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.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
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!
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!
Monday, September 1, 2008
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.
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.
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