An encounter with life

 

It was just another Monday for me, with barrage of anxieties. My daughter did not fair well in the first term exam, my 5 year old son, Jai suffered from high fever and the maid did not turn up. The bathroom tap leaked and the plumber did not come after repeated calls, I hardly got time to do exercise and pitied myself as I looked in the mirror. My work did not gain momentum as I expected and all these I could not have shared with my husband since he was posted in the Field Area. I was the Olive Green queen wearing the crown of thorns! First I berated my daughter for her miserable result, went to the Military Hospital again with my son, got back and cleaned the utensils, did the remaining household chores and figured out that my dog, Laila had run away. I endeavored to recollect the last time I saw her. Definitely around 9 in the morning when I gave her food. And it was late afternoon then. I was coping with challenging situation that day and did not notice her absence. 

I couldn’t muster more courage to beat the situation. I slumped on the sofa and wept bitterly. After couple of minutes, I got up and went to check on my son. He lay asleep and is fever seemed to subside. I went to my neighbor, narrated the string of events and requested her to keep an eye on my son as me and my daughter went to look for Laila.

Delhi Cantonment is quite sprawling and our Bakharwal dog was capable to go anywhere. A pure white beauty but fiercely independent and quite known for her Runaway Bride moments.  

Armed with a dog leash we called out her name repeatedly. Some one pointed out the way in which he spotted our dog couple of hours ago. My mind raced with many thoughts – What if she had ventured in far flung area or bitten by pack of strays and left to die elsewhere or kidnapped by breeders or may be hit by a vehicle and lay dead somewhere!

Oh! I forcibly halted my confounded and anxious thoughts focused on what was required on that hour. My daughter and I decided to go towards different directions for a more effective search. In the meantime I called my neighbor and found that my son was still asleep and that the fever had completely subsided.

I resumed the search with more gusto. An hour passed with no trace of Laila. I saw my daughter from afar walking towards me, alone. I was more distraught to see my daughter. She never spoke. But moist, downcast eyes and her dejected look spoke a lot. It was a tough day for her, too. I realized it for the first time, probably in several months. These years, while steering the ship all alone, made me only look at the shore and not the way.

We decided to walk back. There was a quaint charm in the air. The breezy yet silent late November afternoon with rustling of dry leaves,  occasional squeaking of the squirrels and chirping of the birds had a message to convey.

We walked slowly. Partially because I still hoped, though faintly, Laila might surface from somewhere and more because I wanted to initiate a conversation with Juhi.

Earlier that day I was quite peeved with her. But at that point, a calmness descended upon me. Maybe I accepted the situation instead of incessantly complaining about it. I nudged her affectionately and asked her about school and friends. It was her seventh school and she was in sixth grade, she studied in different cities and towns. Its part and parcel of Infantry life. The bag or rather the trunk is always half packed for  us.

‘I don’t have many friends here. Nobody shares anything with me,’ she said in a melancholy tone. ‘Don’t have to be friends with anyone, just do well in studies…be a leader ..you don’t have to follow others..,” I rattled.

‘ But maa..I am alone….,’…she raised her voice, not with arrogance but with a plead to hear. It struck me. I kept quite. After a while I asked her to be my best friend. ‘But you are busy….and I need someone of my age too,’ said Juhi emphatically. This time I did not lecture, instead mentioned that I will always support her. I assured her that all I wanted was to be her happy. She seemed contented and I knew that I was able to build a trust with her.

We almost reached our apartment gate. As we crossed the bungalow on the left with high boundary, we heard laughter and giggles. Nothing extraordinary. A dog barked and the laughter and giggles grew louder. Juhi suggested seeing if it was Laila. I thought it would be inappropriate to go inside. She insisted and I had to go.

We quietly approached the gate. There was no guard. So, we went inside. The beautiful lawn suggested a very well kept house. We tiptoed towards the backyard where the noise came from.

There…there she was! And what was she upto! She was jumping aimlessly, rolling over and running helter skelter- matched with her antics was a little boy’s giggles, confined to the wheel chair. His father sitting beside him and laughing heartily. None of them noticed us and we did not want to get noticed. As we stood beside the huge Erica palm, I also became one in their jubilation. Simple yet ecstatic. Common yet heavenly. Celebration without any serious cause or clause. Divinity which ruled over every compulsion. Happiness is not elusive which I thought to be!  I glanced at Juhi, as she watched the scene in front, intensely. Even her little soul was touched.

Laila sensed our presence and ran towards us. We emerged from the shade and introduced us.

The 5 year old, little boy named Naman, blissfully smiled at us. His father mentioned that he was a special child and always confined to his chair. According to him Naman loved dog but taking care of an animal would be difficult since all their attention was towards their only son. ‘His life, dosenot have much variety - after so many days he enjoyed today,’ he said wanly and walked towards his son.  I saw a doleful look in Naman’s eyes as were about to leave. I promised Naman to let Laila play with him everyday.

The sudden radiant glow in his face and gurgling sound which emanated from his throat as he tried to cough up words – all meant Thank You. He seemed elated. He would have ran and kissed me, if he could. But he did more. He was not confined to a place. I was. I was restrained to my unhappy musings, judgments and thoroughly critical of myself. As the sky wore a crimson hue, bidding adieu to the sun, he taught me to be grateful to life and look for happiness- stand taller than your situation-Win over yourself.

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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.

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.





Second Devil is a better bargain!

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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

Walking in the rain

I completely detested my habit of getting up late and then rushing through things. I vowed to change. Though I have been trying to change it for years yet.."tomorrow I will " never actually arrived. Typical you know!..but today..I woke up at 5..a mission I thought..now or never. Actually I read a lot of motivating proverbs and sayings to myself before I went to sleep last night,though the motivation was about to fall into deaf ears when the alarm 'roughly and harshly cried aloud' ( I thought so for a moment)..yet I was up. Washed my face with more force of water than ever, put on my tracks and shoes and off I went. Secretly I glanced at the soft bed and pillows ,somewhere they were unhappy that I let them go so early! I was walking down the road. Put on my earplugs and switched to my favorite song "You are my theme for the dream". But somehow it was not going with the morning serenity. I switched it off. Chirping of the birds, some known mostly unknown soothed my ears, somehow they were welcoming I thought to see this stranger. Their morning chores had already started!..I was new to find out..so many variety of them flew around, so pretty so charming..how did I miss that! Platoon of heavy boots passed by me, it was their usual morning PT time and some every vehicles occasionally disturbed the morning quietness. I walked far.morning breeze gently kissed my cheeks.I felt my mother touching me. I looked up and asked, Is that you , maa? It started to shower. I slowed down. I wanted to enwrap every bit of nature ,feel it,touch it..and drench in it allover. I wanted to walk more...and just wished time to halt at 5.30 am...morning is so full of promise, impeccable, honest, pure...full of forgiveness. 
A wonder. I looked up to the sky, and said " Maa you always wanted me to get up early..now I know why...is it too late, maa?...The sun came out behind the clouds.