Teenager Meghan Raphael Khasynrap has the potential to be a bestselling author, says Toki Blah

 A NEW young writer seems to have materialized in town.

     ‘The Second Sun, Colliding Worlds’, a science fiction novel written by 14-year-old Meghan Raphael Khasynrap has hit the stands. Brought out by Power Publishers, the book is all about four children with extraordinary terrestrial powers, who find themselves involved in an all out effort to save our sun and this world from a ghastly end. The book is all about mind over matter and how the four friends ultimately carry the day. It is the kind of stuff IT-savvy children of today would love to snuggle in bed with.

     The plot is racy, nimble and quick. Events jump from one episode to the next with rapid fire frequency calling for memory recall that is exquisitely challenging to young fertile imaginative minds. One can safely say that the style and the plot are reminiscent of how the more intricate and complicated video games are required to be played. The only difference with the book is that one has to keep up with the speed of the writer’s imagination.

     Aside from the plot and the modern electronic-conversant school children that the novel portrays, it is the adherence to sentence structure, application of language rules and syntax in general by so young an author that impresses. So is her ability to hold the attention of the reader by the sheer intensity of the story. Taking into account the age and academic background of the young novelist, the fertility of imagination and the ability to translate thoughts into words, it would not be out of context to say here is a budding novelist that one needs to keep an eye on. Great things are expected of her and as a community we wish her the very best.

There is a general lack of awareness about privacy in public places, says Rajib Roy

SHILLONG’S CYBER cafes are abuzz with young people, chatting and emailing with their peers and friends. They are as net-savvy as their counterparts elsewhere but are perhaps shades less conversant with privacy issues. Many get caught in the lottery and e-bonanza traps.

     Many net users Canvas spoke to overlook the terms and conditions while opening an email account or a social networking website before clicking ‘I agree’. Their take: “These privacy policies carry all the unwanted things. So why wasting time on them?”

     Another common refrain is: “These privacy policies are so long that one needs hours to go through them and understand what they mean. For the service provider it is also to be seen if they can provide straightforward and easy-to-understand procedures because users will not spend money in cyber cafes to read policy manuals.”

     Some have no qualms about sharing personal information on websites. “There is no awareness as most users get lured. It is after all a personal choice to share information but the police have issued guidelines in this regard from time to time and we too have displayed notices for the users to follow,” said Narendra Prasad, who runs a cyber café in the city.

     Even experts say that privacy awareness in public places is minimal and quotes the finding of a study made by a group of researchers based at New Delhi’s Indraprastha Institute of Information Technology. “This study says that the respondents’ reaction to privacy is more about mobile phones and internet other than anything else. It is very much true in case of Meghalaya, where users are getting duped day after day,” said technocrat Lasterfield Syiemlieh.

     Further informing about the study he said that regarding other privacy issues related to CCTV cameras in public places and establishments besides ban on clicking pictures in certain places, there is a huge unawareness. “It is so true if you apply it in case of Meghalaya where people hardly know privacy issues that concern the physical, territorial, work places, commercial establishments and other places. People here give their ATM pin to others for transaction, some even write ATM pin on the card holder,” he added.

     He is echoed by Waiphang Dympep, a senior officer of a nationalized bank based in Jowai. Dympep said that lack of public awareness is also because of few or no CCTV cameras unlike in the metros. “Alertness will automatically increae once police start taking action against wrongdoers caught in the CCTV footage,” he said. He added that people, particularly in rural areas, should learn to be wary about dubious financial firms offering get-rich-quick schemes.

     Jayasree Ganguly, an IT professor said it was ironic that a country known for information technology advancements was full of people ignorant about online security. “I have seen people not going through the privacy policy in websites and sharing their personal information without even trying to know the antecedents of those seeking information,” she said.

     However, said academician Ashok Singh, awareness was high among users that one’s date of birth, pet name, house name, mother’s, father’s or close relative’s name should not form part of a password.

A short story by Jarryd Warjri

A SMALL boy looked at the sky and thought to himself, “I wish I could take that and put it in my pocket.”

     The fascination he had with this big piece of the world grew. Through some agreed upon behaviour he looked up to the sky every chance he got.

     His father would look at him and say, “The boy is pointless it seems, he keeps staring into nothing.”

     Try as he might, he could not judge a final activity to further him away from this nothingness. He tried to teach him how to fish, it was still the same, he was more interested in the opaque view of the sky, he loved it when the ripples of the water would distort the refection into so many shrivels, like an old soul grinding into its end, with smirks of blue and white. The colours mixed and intermingled and he glimmered in delight. He would splash the water as soon as it calmed, scaring the fish away back into their little dark homes. Then his father would say it again’ the boy is useless it seems, he keeps staring into nothing’.

     His mother was worried too. She tried to talk to him but he never paid any attention; he was staring at the sky, still admiring and still goggle eyed over this big piece of the world. She tried to pull him out of this obsession but her futile efforts were disrupted by his immense concentration. She cooked for him the best cuisines and dishes, his favourite pasta and special noodles with chicken and red sauce but he was more interested with the clouds that he was setting together in his blue plate. The noodles it seemed were an instrument for the shifting clouds, acting like the winds with their translucent direction and the chicken were shapes of the angels and tortoises like figurines of clouds that were more clearer and precise with their sharp features, the red sauce was contoured to form the shape of a small red plane flying with the clouds at its back and glee filled his heart. He would rearrange it and create other features and the food was left in the plate.

     It was then that his mother said: “Your father is right, you are pointless, you keep staring into nothing.”

     The boy had an uncle from his father’s side, a kind of uncle who would pop up every now and then. One fine day came to visit. He was a man far apart from the surroundings of the boy. He was a traveller, a lover of the world and a man who has acquired a rather quaint wisdom.

     One day he came to visit, as he sat on the porch sipping his tea, his sight came upon the boy, gazing blissfully at the sky. He looked at the boy with great amazement; he asked himself, “Why is this boy so observant of the sky? Does he have the ability to communicate?” Watching the boy as he sat next to him, he wondered: “Why does the boy enjoy this nothingness? Is it the pure deciding factor of his brother and his sister-in-law that this boy is worth nothing and thinks of nothing?”

     He wouldn’t give up though. While the boy walked he stared upwards as if the sky was a mirror that the can use as his vision of the road and when he was spoken to ,he would respond with both eyes fixed on the sky as if it was a make shift television set that was broadcasting a live chat show.

     His uncle delved deeper into his nephews supposed nothingness, he went into the boy’s room and warranted the room as if a court order had been charged, trying to find a device, a gimmick by which he could place blame to the boy’s unending condition. The drawers were empty, the cabinet filled with space, the mattress was only the dwelling of cotton bunnies and rubbish paper and the bed held only the trunks of luggage. He was utterly amazed by the fortitude of this boy to set his mind on one thing without a device or a gimmick. As he sat there heaving a sigh of un-accomplished efforts, he peered through the window that held the boys attention from morning to night. He saw the beauty of the blue sky with its undulating peace and he was awe struck. He traced the skyline to the border of the window and saw the truth. There were scraps of sky posters, he followed them down and saw the scraps of rolled up paper. He walked heavily as if there right before him was the proof of this boy’s obsession. He rolled open the paper and saw the scribbling of blue and white crayon colours, but it was lacking much in rendition and technique. A relief and a pain filled his heart and he walked off the room.

     The next day, the boy’s uncle left early and returned just before dusk. The Boy was on his usual trend, his usual high or his amusement park. The uncle crept heavily towards the Boy like a fat rat trying to scurry across the floor, but he ended up making more noise than that was intended. He walked up to the boy and said, “Oi! Boy! Look here for one moment, will you?”

     The boy answered with his head still up at the sky, “Yes uncle I can hear you.”

     The uncle urged him again, “Oi! Boy, look at me!” The boy answered again with his neck extended more as to give the sky more importance. The uncle tried one last time, “Oi! Boy, I promise if you look at me now you will never need to raise your head so high just to get a better view of this love of yours.”

     The boy lowered his head and to face his uncle. He looked at him and the uncle thrust a package into his hands before leaving. The boy opened it and saw the gift, a simple camera with a note attached:

‘My darling nephew,

     It would seem that you are perpetuated by a single dilemma. You want to recreate the beauty of your love, the sky. There is a whole world filled with the exact beauty you see before you every day. When you are done capturing the sky look down on the earth and capture its beauty too. Use this as an instrument of bringing what you most desire into your hands.

     With love, your uncle’

     The boy took the camera, and with a few short clicks his love was in his hands. He was content and happy. He looked up and looked around; he saw a tree brimming to the top with red flowers, swaying in the wind, beautifully like a colourful flamenco dancer. He looked up at the sky again before lowering his head to take a snap of the beautiful red tree.

Syeda Hameed and Gunjan Veda on the dark clouds over picturesque tea estates

THE UNDULATING terrain of north Bengal resonates with the soft chuckle of river Teesta as it happily skips around its home territory. Narrow, often circuitous, roads yield to criss-crossing rivulets. Hills are carpeted with tea bushes and lush forests. Tea country is a sheer treat. And yet, all this beauty is merely skin deep. It’s a cosmetic cover up for stories of unending despair, narrated in terrifying darkness by distraught tea plantation workers.

     We were eleven women from different walks of life and age groups, the youngest amongst us being twenty-six-years old, the oldest, over seventy. What had brought us together was our growing concern for the tea plantation workers. By the time we had all collected to go to the estates, it was getting dark. We reached our first stop, Ranicherra Tea Estate after 7 p.m.

     It was pitch-dark but we could sense the large crowd which had gathered to meet us. Torches flashed, showing the way to a small hut. By the light of a battery powered bulb, we saw a young girl not more than nineteen or twenty years old. Her face was blank; her eyes had a terrified expression. She clutched a small child in her arms. An older one clung to her sari. ‘This is Lakshmi,’ said a voice out of the dark.

     In her silent presence, the same voice recounted her story. Ten days earlier, Lakshmi had been sitting outside her hut with her husband, Sanyasi Mungeri. Their two sons aged one and four were asleep inside. Suddenly they heard a crash. ‘The elephants… Run!’ shouted Sanyasi. Lakshmi grabbed her sons and ran without looking back. She managed to drag her children to safety. Breathing a sigh of relief she turned towards her husband only to realize that he was not there. The elephants had taken him away. …

     ‘What now? How will you take care of yourself and your sons?’ one of our companions asked gently. Lakshmi remained silent; we could sense she was crying again. Then a woman’s voice answered, ‘Madam, as always the owners simply washed their hands of the incident. Since her husband was not a registered employee, just a bigha mazdoor.’

     ‘Bigha mazdoor?’ we asked.

     ‘Yes. Normally, if an estate needs 1,000 workers during the peak season, only 300 are employed as registered workers. The rest are hired on a daily basis as bigha mazdoors. They find work for three-four days in a week. While a registered worker gets between Rs 50 and 60 a day, bighas earn that much in one week. They are only paid Rs 3 per hour.’

     ‘Rs 3 an hour?’

     ‘Yes. Madamji, even when Sanyasi was alive, this family lived on Rs 12 a day. Now Lakshmi will have to find work as a bigha mazdoor. But she is scared to leave her children alone.’

     ‘What about compensation?’

     ‘The Forest Department gave a compensation of Rs 25,000. But no bank account was opened. The money is lying with the local shop-owner.’

     We turned to Lakshmi. ‘Do you have an Antyodaya card? The one on which you can get ration at Rs 2 per kg?’ Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. We learnt that Lakshmi did not even have a ration card. Her only asset was her ‘house’, plastic sheets strung on bamboo poles. We could find no words of consolation to offer the young girl who sat with her head bowed. …

     After a bumpy half-hour ride, our cars came to the hundred-year-old Nagaisuree Tea Estate, owned by the Goenkas. In the terrifying darkness, we picked our way with great care; someone spoke about snakes and leopards freely wandering around. ‘Leopards always attack the necks of young girls,’ someone said and all of us hurriedly wrapped sari pallus and dupattas around our necks and quickened our pace. ‘Stamp your feet. It’ll keep the snakes away,’ another advised. In the pitch-black we used cell phones to light our path. The people here had never seen electricity. Not once in the last seventy-five years did the tea estate owners think of bringing light into the lives of their plantation workers, we were told.

     We reached a cluster of huts. ‘This is Sujtao Oraon,’ someone told us as another woman came out of the dark. By the light of our cell phones, we saw her face; she must have been in her late forties. ‘It was 3 a.m.,’ she spoke softly. ‘I was sleeping insider my house when they (the elephants) came. See here … they broke the wall, then dragged him.’ It was from his own home that her husband Ram Oraon had been taken away and mauled. ‘Didi, I could do nothing. I hid my five children in the farthest corner of the hut and waited. The elephants must have had their fill, they never came back. Some villagers searched all night.’ She broke down. Someone moved to place an arm around her. ‘His body was found the next day,’ she said, her voice choked with tears.

     Sujtao, we learnt, was luckier than most widows in the area; and there were many of them. She was a registered worker, so Rs 60 per day was confirmed. By now, other shadowy figures had surrounded us. The atmosphere was eerie and, ever so often, we found ourselves straining for sounds of some animal on the prowl. One by one, the shadowy figures (nameless, faceless workers) told us their life in the gardens without bijli (electricity), paani (water) and sometimes even sadak (road). There was no drinking water in this particular labour line. The garden school was up to Class 4. To study further, children had to go to Malbazaar; it took at least one hour by bus. Many had dropped out. The stories of despair and distress seemed unending. By the time we left the estate we were simmering with rage. As we prepared ourselves for another sleepless night, we asked each other where the estate owners were. In their comfortable homes in big cities, where the tragedy of tea workers was too far away to cause discomfort. (WFS)

Himalayas in for ‘mega quake’ this century

A ‘MEGA earthquake’ is likely to strike the Himalayas this century, causing catastrophic landslides and floods and killing more than 40,000 people, Indian and US geologists have warned. Scientists from the National Geophysical Research Institute of India and Stanford University, United States, analysed the fault that separates the Asian and Indian continental plates. Images of the Main Himalayan Thrust (MHT) fault showed that a segment of it dips downwards by 15 degrees, and is steeper and further north than suggested by previous observations. This dip could rupture and cause an earthquake of magnitude 8 or more, often referred to as a mega earthquake. The researchers predict that the segment will break over a larger area of the fault and create a larger magnitude earthquake than previously thought. “The larger the area of the fault that breaks, the more energy is released, and the larger the magnitude of the earthquake,” says Simon Klemperer, professor of geophysics at Stanford University and co-author of the work. “It will happen — the question is when. I would be very surprised if we didn’t have a magnitude 8 earthquake somewhere along the Himalayan Front this century.” The study, presented at the American Geophysical Union Fall Meeting in San Francisco last month, measured ground movements. By placing seismometers closer together in one area, the researchers have been able to produce a more detailed image of the MHT. Klemperer says a big earthquake would start at the top of the sloping segment. “This is in central Nepal — where Kathmandu is — but such a big earthquake would devastate a much larger area. This would cause huge landslides, some of which would dam rivers, and produce large lakes. There would be catastrophic floods,” he says. Brian Tucker, president of GeoHazards International, an organisation that works to improve the seismic safety of Bhutan, northern India, Nepal and Pakistan, agrees that a large earthquake would occur. “We estimated about 40,000 people would die in Kathmandu Valley alone if such a large earthquake struck Nepal 15 years ago when the population of the Kathmandu Valley was about 1.5 million. Since then the population has multiplied many fold and the quality of construction has in general worsened,” he says. Tucker said that to prevent large-scale damage, new hospitals and schools should be designed and built to be resistant to earthquakes, and existing buildings should be strengthened, as well as “developing and enforcing appropriate land use plans and modern building codes”. (SciDev)

India’s ‘model’ shift to inclusive innovation

A LEADING Indian scientist and policymaker is calling on developing countries to adopt an “emerging paradigm” of affordable, less complex and inclusive innovation to promote development and cut poverty. Raghunath Mashelkar, former director-general of India’s Council of Scientific and Industrial Research, and now president of the Global Research Alliance, an organisation that promotes the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs), says India has good models for innovation which are reducing complexity and the cost of goods, and which are leading to social inclusion and access to economic opportunities. In a keynote presentation, he told the Conference on Innovation for Inclusion Development, organised alongside the 6th Conference on Micro Evidence on Innovation and Development recently in Cape Town, South Africa, that the benefits of science must reach the poorest people as part of new thinking to help tackle poverty. “Getting improved goods for less cost to more people while eliminating social disharmony is key to achieving the MDGs,” said Mashelkar, who also chairs India’s National Innovation Foundation. He added that the paradigm shift must avoid technologically advanced products with many features, and instead focus on efficient, high-quality products that create livelihood opportunities for excluded populations. An example he gave is 3nethra, an eye-testing device developed in India that can detect conditions such as cataracts, diabetes and glaucoma. “If we provide a hepatitis B vaccine that is 40 times cheaper, cataract eye surgery 100 times cheaper, open-heart surgery 20 times cheaper and an artificial foot 300 times cheaper, wealth and health for all can be a reality,” said Mashelkar. All these are not dreams and have been done, he told the conference. Parveen Arora, an advisor to India’s department of science and technology, said innovation that supports local enterprises with skills development and finance is critical to innovative products for low-income customers. He noted India’s launch of the US$1 billion Inclusive Innovation Fund, aimed at researchers who consult poor citizens on innovations that could transform their lives. Aroraadded that putting inclusive innovation in educational and research training could be beneficial. Anupam Khanna, chief economist at India’s National Association of Software and Services Companies (NASSCOM), said that technology could transform his country’s ability to provide basic services to the poor, such as healthcare, education and banking. For innovations to work, excluded people must be involved in their development, stressed Fernando Santiago, senior programme at the International Development Research Centre (IDRC) in Canada. “Rural people are smart and we do not engage them enough,” he said. Esperanza Lasagabaster, manager of an innovation, technology and entrepreneurship global practice at the World Bank, added that although companies in large emerging markets are beginning to develop innovations for low-income markets, these are not yet aimed at the very poor. She said research institutes should target the poor while encouraging more private sector investment in innovation programmes. The conference was run by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) and South Africa’s department of science and technology. (SciDev)

Saudi Arabia has seen a rise in the number of working women, says Deepti Lal

SAUDI ARABIA attracts constant criticism from human rights groups for its systemic discrimination against women. Here the Wahabi shariah law and tribal customs combine to create an ultra-conservative society that places many restrictions on them – from segregation to even a ban on driving. The World Economic Forum 2009 Global Gender Gap Report ranked Saudi Arabia 130 out of 134 countries for gender parity; it was the only country to score a zero in the category of political empowerment of women.

     In this very restrained social space are some well-qualified, professional women who are shattering stereotypes. Take Rotana Sobhi Al-Kadi, who works as a research analyst and that too in the mixed gender environment of an investment bank. Married and the mother of a two-year-old, she created her own space in an otherwise male-dominated sector. She doesn’t think it is “unusual” for her to be a part of the workforce. “I never thought that I would only just stay at home. In fact, I was always dreaming about building an outstanding career,” she says. Lucky for her that Rotana never faced any resistance at home and for her working is “to have a finger-print in society. For me, it is very important to be productive”.

     Sameera Ansari, who is of Indian origin, but she grew up in Saudi Arabia disagrees with the fact that it’s uncommon for women to be working in Saudi Aabia, although she concedes that their “options might be limited”. Sameera worked at a research centre of a prominent hospital in Riyadh, which had both male and female staffers. She never checked whether the centre complied with the specific gender segregation rules of the Ministry of Labour and the ‘mutaween’ – the government-authorised religious police, but she adds that even if ever she felt uncomfortable because of the male presence in her workplace then it was something that could “arise for a woman irrespective of the country she is in”. Rotana, too, never really cared to take the trouble of finding out about compliance of these rules; for her “my ‘hijab’ (head covering) along with my way of dealing with others are more important”.

     For Afnan Mohammed Al Wohaibi, a Saudi-French translator who works for the government, her job signifies freedom. She says, “Once I started working, I felt independent, grown up. I have my own money and that makes me feel so much stronger.”

     Afnan was born and brought up in the kingdom and started working soon after graduating, just like the other women in her family. Commenting on the job prospects of women in her country, she says, “Saudi women have been working for 50 years now, especially in the teaching field. But nowadays one can find them almost everywhere.”

     Just like many women around the world, Afnan, too, finds happiness and a sense of fulfillment in having a successful career besides a happy family. Ask her if there was anything she wanted to change about the current system and she says, “Maybe the rule that requires a male guardian’s permission to be able to travel, study or work. If that is eased it would do wonders for empowering women here.”

     Afnan, Rotana and Sameera are indicators of the changing tide in the kingdom. Not only are they emancipated enough to step out of their homes, they are also managing their role as caregivers in the family well. Areej Mahboob Jilani, a Pakistani born to a Saudi mother, feels that “work is a blessing. It gives you independence but more than that, it keeps you busy in a productive activity. Most women can manage their home and family responsibilities along with the job. I believe it’s good to work and utilise the knowledge and skills one has acquired through education.” Areej, who has done her Masters in Islamic Financial Management and has a bachelors degree in Computer Engineering, always observes both the ‘hijab’ (head cover) and ‘niqab’ (veil), which is her way of complying with the Islamic dictate.

     Expats like Annah Abetti from the United States, too feel the change in attitudes. Annah has studied the Middle East and had also taken up Arabic as part of her undergraduate degree. So after finishing graduate school she decided to work in Saudi Arabia as it looked like an interesting place to live in, a place where “not just anyone can come”. With her husband’s support she embarked upon this experiment and has never regretted the decision.

     Annah works on an all-female campus. Talking about her experience she says that “occasionally, a maintenance man will come to the campus and we’ll be ordered to cover up. That makes me feel uncomfortable – all the anxiety surrounding his presence”, otherwise she enjoys the environment. Moreover, working in Saudi Arabia gives her creative, financial and emotional independence; it also gives a sense of purpose.

     Change, however, slow is definitely in the offing for Saudi women – in fact, the monarch recently granted them the right to vote. At present, women are said to make up about 15 per cent of the country’s workforce although most of them are concentrated in female-only workplaces. Mixed gender avenues are gradually on the rise too. There’s also talk of the construction of a dedicated women-only industrial city. Expected to come up in the Eastern Province city of Hofuf, it is set to be the first of several planned for the Gulf kingdom. According to reports, the aim is to allow more women to work and achieve greater financial independence, while maintaining gender segregation.

     Areej feels that a “women-only industrial city is a good move and will create job opportunities for many women. But since for many women the priority is home, husband and kids, we need opportunities where we can do our professional duties without compromising on our obligatory responsibilities.”

     Rotana too finds this to be a good idea especially because “some Saudi women are still looking for a women-only environment to work in”, while Sameera is “hopeful that it will help women to get better, if not equal, salaries in comparison to men.” Annah is a little more skeptical of the move. She says, “If women want to work there and aren’t forced to be there, then it is fine. However, if it sets a precedent for future female cities with the hope that men and women never work together and don’t have the choice to, then there is a problem. I’m not a believer in forced gender separation; however, I’m not opposed to keeping it an option.”

     So whether it is Rotana, Afnan, Areej, Sameera or Annah, women are making their mark in an otherwise conservative society. They still may not be able to drive or go out unescorted, but professionally at least they feel they are going places. These women have the same dreams and aspirations as their counterparts across the globe.

     Contrary to the general view that women in this part of the world have no rights, no freedom, one can see many exemplary women who are living their dream, not to prove a point but just to do what they like doing. Rotana dreams of doing her Ph.D soon and becoming a faculty member at the King Abdul-Aziz University, one of kingdom’s best educational institutes, while Areej may have “no specific long term plan, but I always like to learn more, advance professionally and enhance my skills”. (WFS)

Jessie Promilla Iyenger provides a first person account of her sister’s struggle in New Zealand

SHE SAT in the garden under the apple tree, in her wheelchair, reading a detective story. The back of the book summary told the story: Murders, an illicit love affair and a family in turmoil. I went out to join her in the March autumn sun, and said, “Jess, what’s the book about?” “I just can’t figure it out,” she said and continued reading. We were in Masterton, New Zealand. Pixie, her husband, and I, her sister, took this as lack of concentration.

     Next day was Good Friday. A plump, hearty, smiling lady came to the door. “I’ve brought some things for Promilla (Jess’ other name) and Pixie,” she said. Pixie greeted Anne warmly but didn’t introduce us. I wheeled Jess in. In a rather automatic way Jess said, “Hello, how are you? How nice to see you.”

     Pixie chatted on while Anne gave him news from Ekatahuna, a village north of Masterton where she lived. Anne had brought Easter goodies – lemon curd (which isn’t curd at all but a tangy spread like a conserve or jam), Easter eggs, and hot cross buns. How very kind of her, I thought. I whispered to Jess, “Who is she?” She replied, “I’ve never seen her before.” Strange, I thought, Anne seemed to know everything about Jess.

     Later, I asked Pixie about her. He told me the story. Jess, a doctor, and Pixie, who had left a lucrative job with a shipping company to help Jess in her country practice, had lived in Ekatahuna. Anne and her family were Jess’ patients. Early one morning, Anne had gone to feed the hens. On her way back to the farmhouse she was knocked down by a reversing tractor. She had fractured her legs and arms. Jess was called. She made her comfortable and called the flying ambulance to take her to the main hospital in Wellington. Jess stayed with Anne, comforting her until the helicopter arrived. Since then, Anne has been bringing goodies at Easter, at Christmas, on Jess’ and Pixie’s birthdays. On a subsequent visit, she told me, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to Promilla. She saved my life.”

     Now, many years later, Jess said she didn’t know Anne. Did we take this as an indication that something was wrong? No. We just did not guess what the problem could be. Partly, I suspect, because Pixie couldn’t face the thought that something was drastically wrong.

     The next day her confusion increased after a walk in her wheelchair. “This is not my house,” she said on her return. “Yes it is,” said Pixie and I in unison. “Look – all your lovely paintings on the walls, and look at the lovely piece of onyx on the table you had yourself bought long ago.”

     That evening was the turning point. It made us see a pattern in her behaviour. And we were no longer rationalising every incident. It was a tough night for Pixie. This was the beginning of the time when he would lose his much-loved wife of over-half-a-century.

     When Jess – Jessie Promilla Iyengar – was young she excelled in her studies, won medals at medical college in Delhi and was the youngest Professor of Pathology in Bombay (now Mumbai). When Pixie’s shipping company transferred him to New Zealand, she settled her two teenage sons in the new environment and worked in the Wellington Hospital. She later decided to do a country practice in Ekatahuna, documented her work and persuaded the government that every case did not require a doctor to see each patient, as required by law. Primary health care, she argued, whereby a nurse/midwife could deal with most patients, was relevant to a sparsely populated New Zealand as it was being practiced in most developing and other developed countries. The government changed the law. She learnt homeopathy, acupuncture and acupressure, and counselling and used these in her practice. I believe these were her happiest and fulfilled days in New Zealand.

     Jess and Pixie retired to Masterton. From 2003 onwards, she began to lose her memory, very gradually at first and then with more falls and fractures, her mobility became restricted and her brain began to play games with her. I had been a few times to visit them and, in 2006, I went again to help Pixie to care for her. After these incidences, it was clear she required medical attention, and we suspected that Alzheimer’s had taken control of her.

     Next morning as Pixie called doctors and friends, I sat chatting with Jess at the dining table. I said, “Let’s play some games.” My grandson, when six years old, loved playing making words from a jumble of letters. “Let’s see how many words we can make with this wheel of letters?” I said. “I don’t know. I can’t make any,” she said. I went to my bedroom and wept. I had lost my sister. Her thoughts slipped away before she could articulate them into words like “Turn on the electric blanket” or “Give me water”.

     Some days she was more lucid or so it appeared. She used to complain earlier of pain in her joints. She didn’t any longer. Had the pain stopped? Research suggests that pain does not decrease in people with Alzheimer’s. They are just not able to express their feelings about pain. Where is the excitement of listening to a good piece of music, of seeing the rising sun, of smelling the fragrance of a jonquil flower? There is but sameness in the response. And it hurt me, made me sad to watch. Does a person exist solely in the brain and its activities, leaving behind a body, which moves and appears to be normal, but is empty? All her energy was required for survival.

     By the end of March 2006, she was unable to walk and was pushed by Pixie or me in the wheelchair. She had lost the fight for mobility and her memory was rapidly going. Her universe now was the bedroom, the bathroom, the living room and the dining room, with periods in the sun if the weather was good outdoors. Fortunately, Jess and Pixie had a caring, warm circle of friends, who were proving to be helpful in this rapidly developing crisis.

     After tests, Jess was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. The doctor prescribed drugs for mild to moderately severe Alzheimer’s Disease. Jess took the drugs for a week. Her hands and one leg began to shake, which may have been due to the medicine. Her doctor suggested that the drug be stopped for a week. But even then the shaking did not stop. Should she go back onto the medicine? Pixie had to decide. He decided to keep her on the drug, even though the health services would not pay for this expensive medicine. Jess was deteriorating everyday. Now she was forgetting things like brushing her teeth. Day and night nurses were looking after her. Pixie still felt he should be there all the time, taking care of her at home with tremendous love and gentleness.

     I had to return to India. I left. The deterioration continued through the winter months until she became bed-ridden. She died in October of 2006, five months after I was with her.

     Pixie and Jess loved each other dearly and were always together in their final decades. Life without her was more than miserable for Pixie, even the pain and tiredness of the last year of caring for her was missed. He found no reason to live, and in little more than a year after her death he passed away, bereft of his much loved wife. He was buried next to her in the Masterton cemetery. (WFS)

1. Aditya Deb, Class 4B, St Edmund’s School

1.2.  Rishab Deb Nath, Class 5, St Peter’s School

1.3.  Paul Mac Sohtun, Class 6B, St Dominic’s School

1.4.  Aniket Chhetri, Class 2B, Step by Step School

1.5.  Marbhah Wann, Class 5, LPH School

1.6.  Aryan Bawa Lynrah, Class 2A, St Edmund’s School

1.7.  Ilamon Thangkhiew, Class ?, Meghalaya Police Public School

1.8.  Kyrsoi Risa Mawlong, Class 4, St Margaret’s HS School

1.9.  Archana Roy, Class 4A, KV Happy Valley

1.10.  Megh Singh, Class 8, Arya Vidyalaya Secondary School

1.11.  Adameshem Z Sohliya, Class KG-B, St Edmund’s School

1.12.  Shima Das, Class 9, Laban Bengalee Girls’ HS School