Dear IF readers,

On my way home from Disney this past week, John and I listened to a wonderful program featuring DJ Rekha and the music of Bhangra on NPR. Go to NPR and read Scott Simon’s wonderful feature of Rekha Malhotra aka DJ Rekha at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=19087315.

After you read this small piece about Bhangra, please go to DJ Rekha’s site to hear her Basement Bhangra Anthem. Ohhh, there is no way to sit still…

Wonderful wonderful music from India and Punjabi. I pulled something off of Wikipedia, www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhangra. Here is a small peek at Bhangra. But you must hear it to understand. In music as in this music, it is not the words but the melody, the beat.

Source: Wikipedia

“Bhangra, in the traditional sense, is a folk dance and not a music form though now it is seen to refer to both to the music and the dance. It depends heavily on percussion and originated from classical Indian music.

Bhangra began as a part of harvest and vaisakhi festival celebrations, and found its way to the performance stage after the division of the Punjab in 1947. The Punjabi dance performed at this time in ecstasy with the beat of Dhol came to be known as Bhangra. The tradition spread slowly to other parts of the region and developed into a unique folk dance form. Bhangra has come of age and is now performed at every major celebration and in clubs etc.

Traditional Bhangra is a fusion of music, singing and the beat of the dhol drum, a single stringed instrument called the iktar (ektara), the tumbi and the chimta. The accompanying songs are small couplets written in the Punjabi language called bolis. They relate to harvest celebration, love, patriotism or current social issues.

In Punjabi folk music, the dhol’s smaller cousin, the dholki, was nearly always used to provide the main beat. Nowadays the dhol is used more frequently, with and without the dholki. Additional percussion, including tabla, is less frequently used in bhangra as a solo instrument but is sometimes used to accompany the dhol and dholki.

As many Bhangra lyrics reflect the long and often tumultuous history of the Punjab, knowledge of Punjabi history offers important insights into the meaning of the music. During the last thirty years, Bhangra has enjoyed a surge in popularity worldwide, both in traditional form and as a fusion with genres such as hip-hop, house, and reggae.

As we close this month of February at IF mag, I hope you have seen pictures of places in Thailand and Myanmar, heard music from Bhangra/DJ Rekha and World Music Network, jotted down the recipes of Kamal, and enjoyed the latest stop on our world tour in Southeast Asia.”

Gratefully yours, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

I cannot claim to know Castro or his Cuba.  I know Marta’s Cuba.  Marta is the godmother to my children and a surrogate mother of mine.  Her story, “Marta and her Cuba” was my launch story for the inaugural issue of International Family Magazine in November, 2005.  I traveled to Boston on an Amtrak with my two sons, Brody was 13 months old, Jax, 3 years old.  I wanted to sit with Marta on her sixtieth birthday to celebrate her and her life.  I asked her to tell me the story of her life in detail.  I had heard pieces over the years but wanted every detail, every breadth.  Marta had been my heroine for many years and I wanted to know how she had learned such courage, wisdom and compassion.

That evening as my baby sons slept, Marta and I sat up and I heard her life story.  A large part of her story was a paradise start to life in Cuba with her loving family and their neighbors, friends and thriving business.  Their immediately family numbered four, but there was always more around, and that suited Marta’s family just fine.  The family owned a store and helped everyone they knew and shared their prosperity and love.  And then one day, Castro arrived and a new chapter in
Marta’s family life exploded.  Marta was a young girl and yet she would leave that childhood behind to emancipate her family to the United States.  Besides the seizure of property, the deaths at the “paredon”, the wall and the money change, Castro made children over 5 the property of the government as well.

As I listened to Marta, she became the young girl again and her eyes burned with indignation at the loss of her family’s business, the powerlessness of those that had carried such authority in her life, and the fear and violence that had replaced paradise.  This bit of pride and self-esteem carried her to United States at the young age of 15 when girls should be celebrating their “Quince” (sweet 15) parties and thinking of nothing but childhood fun, and what dress to wear.  Marta, then Little Marta, spent the next 15 years working in factories to get her family to safety.  Much tragedy and loss ensued.  But after many years, Marta succeeded and the family arrived and was housed again with gardens of fruit trees.

Marta has always worked to maintain the traditions of her family.  She has worked hard, made sure that no one under her care went without, put heaps of food and plenty on the table, and left the door open to anyone in need.  But I know she has always missed the paradise of her youth before Castro.  I have heard Marta wonder aloud what it would be like to dance again in the beauty of Cuba without the fear, and the powerlessness and violence.  I think she wonders about her own mama who has lived into her nineties here in the U.S., will Marta ever be able to show Alsina the old fruit trees in the gardens of her homeland?

Castro has stepped down and his brother remains.  I think today about what that means for Marta’s Cuba.
Gratefully yours, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

This is our month of youth. I have wanted to share some of my observations about youth for awhile now, about five years exactly. What I am observing in my children and reflecting back on my own childhood is that - youth is primal. What I mean is, my children are young and innocent and naive but they are primal which can make them challenging and even scary. When I first brought Jax home from the hospital, like most babies, he cried and cried and cried. Objectively and intellectually I could understand that 9 months inside of me and the first few days out in civilization was a monumental change and a crisis for my first born son. But his cries versus a well versed dialogue together on his needs, was disturbing. I say that and it sounds funny, but it is the truth. And now he is five, and no he doesn’t cry all day like he did when he was first born, and he is more civilized and more developed, but now is a five year old primal. He is greedy and selfish and there is never anything that is enough. And he is a tremendously charming, loving, empathetic, smart, engaged, enjoyable, conversationalist, humanitarian, lawyer, vet, and orator. But he is five and primal nonetheless.

I am on my family vacation in Disney. My two sons, Brody and Jax are in heaven. And I am enjoying this very much, and smiling and warmed by their delight. But I am also amazed by how little gratitude, and how greedy and whiny they are in the midst of paradise. They are three and five, and primal. This is the best they can be at their age and although they will continue to develop and mature and civilize, these primal tendencies can be so challenging. We want to rationalize to our children but at 3 and five these are brief moments of success. The greatest victory is to hear my five year old Jax, giving the same rationalizations to Brody, my three year old. Aaaahhhh! Maybe something has gotten through. But to say primal is to say that they are human at the most base level, which resembles something more like nature than something civilized and rational. Thank goodness Disney afforded me a wide panoramic view of dozens of other families visiting Disney from many of the seven continents and all of them in many different languages were grappling with the same conundrum. At what point does my intelligent human child resemble something different than a newborn puppy? Cute, cuddling and with no social boundaries whatsoever. Primal.

And that was my day at Disney.

Happy child-rearing to all, thank goodness they were made so adorable and smell so good, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

Grandma Ellen here.

Today is February 14, Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day has always been a special day in our home, celebrated with much love and thought. And we have passed on the special Valentine’s Day sentiments to our children and grandchildren. I send each of our three grandchildren a card as well as a gift. This year our granddaughters (ages 11 and 9) received spring handbags, and our grandson got a new Webkinz animal. He spends hours at the computer playing Webkinz games; so I hope he likes the cute black-faced tan bull dog that I sent him.

Madeleine sent me the most touching Valentine I have ever received today. (She is the granddaughter who appears with me at the head of my column). The front and back of the hand-made card are attached with a ribbon decorated with hearts. The front of the card has a lace doily inside of which are three red hearts. The inside of the card has a hand-drawn picture of me on the top and a flower sticker on the bottom. Above the flower Madeleine has written, “Dear Grammy, You are like a flower in my heart. Happy Valentine’s Day. Love, Madeleine”. Never did I dream that grandparenthood would bring such heart-soaring occasions.

Madeleine and I have always had a special connection. It is, I think, because of what happened when I went up to help look after her just after she was born. New-born Madeleine was fine in the hospital – sleeping, nursing and doing all the rest of the appropriate infant activities. But by the time I arrived, when she was three days old and beginning her new life at home with her parents, she cried all the time. It was obvious that she was hungry, and so her mother would try and nurse her. But her milk hadn’t come in yet, and Baby Madeleine clearly was not getting enough nourishment. My inclination was to give her some formula, but my daughter, who consulted the pediatrician, a lactation consultant, a representation from La Leche League, and a nurse from the hospital, to name just a few, was told not to give her anything but water less she then refuse to nurse. So she cried and cried and cried for two days, with time out for brief naps brought on by exhaustion. Finally, I said that I didn’t care what all the experts opined, it was obvious that the poor infant was starving and I gave her some formula. She gulped down three ounces, after which she had that wonderful, sated drunk, look that newborns have, and dropped off to sleep. She was so tired by then, though, that she would not wake up to nurse. And after another worrisome day, I suggested that she ought to be taken to the pediatrician. When he saw her, he said that she had come pretty close to having to return to the hospital to be rehydrated. Needless to say, her mother was angry, indeed, at all the experts, and she says that I saved her daughter’s life.

Well, the above scenario has led to a very special relationship between this granddaughter and me. She is a remarkable human being, to boot – caring, insightful, kind, sweet. I often feel that she is too good for this world, and I worry that she will be hurt as she grows into her teen years.

But, for today, my heart dances with the heart-felt gift she has made me, and I feel blessed to call her granddaughter.

Well wishes and fulfilling lives, and today, a special Happy Valentine’s Day wish to all our IFMag readers.

Grandma Ellen

CORRECTION – My apologies, I only cut and paste the first page of Venkatesan Vembu’s review of Reeti Gadekar’s debut novel, “Families at Home”. I received a kind and gentle reminder from the reviewer on this, and so I am very sorry and am reprinting the review in its entirety.

DNA - Daily News & Analysis
Source: http://www.dnaindia.com/report.asp?newsid=1133049

New Delhi author opens new chapter with debut novel
Venkatesan Vembu
Wednesday, November 14, 2007 03:59 IST

Reeti Gadekar’s Families at Home was shortlisted for the Man Asian literary prize. The book has earned her critical acclaim

HONG KONG: Reeti Gadekar is living a dream: the writer from New Delhi saw her debut novel, Families at Home, shortlisted for the Man Asian literary prize, billed as the “Booker Prize for Asia.” And although the $10,000 prize, announced over the weekend, eventually went to retired Chinese academic Jiang Rong, Gadekar is savouring the sweet taste of literary acclaim.

Gadekar, who holds a PhD in German literature from the Jawaharlal Nehru University and has worked as librarian, translator and German teacher, began writing last year “for no reason other than that I would enjoy my love of literature rather more if I got a little more intimately involved with it.” Prior to that, she’d done “no writing whatsoever,” she confessed to DNA in Hong Kong, where she’d come for the prize ceremony.
“I wrote some parts of the novel when I was in Germany,” recalls Gadekar. “But I found it difficult to make the mental switch between German and English… The words just didn’t come.” Families at Home, a work of humorous crime fiction in the Inspector Ghote mould made famous by HRF Keating, begins with the apparent ‘suicide’ of a young woman from a leading family in New Delhi. “But the bigger story — beyond the strands that run through it — is about access to justice, about how different people have access to different kinds of justice,” says Gadekar of her as-yet-unpublished novel.

The Man Asian prize judges noted that Gadekar’s work was a “robustly humorous intrigue that delves into the murky corners of modern Delhi.” The “rich cast of characters”, they added, “is evoked with satirical gusto and the social analysis is sharp and spirited.”
When Gadekar first heard of the Man Asian literary prize, which focuses on new works as yet unpublished in English and is aimed at encouraging the publication of more works by Asian writers, she was still working on her novel. “But I had the option of handing in just 10,000 words with my entry, which is what I did.” Some 243 submissions were received from across Asia, including from well-established writers; Gadekar’s entry made it to the ‘longlist’ of 23, as did 10 others from India.

“I was pleasantly shocked when I made it to the ‘longlist’,” recalls Gadekar. “That’s because it’s difficult to get honest feedback on your work. People you know are going to say it’s great, and no publisher or agent was willing to read it. I tried to get agencies to read my work when I was on the longlist, but no one even responded.”

That, however, has changed since Gadekar’s novel made it to the shortlist. “Some very nice publishing houses have asked to read it,” says Gadekar, who hopes to wrap up a deal with one of them. And after that? “I’m already trying to conceptualise my next work,” says the novelist who has had a dream debut.

Dear IF readers,

I googled around to find Reeti Gadekar, a celebrated new novelist from New Delhi, India who was on the short list of the Asian Literary Prize Winners. I found this great piece by DNA, http://www.dnaindia.com/report.asp?newsid=1133049.

I have cut and pasted the below directly as written by Venkatesan Vembu, for DNA. I am searching for the book to purchse, I understand it is being published. I will share with you its distribution. Here is the review -

New Delhi author opens new chapter with debut novel
Venkatesan Vembu
Wednesday, November 14, 2007 03:59 IST

“Reeti Gadekar’s Families at Home was shortlisted for the Man Asian literary prize. The book has earned her critical acclaim
HONG KONG: Reeti Gadekar is living a dream: the writer from New Delhi saw her debut novel, Families at Home, shortlisted for the Man Asian literary prize, billed as the “Booker Prize for Asia.” And although the $10,000 prize, announced over the weekend, eventually went to retired Chinese academic Jiang Rong, Gadekar is savouring the sweet taste of literary acclaim.
Gadekar, who holds a PhD in German literature from the Jawaharlal Nehru University and has worked as librarian, translator and German teacher, began writing last year “for no reason other than that I would enjoy my love of literature rather more if I got a little more intimately involved with it.” Prior to that, she’d done “no writing whatsoever,” she confessed to DNA in Hong Kong, where she’d come for the prize ceremony.
“I wrote some parts of the novel when I was in Germany,” recalls Gadekar. “But I found it difficult to make the mental switch between German and English… The words just didn’t come.” Families at Home, a work of humorous crime fiction in the Inspector Ghote mould made famous by HRF Keating, begins with the apparent ‘suicide’ of a young woman from a leading family in New Delhi. “But the bigger story — beyond the strands that run through it — is about access to justice, about how different people have access to different kinds of justice,” says Gadekar of her as-yet-unpublished novel. ”

Thank you Reeti. Thank you Venkatesan. Good reading IF Mag, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

It was in my youth that I found India. Upon entrance to University of Colorado, Boulder in 1987 as a transfer student, my small world of white, middle class, upbringing exploded and I met the rest of the world. I found it on a large, diverse campus of my choosing and the classes and books that I began to experience. One of those books was Dominique Lapierre’s 1985 City of Joy. Tonight when I revisited the book on Amazon, I clicked through to Lapierre’s charitable organization, www.cityofjoyaid.org. The story of Dominque and Dominique Lapierre’s work in India is as fascinating as his story. Please go to the site, donate, buy a book in which 50% royalties go to helping the children of lepers of Calcutta, you will fufill your mind and your heart.

City of Joy is a book about a slum in Calcutta, a medical clinic assisting lepers and a rickshaw puller. I remember the passion and the tenacity of the father in the book. I remember the traditions of Indian life that gave meaning to marriage and meals and spirituality that I had not known in my upbringing. I was raised in a non-cultural upbringing of five non-biologically related persons where possibly my parents felt it would alienate their adopted children to remember their Irish roots, or they had let their roots go long before we had arrived, I never asked.

The book City of Joy touched my soul in a way that re-ignited my soul to live and travel abroad again. I had been raised in the U.K. until I was six, and after my parents returned, my family had never traveled overseas again. I began to think it had been too long living in my small box of a life and I began to make plans.

A few years later, I was teaching English in Barcelona, Spain and I met India again. Truth be told, I am not as much a fan of Paella as Dal (I am not a mussels fan), and so I found myself out again and again at the local restaurant that served Indian food, and played Indian pop music videos. I loved the music and the food. The restaurant was stone with lit fire-torches and a dark back room, and sometimes, I imagined I would make my way to India as well. My son Brody is three, and I will begin to travel with him when he is five, and Jax is seven, I hope to make it there on one of my first trips abroad.

In the meantime, I listen to music that takes me abroad, Rough Guide’s World Music Network has a brilliant CD, “Indian Lounge”, fabulous - http://www.worldmusic.net/wmn/news/item/indian-lounge.

Dear IF readers,

There is much good response to our January and February issues. People are getting involved in the dialogue and that is the dream of IF Mag come true. Stories from every household and voices of every heart, so that in the end, we are very much the same, not very different at all.

I received a comment from February 5th’s blog, “Editor’s Note”

“Dear Cat,

I had also read the latest posting on the blog…. very thought provoking indeed.
I also pray that hopes never die and at the same time they all become reality very soon.Very timely and great mag. SP, India”

And Grandma Ellen has been getting feedback as well,

“Dear Ellen,

Thanks for a thoughtful global survey. My parents had the means to make their own arrangements. Their experiences caring for their own parents influenced their thinking and choices. My father wanted to stay in their home. He died before my mother, so she was able to manage hospice care in their home, This liberated her to follow her own inclination, to move to a retirement community, where she let go of thinking about the water in the basement and the snow on the street, the sidewalk, and her car. She died peacefully there several years later. Both of my parents were in generally good health until the last few months of their lives.

All of this worked especially well because my brothers, my sisters, and I lived nearby. We were available not only during their last illnesses, but also for fun, for family gatherings, for casual hanging out. My mother and I liked to visit museums together. My father was a passionate gardener.

I live in what seems to be a naturally occurring retirement community. Grocery, bookstore, post office, pharmacy, library, hardware store, restaurant, places of worship are all within a few blocks of my home. More amenities are a short drive away. My oldest neighbor died a year ago, at 94. His family made sure that he was where he wanted to be, as safe as possible, in as much control of his life as possible. Maintaining his home was a problem. They were determined that it would not fall down on his head, and he was determined that they would not intrude on his personal domain. It worked out, and this neighborhood, very connected, was able to help.

I could stay here. I could choose among several fine retirement communities, all of which unfortunately are in the suburbs. I’m a city person. If they would give me Georgia O’Keeffe’s home in Abiquiu, NM, I would go there cheerfully.

Baltimore, MD, USA”

And now to turn to our February issue and get some thoughts and dialogue going on youth. Has anyone experienced prejudice over a large family or a small family? Has anyone had trouble with their teens and drugs?? Has anyone experienced the frustration of the college process?

Write to us, tell us your thoughts. Gratefully, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

Each day I work on International Family Magazine, I work as a mother, and as a teacher. Each day I go into the kitchen and start my day over with my children. No matter what happened the day before, I get up early and start breakfast with all the love in my heart for my kids. I care deeply that one meal a day is warm, homemade and with all the food groups. For this morning person, its breakfast. And as the day unfolds and we are hurrying around and there are pee pee accidents, and crying, and “its not fair”, I try and remember that moment in the quiet of the morning when I am cooking and it was perfect because it was a moment of pure hope and good intention.

I go into a classroom of students, and I have a bag of lessons, and tricks, and music, and games, and whatever I think will capture the attention of pre-teen, teenagers in middle school that’s heads are so noisy. I try to learn each student’s name and think of them as individuals with victories, challenges, and a very unique story all their own. And when the class clown gets up and challenges me, I try to imagine that he or she is somewhere needing attention and not getting their needs met. That usually lasts a couple rounds and then of course, detention is handed out, referrals are written and even the Assistant Principal’s awe-inspiring threats of removal get tossed around. Again, the best intentions can get side-tracked.

For the last 27 months, in-between my babies teething, studying for the Masters in Education, and the teaching, there has been this pure hope of a different family magazine. International Family Magazine was born from the idea that families just couldn’t fit into a perfect holiday or a perfect cupcake. International Family Magazine was created so that when another father, mother, grandparent, teen went to reach for something to understand their less than perfect family and home, something would be there for them to grab. International Family Magazine was the answer to a hopeless day in 2001 when walking home from downtown Manhattan, I need desperately to believe there was something that connected us all: family.

Tonight as my boys sleep and Papa watches the news, I have no idea if ever a single advertiser will ever share this vision for a family magazine. Maybe IF Mag’s stories, these words will simply become memorabilia for my old age. And yet these months have been filled with hope and pure intention. Hope is energizing. IF Mag is my hope, my children are my hope, and my students are my hope. Here is to never letting hope die.

Gratefully yours, Cat Wayland

Dear IF readers,

Life has ups and downs, and family life offers the highest highs and the lowest lows. In our family this week is someone who is suffering greatly. So much so, that she cried out in a way that landed her in the hospital on a five day certificate. She did not actually physically harm herself, but threatened to. Her depression has been nurtured alongside a lifetime of illness, handicap, and limitations. I cannot say that I understand her pain as that would be arrogant. I want to help so much but this week realized how individual each person’s journey is. As much as we love anyone, we cannot heal them, and this is one of the greatest pains I have found in family life, friendship and intimacy. I believe so much in the commitment of family, staying close and not running away or abandoning, but how close you can get to someone or how much space is between each of us, is a profound mystery to me.

This week, my husband and I were asked to stand still and not to run towards the epicenter of the pain, not to try and rescue. This was hard. This was not my instinct. Nor my second thought either. But I was not on the frontline and so I had to honor those who were. So I called each day, and sent flowers and said my prayers for support. And my stomach never rested and my sleep offered very little peace. And each day, I had my boys, my husband, my work and property to engage with some level of attention, nurturing and efficiency. And so this is family life in a down cycle, and we hold on until the storm is over. Right now we are in the eye of the storm, and so we stand still, keep as safe as we can, say prayers, hope and wait.

Good reading and blessings, Cat Wayland, cat@internationalfamilymag.com