Love peeps...

The morning rush was on. I scurried around the house for meeting various deadlines. Making sure bread pieces do not get an overtime in the toaster, pulling out my son from the shower, looking for my daughter’s school diary as she was unable to find it and all the time straining my ear to hear the first beep of her school bus.  My husband was completely aware of the conundrum between 6 am to 7 am. When at times he called during that period my so called “Love You, ”seemed to be like a howling on the phone.

“B—Y—E ..”..I said aloud from the kitchen as I heard a loud thud. My daughter left for school.  So now I geared up for Act II. V-r-o-o-m v-r-o-o-m ..aa-cc—ii---dd-e-n-t…my son screamed as he was busy playing with his hot wheels car. He was quite unawares of the time schedule. Its so natural for a five year old, yet I try to bribe God by offering extra ladoos and in return ask Him to make my son grow up fast.

It was almost 7 o’clock.  I had to keep pace with time. I fed him with one hand and buttoned his shirt with another. Well as you grow in the vocation of “Motherhood” you can master many such things. I call it Art of Motherhood- it just makes me feel better.  Next moment I was almost dragging him through the door and just then in the doorway the smell of rotten flowers hit me. I grabbed the bunch of yellow roses from the vase and prepared to throw it in the dustbin, just adjacent to the corridor.  

“Mumma…no don’t do. Papa sent those roses, you cannot throw them. You have to keep it,” pleaded my son. “But dear, the roses have withered away now, and we have to put them away,” I said as I firmly walked towards the dustbin. “No. Papa will be sad. ..if you throw it then I am not going to school. Those are papa’s flowers..my papa…,” he almost started crying. I was startled and in a fix. My husband sent the bouquet of beautiful yellow roses to me four days back. We celebrate every little event in our lives starting from the day we first held hands or first kiss. ( I know it sounds clichéd...) But now in such bustling life these have become a mere calendar events. Where we say things or just perform but neither hear or feel.

“Okay, I wont,” I told my son. He wiped his tears and almost instantly his face beamed with joy. As I dropped him at the bus stop my mind raced through different phases of my life.  I walked back into the house and placed bouquet where it was. The flowers have faded away, the stems have taken a brown colour from green. I looked at the flowers for an extra minute. Not even I enjoyed the sweet fragrance or marveled at their beauty when they were fresh.  When I received the bouquet I diligently put it in the vase. Ensured that my crystal vase should be kept in a safe place out of my children's reach . Every day we focus on living life, rearing up children, and even expressing love or making  phone calls - with a dash of perfection and sense of duty.

Until a voice , here my five year old son- urged me to feel the love he felt in withered away flowers.

A bit of Reír en voz alta

…..With zest and confidence he uttered ...”I will ensure that no one in this world gets away from me..” There was an obvious spark in Rob’s eyes and poise in the manner he spoke. As he was speaking Vivan entered the room and was quite taken aback by Rob’s words. He quizzically asked. ..Whats wrong with you Rob..”why such vengeance against the world? Planning to kill all?”

Ha! Ha !

We rolled in laughter sensing the humour. Vivan still stood dumbfounded and crossly looked at us. Rob was laughing hysterically. It all happened during the recess of our Spanish Language Learning Class. Rob controlled himself with great difficulty and said… “yaar dekh..they all asked me (pointing to us) why are you learning so many foreign languages?”

“ I can speak German, Italian, French, Russian and of course English Hindi and Punjabi…so I gave them the reply that I am eager to know all people in this world and if I donot know their language how do I communicate with them? So I am learning languages so that no one can escape from me..I gotto know all! Talk to all the people in the world..”…well ,  Vivan  gave a pleasant smile, too.

Nice way to put it Rob.

 

Brace for the odd ball

No one said that being a mom is like a windmill

Most of the schools ensure that vacations to be a torture for the parents. After my childrens’ vacation started, there was not a square inch of the floor left without cello tapes, chart papers, drawing sheets, erasers, pencils, sketch pens, marker pens , glue sticks, scissors and  colour pencils in all sizes. We live in a super modern world where in a corner laptop lay open and from within that Google kept on staring at me! Another corner and almost under the table I found Jai dabbling with water colours. His tiny hands were riot of colours. I dashed towards him with a squeal when he slyly attempted to make his handprints permanently on the wall! I was successful in thwarting his attempts on the wall but not on my face and just washed mane.(Atleast being spared the agony of answering the MES, the civic body responsible for maintaining Army Quarters). I felt happy and sad at the same time. No, sad actually. I felt yelling, “ooooooooooooofffffffffffff..noooooooo……MUUUUUUMMMMMMMYYYYYY.”..Just hoping magically maa should  appear from above and give me the manual to rear up my brats!

Just then, my daughter, scratching her head and with a painful look came up and asked,” Mom I have to write an essay , but I am unable to elaborate on the topic, so will you-----------” she stood there expecting me to fill in the blanks.

“What is the topic?’

“What will you do if you were a bird…”, she said in the most uninteresting voice.

“But dear can’t you write a few lines on that? Use your imagination..its not tough,”..she still stood leaning to the refrigerator and staring outside towards the balcony where a pigeon happily moving around bobbing its head.  Probably she was thinking of asking the pigeon that what is it like being a winged creature…well the dreary look in her face atleast suggested so.



Eggs of fancy and heartbreak

The confidence about my children were about to hit rock bottom ( attimes I felt that they would do great, and mostly though I thought they are hopeless, helpless), my son with a shockingly painted face came out from under the table. Sensing the trouble he wanted to win brownie points (he very often does the same), “ Mummy, you know if I were a bird what would I do?,”. Interestingly I looked at him and somehow thought that this boy will make me proud with his imaginative power someday. I noticed Juhi . She was looking at the ceiling (what was she thinking?). Just then Jai blurted out,…..''If I was a bird I would have laid eggs, many eggs, many many eggs..see maa..I am looking like a peacock now, with so many colours on me and now I am laying eggs…see …,'' and he posed for the act.  Juhi burst out into laughter and with a double blow in my heart…I laughed it out too.





Journey of a Love Mug

          

We all do crazy things when in love! I did too. Once I bought a white mug and secretly took the same to the bathroom. Reason - my mom was still unawares ( I deliberately kept her in dark)  about my whirlwind romance. 

              I diligently and meticulously took pencil, rubber, paint, brush, nail polish, cotton and hair dryer inside the loo. I wanted to put a personal touch to the mug. Special gift to be sent to Kashmir and that too from Kolkata. I drew lips (indicating kisses), painted hearts, wrote love messages with nail polish and dried all quickly with full blow of hairdryer. Under wraps I kept it in my bag and en-route my college I halted at Post Office. 

 Contrary to belief the postal department helped me! The hard cardborad box was stuffed with cotton, and newspapers. As I mentioned on top as fragile glass item I sealed it with a kiss...and glue too. 

With assurance it would not break on its journey I set off for my class. 

After a few days an excited and happy voice from the other end of the phone confirmed the receipt of the love mug in one piece. I was delighted. Mom took notice of the same!

We got married. As true to belief in Infantry we got transferred to almost six stations in nine years. Created a happy family too with two additions. A daughter and a son! 

While shifting trunks I stumbled upon a hard stuff very patiently put inside in pair of socks. I felt it so that I can judge it and not take the trouble to take it out. Accordingly either I will keep it or throw it and reduce the junk which keeps on mounting during every posting. Failing to guess, I took it out and to my utter surprise IT WAS THE LOVE MUG. 

My daughter asked if she could keep it on her desk and my son wanted to play with it. I politely said 'NO'...I looked at my husband and said." we must keep this in the showcase in our bedroom...so that everyday we can feel the warmth of our love.." My voiced trailed as I went back to past. "Hey but it has crack and to better keep as a pen stand. It must be used.." my romantic husband sounded practical..." It can be a spoon holder too, didi..".wisely commented by my house-keeper...I retired from the scene placing the mug on table.  

Next day morning I went to brush and surprisingly saw the Love Mug as a proud tooth brush holder...It's been put to practical use after nine long years! Its the first thing in the morning I can see. I felt cheerful that at least it is in prominence and out from oblivion after so many years. But Bathroom! May be Every Luv Mug has its own fate..

Vanishing promises....

     

       I don’t deny the fact that I’m the typical woman who just poses to be the best in all roles yet very vulnerable and anxious about everything all the time. True. I confess.

As the mother of two young and terrible “little rascals” I always get the perfect opportunity to play a disciplinarian and which secretly I flounder ( at times). As the elder one tries to defy my words with a smile (devilish) the younger one...barely two years..puts up his index finger , sways it and utters ‘No No’. Remember he hardly spells out few mono syllabic  words ! 

 

I summon God and ask Him to give me the power to bear these creatures...

All change when your children fall sick. My elder one , Juhi almost 7 years...was down with fever and my son Jai was also unwell.  Almost a week both the kids suffered. More so I did. All mothers do. Specially I remember the times when I was harsh with them and promise myself to be the best Mom ever born on earth.  Juhi wanted permission to watch TV as being in bed for days turned boring...and when I agreed she promised me to be the best girl ever born on earth.

 Well,  fever subsided. Asking for permission replaced by stubbornness. And all promise from both the parties vanished. Does it only happen with me?

Whats in a name?

Though one might think like Shakespeare , "What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet," 

I beg to differ. Bongs are very particular about names, pronunciation and their meaning, though when we traverse outside Bengal border it gets distorted. For obvious reasons. Like my name Palashpriya became Pluspriya, Poolshpiya, Plaaseypiya, and some were loyal even to excuse from such tongue twister of a name (they thought) to “Can I call you just Plus..please?”..My hubby initially started with Priya...obviously during courtship PRIYA to PRIYEE becomes easy, Agree? Then when some asked me about the meaning of my name I courteously take the pain to explain...its called so because Saraswati Goddess loved Palash or Polash flowers and her worship is incomplete without the same. So Saraswati Devi’s another name is Palashpriya. And then someone would definitely be intelligent enough to say, “To ji aap ki maa appka naam Saraswati kyun nehi rakkhi?’’...I felt like banging my head.

Then when I chose my children’s’ names it was also the same herculean task. Names had to start with A because my hubby’s name starts with the same alphabet ( My husband felt better too) and then Priya was must to rhyme with my name (booster to a mothers ego). So AALIYAHPRIYA  sounded perfect and unique for my daughter!

With my son the same problem arose but it was little easy because in no way any name could rhyme ‘Priya’..We chose the name ARIHANT. Sad for me that he didn’t have any part of my name, but I felt better when people claimed , “ oh your boy resembles you so much”....as if they discovered a hidden treasure! Thank you anyways. I was sure to have found the most unique and uncommon name unless one day......

 I saw an Advertisement in the news paper on  ARIHANT Cement company. I was shattered only prayed  that my friends would not be able to trace it. Until then came a call from my best friend, “Hi Palash saw the news paper..ARIHANT..bla bla cement yaar..bla bla”...I barely spoke and couldn’t take the joke and my dear friend Moushumi  knew it. She thoroughly enjoyed the moment. Crestfallen I was!

Judging by my expression and seeing my plight my hubby came to my rescue. You got to be proud, our boy will be rock solid as cement! Okay I take it!

Second Devil is a better bargain!

-->

Is it...no it can’t be..might be..NO NO..I am yet to identify myself as Mrs Jaiswal..Palash sounds cool to me and I am not prepared for the “motherhood”...it was my reaction when I conceived my elder one. I felt I was the only one cornered by God!...my demanding moods coupled with equally demanding job as a subeditor in Evening Shift squeezed me out. I wanted to eat n hated it too...wanted everything yet hated everything..such a paradox..(I look back and think..God grant every Husband Himalayan Patience as He did to mine)....well I had counseling sessions by friends and words of sympathy from young lovers and advice galore from all “mothers”... scenario was even bad after my daughter was born as I tried to take up every advice and not listen to my heart and reason out everything!

Paranoid I was when Juhi refused to eat even for one time or if she defied the routine sleeping programme set by me. A child must have vegetables, vitamins..etc etc....the race for the best mother and healthy baby continued. At times you forget that a child has her own wish and taste. Mashed food and juices are not THE THING...and timings can be varied....if a child refuses to have a certain thing she might be feeling bored or uncomfortable and that is not the end of the world..I use to go crazy if she missed her fruit one day! Why didn’t it struck me to grant the little angel her wish..or I was scared to be tagged as ‘indisciplined indulging Mumma’ as a first timer I wanted to be the best pressured from all corners and expectations not realising I was at my wits’ end...

but things changed drastically after the second one.

The other one! 

When I conceived I thought it was “cool”...when people came in for advices I gave the look , “I Know it all man” ..when some alerted me about sibling jealousy and rivalry and termed it as healthy and constructive. When my son was born , changing nappies all night yet getting up early for my daughters school and tutoring her all continued with equal élan.

If my son refuses to eat or sleep on time I take it as a gesture of growing up...I stress myself less and the pressure of becoming the perfect Mom is vanished. When he refuses some stereo type food I take it as a mark of change for better!...I give due regard to his mood, appetite or expression and I guess my daughter benefits from the same...I have learnt not to overstep the boundary and nurture natures gift without imprisoning the same. Every child, every mother is different..and human nature is expressed right from the start. When a child is born mother is born too...mistakes are granted but be open, change..and constantly review yourself - are you hanging your child by the clock?...Tick Tick..Its time for Mashed Potatoes....Tick Tock...3 hrs sleep .’What will Mrs Sen tell me if she gets your noise in the afternoon? Afterall her son sleeps for 4 hrs.Tick Tock....Hey..Stop the clock...

Sorting each other out

Happy in each others company