Invitation Card

It is wedding season time. Almost all the invitation cards that I have received are bulky, stiff and trace the family tree and other sundry details.

One card caught my attention and provoked this post. It had cloth, crystals, gilt and a thick coloured string too. The bulky cream envelope had another envelope inside it. Part of it was covered in sheer organza material. On opening, out popped two cards which had the past and present employment details of not only the bridal couple but also their parents and grandparents! The grandparents had retired from their jobs, and this detail too was mentioned. By the time one had navigated through the maze of private and government institutions, one forgot the purpose of the card. Do employment details or the lack of it influence one's decision to attend a wedding?! The card ended with "best compliments from loving brother". Isn't a wedding invite all about love and affection? Or does it have to be specially announced?

I mentioned about this trend of printing bulky, expensive and information-overloaded cards to Ponnu. She said, "Don't you know, a card is a forerunner to the majesty of a wedding?" I thought I hadn't heard right. I looked at her surprised. "It is all about announcing – now look forward to something even grander." Does it matter? "It is like the argument -- should anyone except close relatives and friends be invited for a wedding,” she remarked.

A friend is getting married next month. We got talking about his wedding plans and I asked him casually about his wedding card. "It is a vertical card," he said. What was special about that? "It is a vertical card printed on thin card paper. You know, a wedding card is also about the address to the venue. A vertical card makes it easy to fold and place it in your pocket or wallet." A card for convenience. Interesting concept.

Overkill

When you like someone or a thing, don’t like it too much. It will be overkill. Hold back. Not my belief. Ponnu’s advice.

I don’t quite understand what Ponnu is saying. When you like someone or a thing, you just go on liking, or don’t you? You like and you make that liking apparent. Hold back? Whatever for?! Ponnu says, “To make that liking last.” Sounded like the echo of an oh-so-long-ago lecture from the economics professor in college on diminishing returns.

I don’t want to dwell on whether Ponnu is right or I am right. I like to make my liking apparent -- to a book, a piece of music, a person and even food. If I want to eat a particular chocolate now; I indulge it. No nibbling on a small piece and then craving for it later. Or better still, no nibbling and being satiated with that.

I ask Ponnu to download songs that are my favourite and I listen to them on my iPod. After a few minutes of seeing me hear it, she will call out,`Which song are you listening to?” I say, “The same one you downloaded now.” She will go, “Oho! You are going to kill the desire for that song soon by listening to it so many times.” I say, “Better to kill it if it has to be, and move on to other things. Why go back to the same thing again and again, if you think it will be killed on that account alone?”

But I haven’t told Ponnu that no matter how many times I have told her, `I love you’ in a day or in the few years that she has been with me, I have never tired of saying it. I have never felt diminished love seeing her sleep curled up or on her back, or at times shaking her blanket-bound body and thinking it is her feet, only to find it is her shoulder for she turned 360 degrees in the night – and then waking her up saying, `Good Morning Princess. Wake up, it is morning already’. I look forward to doing this every day. It has not become a chore.

I have admonished her countless times and at others sulked, when she has refused to eat her breakfast and run off to college; and still continue doing that without giving up on my efforts or letting her `no time to eat now Ma,’ stop me from trying to get her to eat something.

The best time of the day is when we sit and talk of things that she likes or has caught her eye – be it a wooden earring that she bought from a vendor in the train to the coffee at her favourite roadside stall opposite her college – `You know Ma, that’s the best coffee in the world. You must try it once’. Then she will look at me again and say, `Don’t think just because Vishnu (the coffee guy) is selling it from a tapri (never heard that word before), it is no good’. I look forward to our conversations, even on those busy days when we just manage to have a few words in the night.

The dreams she weaves and lets me in on them –‘One day I will open a book shop and call it Serendipity. Hey Ma, what do you think of that name?’ Or that she wants to live on her own in the part of the city where the British architecture in the old buildings is `beautiful’. “Imagine Ma, living in an area steeped with history of that kind? What do you think; dad will let me stay there away from home on my own?” Countless conversations on the same topic with no definite answers, for these are her dreams, likes and loves. I haven’t got tired of hearing them.

Most days I am asked about my day and she remembers the details. Then on another day in the future when a name or a thing is mentioned, she will go, “But that person or thing was not nice to you, right?” I have to say, “I’ve changed my opinion now, or Things change, you know.” She nods then.

When I say I don’t agree with what she says, I am told, “You should not be judgmental.” We have our time-outs when we have diverse opinions on some matters and tell the other that this cannot be a point of conversation to continue just then.

Yet, I hear this oft-repeated line to me, “You should learn to hold back. Or it will be overkill”.

I will follow my heart. I love to like for the span that sustains itself. When it dies down, it will. It is meant to be, perhaps. I want to tell Ponnu that I have liked liking her, loving her since she was an idea in my thoughts without a gender. The feeling has remained; sometimes overwhelming and at others, grateful for this opportunity to be her mother. I know what will be her reply. “That’s because I am your child.” Aha! As if that alone is a reason for the intensity to sustain itself. On just this one occasion, I am tempted to say, “I know better, Ponnu’.

My Dad, My Parent

I saw my dad recently. Saw him for what he looks like now. In the hurry to meet up with life’s commitments, all of which are my choice, I have not had the time to meet my parents for an extended conversation over any meal except for a quick darting in and out of home while I am on some errands. Yesterday, late in the night, dad waited for me outside the gate of our building as I zipped by to drop off some groceries. I saw dad and realized he has indeed grown old. At 75, dad looks a little tired, perhaps world weary and a little less like the dad I have always known. You know the kind – stern, serious.

When did dad grow so old? As I dropped off the groceries and bid him good bye, my thoughts swung back and forth on the gate where dad had stood for a few minutes till I moved off; to the time I had seen dad in complete control of himself and his surroundings. Now, dad’s hands shake a bit. There are a few seconds of struggle before the fingers clasp the grocery bag, a pause before he talks and tiredness to the voice. When did my dad grow so old? And why?

Why do any of us grow old? Why does the skin move stealthily off the flesh, almost as if scared it will be caught in the act? Why does the hair refuse to conform to its lifetime of a single tone? What makes it decide to go grey, white and even yellow? The failing eyesight, which pole vaults into youth for some resulting in glasses, shows up exaggeratedly while reading or watching television as age sets in. The glasses have to be then removed and the page brought up close or held far to be read. Why? Why do the laws of gravity decide to wreck the body and show up its trophies – sagging chin, distended bellies and what have you!

Age is a state of mind. I have read this statement countless times. Yes, it is. But what about the tell-tale signs? When the mind refuses to believe the body and still tries to race up the stairs and down to catch a train, for instance; only to realize after a few steps that it just isn’t possible to run any further. The body is slowly winding down. Yet, the mind holds dear, images that can be summoned up instantly – the bench that one sat in Class VII or the occasions one bunked a lecture and whiled away the time in the college quadrangle or even the colour of a dress that was once a favourite in school. Like snap shots in an album, they whirr away on the edges of the mind bringing into sharp focus the reality that is today. The mind is still struggling to accept: yes, the body is slowly inching toward a life that has no bearing on it.

I wonder why dad walks slowly and with so much care. Why does he have just two meals a day? I don’t remember him ever saying when I lived with him that fruits constituted a meal. Yet, it is for him now. When did sleep become the prime activity of his day? I want dad to scold me for coming late. I want dad to say, 'That’s a job well done'. But he does neither. He is happy to ask little and I feel, is not bothered with the replies.

I am furious -- life has seized dad in its grip and shorn him off his youth, calibrated his agility and cranked down his enthusiasm. But I like to pretend my dad is still the same. So I ask him to get me my favourite sweets, throw a child’s tantrum when he does not and still complain he loves me the least amongst his children.

Whoever said age is a state of mind was out of his/her mind. Of that, I am sure now.

Telling The Gods

It is time for the elephant-headed god to make His annual sojourn to our homes and localities. Ganesha evokes not just devotion and piety but the sweets offered to him make for a delightful prasad. A 10-day Ganesh festival lends a divine touch to ordinary streets and alleys with decorated pandals, chants and bhajans being sung through the day.

There are many people who say, when they stand in front of God, they don’t ask for anything, for they are overwhelmed. I have read about this too. It is like their wishes are fulfilled by just seeing Him. I wish I could be like that. I am forever asking of God. Many a time I get scolded, by those who accompany me to a place of worship, for praying for a long time. “What are you praying so much?”, I am often asked. “I am telling Him what I want.” On every occasion, I get raised eyebrows and upturned palms as gestures for saying this.

I am unable to understand why no one can fathom what I do. I go to a place of worship to say thanks and to ask for my needs to be fulfilled. I wish folks would understand me as I have no complaints about them not asking, as they claim. I believe in a God and I want Him to know there are things I want Him to help me with. “God knows about you and you don’t need to tell Him,” I am told. Well, I just want to reiterate.

Recently, I went to a place of worship. Here, one can write one's wishes and desires on paper chits (provided here for this purpose), pray and then drop it into a box. There were just three lines on the paper chit to write one’s wishes. A friend and I were there together. My friend took the paper and then in a few minutes dropped it into the box. I continued to stare at the paper. I wondered how to cramp three lines with my wishes.

A few minutes later, my friend called out to me. I looked up and she said, “Can you please hurry up?” I nodded, wrote some more and then put the carefully folded paper into the box after a quick prayer.

When we came out, she asked, “What were you writing so much in there?” I said, “My wishes.” “How many slips of paper did you take?” I looked at her and said, “Why would I take more than a slip of paper? You gave me just one.” She said, “Then why were you writing so long? There were just three lines.” Of course there were only three lines. But I wrote 1 a.b.c, 2 a.b.c. and 3 a.b.c for each wish. She looked at me incredulous. “How could you?” Why not, I thought. I wasn’t asking any human being for anything. I was asking of my God.

Now I have 10 days to go up to Lord Ganesh beginning tomorrow and tell Him my wishes!

School Time

One of my fondest memories is of teaching for a short while in a boy’s school. I had taken a break from my regular job. Finding a lot of spare time on my hands after finishing my household chores, I decided to enroll for a course in early child education. After interacting with adults for over 12 years of my working life, it was a bit strange to learn craft and colouring and come up with ideas that would engage children.

After I completed the course, I went to teach in a boy’s school. I was assigned the senior KG class. The teacher would teach while I was the `helper’. After all, I was a fresher. Classes would start at 9 am and the little boys would file in with water bottles around their necks and a satchel on their shoulders. In the last bench of this class sat a tall boy called Kunal. A good looking boy with a scrubbed face, Kunal was the brightest in class. His best friend was Mohit, who sat besides him.

Kunal and Mohit were seldom scolded or punished as they were the `best’ boys in class. But one day, for some reason, the teacher shouted at Kunal. He was mortified. His sad face refused to brighten up for some time. Even during the recess, he had this sad look. So I went up to him, held his hand and said, “It is alright, my son. You just have to do better the next time. You are a smart boy.” That is all I said. I remember that clearly.

When class was over, the rule was: the children had to pick up their water bottles which were placed on the floor besides the chair where I was seated, and then file past me in a single row. The children would call out, “Bye bye teacher’ and walk past. After several children had passed, it was Kunal’s turn. He picked up his water bottle, said bye and then stepped back to lean over and kiss me on my cheek. I was surprised and smiled. My eyes followed Kunal. He joined his classmates and pointing towards me, told Mohit who stood before him in the line, `I kissed teacher’. They both smiled at me and said in chorus, `Bye bye teacher’.

It has been some years since the incident. The boys must be in the final year in school now. I did not pursue teaching and went back to my regular job. Some days when I am very happy, the face of the two boys on a hot summer’s day years ago flashes in my mind.

`Now' Is The Time

I had an interesting conversation today. A friend called up and we spoke for a long time. How is life, he asked. Couldn't be better, I said. Even if life, at the moment the question is being asked, makes one want to nestle in a cocoon never to come out if possible; I just say `Couldn't be better'. More than anything else, it cheers me up. It takes away the temporary insanity of impossible situations and look to a `niceness’ a few hours away.

After a while, my friend asked — Hey, what would you like to do before you die? Ahem! I did not think my general well-being lent any scope for such questions. I just had to know. Why, I asked. Oh, just like that, he said. I haven’t really chased that thought. Desires are there, of course. But a list? Never made one.

An opportunity was presenting itself. I could not let it pass. My friend said no time would be given for thought. “Just say it quick. Think I am the genie who is granting you the wishes. I will disappear any moment.” Sounded fun. I came up with my list. To work for a sensible boss. Aha.. temporary insanity of a ridiculous situation did come in the way of a wish. My friend laughed. Let’s start all over again, I said.

To write a book, travel more, live in Ooty in a house surrounded with trees and a river flowing by, to live in Kerala for a short time. I said all of this quickly and then realised more than anything else -- if I could read all the newspapers in the morning without the doorbell pealing with the milkman, laundry and all other important people demanding my attention, if I could take a bath without the phone ringing at least once, if I could find a rickshaw to get me to the station on time and if I could write the moment I log in, without having to think and think and then fetch a cup of coffee and still think! That would be a wonderful life.

All the other wishes could wait. Life is about the now, after all.

A Ray Fan

I finally saw the Apu trilogy. I have to admit Ponnu was right. The films were worth their while.

The trilogy is about poverty. It is very sad. These were some of the comments I had heard about it from friends. Who wants to watch a film and cry and then go back to reality sad and unhappy, I thought. So I never saw the films. Ponnu was introduced to the films, when she joined the Film Society in her college. We went all over the city searching for the CDs. But none had it. So we went about putting requisition slips for them at video stores. It was a futile attempt. My friend in office, a Ray fan, said she had the CDs and was gracious to offer to copy them for Ponnu. My girl went large eyed and open mouthed when I gave her the CDs.

Ever since the CDs came home, I have had no peace. “Ma, please watch Pather Panchali.” I would nod and say, `Later’. But one late evening, I was pinned down and saw the film. It was sad but not bleak, I remarked. “You watch the other 2 CDs and you will not regret it,” said Ponnu. I nodded. After a long gap and much prodding from Ponnu, I saw the last two films in the trilogy last week. We saw Aparajito and I could not stop myself from crying over the mother-son relationship. Children grow up and other things in life become so important that they seem to be uncomfortable in their old environs. It is a reality, of course, but I still cried.

Ponnu wanted me to see Apur Sansar the moment Aparajito was over. It was quite late by then. But I agreed. The film started and a few minutes later, I dozed off. It was just a blink affair. But Ponnu caught me in the act. She was livid. “How can you sleep when you are watching a Ray film?” I said, “No, no. I did not. Just dozed off. But haven’t missed anything.” She switched off the video. I did not protest. I went off to sleep. Next evening, I asked her to show me the film. She was more than happy. I saw it and my heart ached -- for the loss of Apu’s wife, for the tragedy that never seems to leave Apu all his life and the loneliness of Apu. No, it is not a sad film. It is a film about an ordinary man’s life with no gilt edges. About what all of us aspire to in life and where our circumstances take us.

I am happy Ponnu is glad I watched the films. It is like the time she wanted me to read, `To Kill a Mockingbird’, and I resisted. I said, `Not now. Later’. After much nagging by Ponnu, I read it and fell in love with it. I read the book again twice! I will go back to watching the trilogy back-to-back once.