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.





My precious gifts are with me, I donot have to hunt happiness

We parked the car in Gopinath Bazaar and went to buy my favorite brownie. It was just one of the easy and lazy late evenings in otherwise demanding life of Delhi. The weather was perfectly romantic in the late October, or atleast my husband and I thought so!

After taking the brownie and ofcourse added sandwiches, patties with it, we hastily went into the car as we were excited for a drive towards the India Gate. Something caught my attention.

An aged lady sat on the footpath, the area mostly deserted at that hour, barring a few shops. Her frail body was covered with a worn out blanket. A stick was placed near her. My husband asked me to give a packet to her containing the food we just bought.I took out some money as well. I fumbled yet grabbed the packet as the lady’s calmness bothered me. I expected the usual begging for food or money, or both. She stared at me from a distance, but her facial expression didnot change much. Again I expected her to be elated while I stepped near her, as it obviously meant that she would gain something.

I faltered back as a dog barked. I failed to notice its presence as he was happily sharing the blanket with the old woman. I was determined to be the so called ‘giver’ and therefore I mustered courage and went near her though the dog grumbled.

       “Mere paass kuch khana hain, aap rakhlijiye aur paisse bhi le lijiye,” I extended my hand to reach her. There was no reaction from her, just about a slight hint to the four legged pet of hers to be quiet. I reiterated my offer or rather request, should I say?

Her lips parched and I felt happy that ‘for today I have done a good deed’ as I knew she would take the packet as well as the money and would shower a set of blessings. Its almost an everyday affair in Delhi streets.

"Mujhe koi cheese ki jaroorat nehi hai, main thik hu,” she said. Her voice had the right mix of tenderness and strength which stopped me from repeating my request. She took out a broom and cleaned a small area near her and made arrangements to sleep. I was surprised as well as bewildered by her denial. The dog grumbled again and I thought I must leave and let this happy family to take rest.

With sluggish steps I moved on. She had a dog to give her company, a broom with which she can clean up her place and make it liveable for the night, a blanket to protect her somehow from the cold, and an open sky that she called home.

In every moment in life the role of the giver and receiver changes. I went to give her mere food and money, but I received profound wisdom. To be contended in life either we need very little, or the list goes up everyday.

Four legged Barbie

It was a sheer nightmare to dissuade my little daughter to stay away from puppies on streets. Specially when Giggly, the name which Juhi and her friends gave to a street dog, delivered six pups, all my daughter wanted was to be with them all the time! Well out of six four survived. Giggly got the much needed attention from the kids. Juhi ensured that the pups get enough milk albeit from her own share. She emptied her glass of milk faster than ever!

The four pups were named as Sumo, Wrestler, Mickey and Barbie. The four legged creatures gradually also got fond of the kids. Juhi exactly knew if all whereabouts of the pups. As days passed I also grew less concerned and occasionally asked Juhi about the pups. She described their activities in the most animated way...I enjoyed it!

One day she quiet sadly mentioned that Wrestler had gone missing. A few days after Sumo was found dead in some one's garden. But the sight of Barbie cheered her up. Barbie gave Juhi the great attention as she wagged her little furry extension while Juhi came back from school or followed her to the park, too. "Maa, Barbie seems to be sad today, I think she is missing Sumo and Wrestler, or 'Maa Barbie fought with Mickey today, or, 'Maa, Barbie is hungry today, we must give food to her....," was common observations.

One morning Barbie was found dead in front of our house. She lay motionless beside a bush. I wanted desperately that her body be removed before Juhi arrives from school. But Juhi saw her friend dead on her way back from school. 

She didnot ask me anything. To my surprise she said,' Maa, Barbie has met her other siblings in Heaven", and continued in unfaltering tone "I have to love Mickey more now, she will be alone". I thought, my daughter has the insight of life and death already. Relieved too, because I was worried that she would be shocked and it would be difficult for me to make her understand the reality.

So,life went on usual for the day.

At midnight Juhi woke me up. 'Maa, I will punish the car which killed Barbie...how can I get her back?...Will she never come back?...May be she is living...

All through the day my little girl tried to be brave but with the advent of darkness her little soul was awakened.I presumed her to be pragmatic. But I was wrong. How can a seven year old be so? Could we understand the meaning of the cycle of birth and death and accept death? 

  Her grief knew no bounds...she couldn't any more wear the garb of maturity...she is a child and will always be ...so are we. It will always be difficult for us to accept the vacuum created by  someone's departure forever.

Radio of my Childhood

 A simple box from where I heard sounds -- magic I thought it to be when I was little. And to me my grandmother was the magician. With simple tuning of the knobs she could vary sounds and programmes from the box. What a wonder! And that wonder box was called radio.

Grandma's favorite programme was Bibidh Bharati in the morning. Where she listened to news bulletin and then songs. She placed the radio atop the window pane in the kitchen. I think it was merely an attempt to put it out of my reach! I was her blue eyed brat...
She woke up everyday at 4 o' clock in the morning, busy herself in 'puja' and then get involved in kitchen. She had a penchant for cooking a variety of dishes and that too in limited resources. How could she do it..well that's a mystery because now even amongst plenty, attimes I fail to choose. She cooked in typical Barishal style, a district of Bangladesh, where she got married at the tender age of 18. 

Grandma kept track of time while working and tuned in the radio on time. My immediate interest was morning delicious breakfast as she would oblige to any of my demands while listening to her favorite programmes. I knew names of all newsreaders by heart-amongst all Debdulal Bandopadhyaya was my favorite. His profound and heavy voice was quite appealing and he had the power even to arrest a child's attention. 

Though grandma endeavoured a lot to put me to sleep in the afternoon so that she could relax while hearing the audio drama, I always feigned sleep and took interest in her radio programme. I still remember couple of audio dramas which etched an indelible mark in my childhood memory. 

Though in regular circumstances radio timings were fixed in house, during election period and announcement of poll results radio had a extended run. Mood of the house changed constantly after each announcement. I didn't understand anything but that radio was on for a long time gave me immense pleasure. Reason still unknown to me. It may be that I had a good escape from my studies and everyone ignored my mischiefs.  Whatever it may be, I give  radio the ultimate credit.

I secretly tried to tune the knobs attimes but most of the time caught by grandma. Invariably my efforts gave away to some cacophonous sounds while grandma always could tune into proper stations. 

I was close to grandma and her radio too. She hardly berated me, just gave a slight pat on my back...more of love than anything.

My magician was gone on 1st July 2002. Ten long years have passed by. Radio programmes have undergone varied changes and so is the look of radio. But till today, whenever I hear a sound from a radio I visualize my grandma tuning on the knobs and  then the magic began.....

Times when childhood memories ruffles my otherwise calmness and I miss the loving ones I feel may be my grandma is still listening to her favorite radio programmes and somewhere I can pass the message how much  I love and miss her...

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..