yet, a self confessed procrastinator, it took me close to a year to get him to write about his Vipassana experience. For a man of words, how strange it must have been to have none for ten days. A retreat that is a true test of one’s mettle, but also a retreat that helps one to delve deeper into the self. Bharat’s take on it is part humorous, but there is an underlying awe and a deep love and respect for humanity that comes through. A tale of two beards is more than just about beards, it is about man’s search for meaning and silence in a world that grows louder and more chaotic each day.

Finally, the poignant and heart wrenching The Bus Stop was Joan’s tribute to her mother who suffered from Alzheimers for several years before succumbing to it. Disease of any kind strips the body of its well being and dignity, but Alzheimers strips the mind of everything. To not know oneself, one’s own life forgotten, one’s family becoming strangers, must be a horribly scary and isolating experience. Joan’s poem gives words to the wordless. It is an insight into a lost and wandering mind, trying to find its bearings, trying to grasp fruitlessly at memories that are slipping away. ‘Am I a lost article?’ is what her mother asked her once. Maybe we all are, lost in one way or another. But to be lost to oneself… what could be worse than that?

My Guest Blog month hasn’t quite ended. A colleague, the extremely intelligent, erudite, politically astute, deep thinking Joke Brunt is working on a series of articles on Brexit for me. The month of May will be devoted to her take on what Brexit stands for, and what the ramifications will be, to those of us on both sides of the fence. Do keep reading, keep commenting and stay engaged!

A very BIG thank you to all of my contributors once again.

HeartonWheels – Jeanne Meuwissen

by

The day is Sunday, the 31st of March and I am holding my first cup of coffee of the day, on a balcony in Greece, with a beautiful view of  the mountains and the sea. My name is Jeanne Meuwissen and I am a 52 year old woman from Holland. Don’t worry I am not going through a midlife crisis or trying to do a sequel to the Shirley Valentine movie or Mamma Mia! I would’t like to give people nightmares as my singing talents aren’t that great!!

This Greek story is about a journey that started two years ago and the first stop was my heart. You don’t need a ticket to get on. Just keep on reading…

Everyone at a certain point in their lives (especially around 50) starts to wonder: where is my path going in life? I guess I got a double whammy as I lost a dear friend of mine while I was pondering this question. Midlife for me was like the Universe gently placed her hands upon my shoulders, pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “Find your path… Time is growing short… There are unexplored adventures ahead… It is time to show up and be seen.”

I do have a beautiful life, surrounded by wonderful friends and family, and I am still enjoying my career as a flight attendant after 25 years. But I always felt that there was something that was missing. I do believe everyone on this Earth has been made for some particular work and the desire for that work has been put in every heart.

So, I started looking deep inside my heart and I rediscovered one of my biggest passions again – teaching children. I was a primary school teacher before my flying career, and to me there is nothing as precious as the ability to be able to make someone smile, especially a child. This world is in deep trouble, but as a teacher you do have a big part in making this earth a better place for every child, and education plays a big role.

IMG_7790

It wasn’t a surprise to me then that I got asked by one of my flying partners to come and help her support children from Syria in a refugee camp in northern Greece, close to Thessaloniki.

The first time I drove into such a camp it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my body. Children were living in tents. It was cold in January with no heating and no appropriate clothing. And their stories! What they had been through on their dangerous journey to Greece in dinghies, being ripped away from their family, friends and familiar surroundings. I fought back my tears as I watched these children doing artwork and smiling. I was astonished by their resilience.

IMG_7777

There in the Polikastro camp, as I stood in living conditions that were horrendous, I found that I was still able to laugh and bring joy to these children. I found the light in my heart. I just had to let it burn brightly.

This is where the idea of the HeartonWheels bus originated.

HeartonWheels will be a mobile bus that will provide mobile education for traumatised children in a safe place. As Article 26 of the UN states:
Everyone has a right to education.
Education shall be free, at least in the elementary and fundamental stages.
Elementary education shall be compulsory.

The HeartonWheels Bus will be that safe place where children can regain their childhood again through lots of play, joy and laughter. Play is a universal language that initiates the human spirit into a life of freedom, happiness, unity, balance, humanity and greatness. These children never had a childhood where they could play and be themselves, freely. Their childhoods were, and still are, tainted by war and violence.

IMG_7699

My journey has taken me to some interesting destinations and I am still travelling  through Greece. Right now, I am working in a nursery school in a refugee camp called Malakasa. The children there are mostly from Afghanistan, and although we don’t speak the same language, I do feel we are making a difference in their daily lives by providing them with education in a safe place, where they can regain some of their childhood with lots of  love, learning and laughter included.

IMG_7775

As we have had some bumps in the road like funding and getting permission to go into a camp, the HeartonWheels Bus hasn’t reached its destination yet. Its parking space is still  in my heart. But in the last two years I have experienced so much love and support from my family, friends, flying colleagues and even strangers, through donations, fundraisers, beautifully written cards and comments.

It has kept the light shining bright in my heart and I know for sure, that one day in the not so distant future, I will be pushing the button of the doors on the HeartonWheels Bus to provide a path to a brighter future for all the children on this earth, no matter which religion.

In every religion, there is love. Yet love itself has no religion!

b917f92f-a548-4070-a160-76addae41ad4

If you wish to contribute or follow the route of the HeartonWheels Bus do click on this link:
http://heartonwheels.co

664fb842-0ebe-4cb2-987f-114985f10a73

 

My name is Jeanne Meuwissen.

I am the proud founder of the grass roots company HeartonWheels.
My educational background is in teaching primary school that I combined with my flying career of 25 years. Last year I graduated with a degree in trauma psychology for children.
Since the Syrian war the world has seen the largest humanitarian crisis since the end of World War II and we know there isn’t a short-term solution. For that reason and knowing that almost 51% percent of the 19.5 million refugees are children living in camps where only their basic needs are met, I started volunteering 2 years ago. I worked as a volunteer teacher at Armando Aid school in refugee camp Oinofyta Greece and in Calais with the Schoolbusproject. At the same time I started studying trauma psychology at the Institute Freunde Der Erziehungskunst in Karlsruhe, Germany.
After seeing children living in horrible conditions and having no access to education, I decided to fly part time and move to Greece where I founded my charity called HeartonWheels.
HeartonWheels stands for a school bus that provides First Aid for the Souls of traumatised children through Mobile Education in a Child friendly Space at various refugee camps in Greece. HeartonWheels is establishing itself since October 2018 through working with various organisations throughout Greece at several refugee camps. Right now I am working in a refugee camp called Malakasa 60 km north of Athens together with a fabulous team of Greek Nursery teachers.
But in a lot of camps there aren’t any provisions like this and children are still deprived of their right to education in a safe place. Although this crisis isn’t that present anymore in the daily media it is still an ongoing disaster for many people and won’t disappear as there isn’t a short-term solution. 
Children are still living in situations of deepest despair. Let’s not forget about them so they don’t turn  into a lost generation. Let’s open these doors of The HeartonWheels Bus together and give these children, no matter what religion, a chance to a brighter future by making a donation and keep on following us through this link: