Mr Gopal happily walked into my consulting room the other day to share some good news with me. He was a NRI, settled abroad for the last few years. His trips to India were infrequent and only materialised when either of his parents fell sick.He in a relieved tone mentioned about the admission of his parents in an old aged home. His business was expanding and that meant fewer trips to India.His heart was abroad and getting smaller, day by day. I knew that his parents were not happy with this decision but their whimpers and grumblings failed to move their son.
I was perplexed by the son's happy demeanour. He was washing hands off his parents in an aseptic acceptable manner.
I revered my parents,always sought their company and counsel. They were just another part of me. Their mere presence in the house instilled a sense of security in me. My kids loved to play around them. I used to feel blessed by their auspicious presence.
As they withered with age, our duty was to love them even more. Sending them away to some old age home was a sacrilegious act.
The young couple had happily decided to send their 8 year old child to a boarding school. They claimed that it was a good thoughtful decision ensuring a better future for their child. They were displacing their responsibility. I wondered about their problems which made them take this drastic step. I pitied their pseudo satisfaction in this horrific decision.
A growing child needs the loving comfort and shelter of his parents all the time. To teach him rights and wrongs of life. To pamper him. The parents had missed this vital fact, glaringly. Their myopic stance would distort the long term vision of their innocent child. I miss my kids even when I am off to work. I call them up frequently, just to hear their sweet jargon.The mere thought of my daughter's marriage in the future brings tears to my eyes. Sending them away would indeed break my heart.
We work day in and day out to seek comfort for our elders and a secure future for our young ones.
Some people fail me.
I think they fail themselves too.
When I auscultate their chest to listen to the heart beats. My ears fail to detect any sounds.God never gave them hearts.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
SPARE THE ROD.
We, as kids used to be petrified of our disciplinarian dad. A stern gaze at us would send us shivering to our rooms to hug our compassionate mom. She was a kind, all encompassing umbrella of solace for us.Dad used to love us a lot but expected a lot from us. We had to adhere to time tables and study rigorously under his watchful hawk eyes.Play time was also rationed for us. Movies and Dinners at a restaurant were fixed on Thursdays. Friday was an off for him.
We rarely failed to abide by his rules. A smile and a pat on our heads used to send us kids to seventh heaven. We used to play truant at times ignoring the schedules in his absence. Our bedroom window was adjacent to the road and it offered us a view of his arrival time.As soon as his familiar figure ambled by with a newspaper in his hand and a brief case in the other hand, we would scamper and tidy up our house and sit on the study table as if we were trying hard to crack some hard laws of Quantum Physics.He usually saw through our lies and used to smile slyly at us.
I, an elder son, understood responsibilities and the reality of a middle class hardship filled life at a very tender age. My younger brother was a pet and shielded by me as well. The fear of displeasing my parents motivated me to drive myself to greater heights. I was a diligent student and never let them down. Their pleasant faces used to fill my soul with happiness.
1980-It was Diwali time and I was wearing a velvet corduroy trousers with a shimmering shirt. The dress had cost a princely sum those days. I went to play cricket in our compound. I was batting and as I ran for a cheeky single at full speed, my gallop was broken by the falling bat and I tumbled badly scraping my right knee badly. I saw a big gash on the new trouser and began crying. My friends thought I was hurt and gathered around me. I said that I was fine. An even bigger laceration on my skin hid beneath the velvet trousers.I was oblivious to pain and the wound on my knee. I was worried about the tear in the trousers more than anything else in the world.I went home and immediately hid the trousers in the ward robe.My wound was glaring at everyone, saying hello to my dad. He personally dressed up the wound for me and asked me to be careful. My mom later, went to her tailor and darned the tear in my trousers. I was saved by her that day. I was somehow,subconsciously afraid of my dad's reaction.
2000-I was driving in my new car on the highway, listening to loud music. A lost truck suddenly cut corners and attacked the left side of my car. The grill tore through my doors like a hot knife through butter. It was an accident but I was not at fault at all. The shining car looked pale and sad with one half of its side ripped off. I went into an immediate panic attack. I was at a loss of words to describe the mishap to my dad.
Mustering some courage, I dialled his number and described the accident in a hurried manner. He asked me just one question, "Are you okay, Ajay?" I was relieved and said that I was fine. He asked to me leave the car at the side and return home. As soon as I reached home, He hugged me and cried. He thanked God for saving my skin.
All throughout my life, I was wrong in interpreting his actions. He cared for me and loved me utmostly. His discipline meant only one thing.He wanted me to be the best in life. His strictness was only superficial,like a hard kernel of coconut but soft from within.
2012-I am a doting father for my children.I am relatively mild when compared to my dad but I too ensure discipline for my kids. Low grades in school elicit an unpleasant response in me. The TV goes off cable for a few days till the grades are restored to their high glory. My son's tantrums are sometimes dealt with 'time outs' when we keep him alone in the balcony for a few minutes till he becomes quiet and cheerful.
Discipline is necessary in Life.
A few days back, I encountered a friend of mine who was doing odd jobs to make his ends meet. He had squandered opportunities all his life, right from school days.He blamed his dad along with himself for his current plight. He lamented that his dad never corrected or disciplined him. A firm slap would have aborted his vagrant ways in the early budding years of his life.
I read my newspapers in the wash room. It saves time.I fold them properly and keep them on my dad's table.He would yell at me if I wet the papers with the basin water which I used to, at times.
My dad passed away 5 months back. Yet, the newspapers are always neatly kept on the table by me.
I do not want to displease him.
We rarely failed to abide by his rules. A smile and a pat on our heads used to send us kids to seventh heaven. We used to play truant at times ignoring the schedules in his absence. Our bedroom window was adjacent to the road and it offered us a view of his arrival time.As soon as his familiar figure ambled by with a newspaper in his hand and a brief case in the other hand, we would scamper and tidy up our house and sit on the study table as if we were trying hard to crack some hard laws of Quantum Physics.He usually saw through our lies and used to smile slyly at us.
I, an elder son, understood responsibilities and the reality of a middle class hardship filled life at a very tender age. My younger brother was a pet and shielded by me as well. The fear of displeasing my parents motivated me to drive myself to greater heights. I was a diligent student and never let them down. Their pleasant faces used to fill my soul with happiness.
1980-It was Diwali time and I was wearing a velvet corduroy trousers with a shimmering shirt. The dress had cost a princely sum those days. I went to play cricket in our compound. I was batting and as I ran for a cheeky single at full speed, my gallop was broken by the falling bat and I tumbled badly scraping my right knee badly. I saw a big gash on the new trouser and began crying. My friends thought I was hurt and gathered around me. I said that I was fine. An even bigger laceration on my skin hid beneath the velvet trousers.I was oblivious to pain and the wound on my knee. I was worried about the tear in the trousers more than anything else in the world.I went home and immediately hid the trousers in the ward robe.My wound was glaring at everyone, saying hello to my dad. He personally dressed up the wound for me and asked me to be careful. My mom later, went to her tailor and darned the tear in my trousers. I was saved by her that day. I was somehow,subconsciously afraid of my dad's reaction.
2000-I was driving in my new car on the highway, listening to loud music. A lost truck suddenly cut corners and attacked the left side of my car. The grill tore through my doors like a hot knife through butter. It was an accident but I was not at fault at all. The shining car looked pale and sad with one half of its side ripped off. I went into an immediate panic attack. I was at a loss of words to describe the mishap to my dad.
Mustering some courage, I dialled his number and described the accident in a hurried manner. He asked me just one question, "Are you okay, Ajay?" I was relieved and said that I was fine. He asked to me leave the car at the side and return home. As soon as I reached home, He hugged me and cried. He thanked God for saving my skin.
All throughout my life, I was wrong in interpreting his actions. He cared for me and loved me utmostly. His discipline meant only one thing.He wanted me to be the best in life. His strictness was only superficial,like a hard kernel of coconut but soft from within.
2012-I am a doting father for my children.I am relatively mild when compared to my dad but I too ensure discipline for my kids. Low grades in school elicit an unpleasant response in me. The TV goes off cable for a few days till the grades are restored to their high glory. My son's tantrums are sometimes dealt with 'time outs' when we keep him alone in the balcony for a few minutes till he becomes quiet and cheerful.
Discipline is necessary in Life.
A few days back, I encountered a friend of mine who was doing odd jobs to make his ends meet. He had squandered opportunities all his life, right from school days.He blamed his dad along with himself for his current plight. He lamented that his dad never corrected or disciplined him. A firm slap would have aborted his vagrant ways in the early budding years of his life.
I read my newspapers in the wash room. It saves time.I fold them properly and keep them on my dad's table.He would yell at me if I wet the papers with the basin water which I used to, at times.
My dad passed away 5 months back. Yet, the newspapers are always neatly kept on the table by me.
I do not want to displease him.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
GERMOPHOBE FINGERS.
I pride upon my neatly trimmed manicured finger nails.I hydrate my fingers with soft moisturising creams to keep them supple.I am a germophobe and do not readily shake hands with strangerly hands which could have been in any god forsaken places.I wash them after their persistent enforced hand shakes.
The white clothed, yet nakedly ambitious ingrates came at my door to clamour my support for them. They bragged about their various achievements over the last 5 years which were probably conjured up by them.The suburb was as decrepit as ever with the overflowing sewers and expedition worthy, pot holed roads. The once green parks were stripped of the grass tops and lay barren. The suburb was in a state of anarchy. The power cuts regularly crippled us and the rising prices of essential commodities were shooting through the roofs day by day. An air of dissatisfaction lingered around the suburb.The rich rode in their cool over sized vehicles while the hoi polloi walked in a heated disgruntled state.The entire populace were in a state of impotence, unable to react at all.
A thought of rebellion germinated in a small percent of the crowd. The clean white capped ones got support in the initial movement but slowly were marginalised and eventually fizzled out. Nothing could stand the might of the corrupt rulers. Days would come and go but things would remain the same.
Everyone in the electoral fray had their own axes to grind. The parties never mattered, all that they ever wanted was their own slice of crumbling pie. They were the cyclic marauders and ravagers who had the official right to strip the city's naked core.
They had our permission.
They had our votes.
I live a guiltless life, I dont blame myself and never live in a denial mode.
I have never entered a voting booth.
I understand the futility of that entire process.
My manicured nails are clean as ever.
They do not bear any ink of guilt,submission or any 'germs' of corruption.
My opinions and beliefs may be open to protracted debates.
Last week, my son rushed to greet me at the door proudly showing an ink tattoo on his index finger.He had been immunised with a vaccine, was happily prancing around. The vaccine tattoo would 'protect' him through out life. Today also, some gullible adult folks will show off their inked fingers as if they have laid their lives for the country by voting.
Little do they know, their future is 'unprotected' as ever.
The white clothed, yet nakedly ambitious ingrates came at my door to clamour my support for them. They bragged about their various achievements over the last 5 years which were probably conjured up by them.The suburb was as decrepit as ever with the overflowing sewers and expedition worthy, pot holed roads. The once green parks were stripped of the grass tops and lay barren. The suburb was in a state of anarchy. The power cuts regularly crippled us and the rising prices of essential commodities were shooting through the roofs day by day. An air of dissatisfaction lingered around the suburb.The rich rode in their cool over sized vehicles while the hoi polloi walked in a heated disgruntled state.The entire populace were in a state of impotence, unable to react at all.
A thought of rebellion germinated in a small percent of the crowd. The clean white capped ones got support in the initial movement but slowly were marginalised and eventually fizzled out. Nothing could stand the might of the corrupt rulers. Days would come and go but things would remain the same.
Everyone in the electoral fray had their own axes to grind. The parties never mattered, all that they ever wanted was their own slice of crumbling pie. They were the cyclic marauders and ravagers who had the official right to strip the city's naked core.
They had our permission.
They had our votes.
I live a guiltless life, I dont blame myself and never live in a denial mode.
I have never entered a voting booth.
I understand the futility of that entire process.
My manicured nails are clean as ever.
They do not bear any ink of guilt,submission or any 'germs' of corruption.
My opinions and beliefs may be open to protracted debates.
Last week, my son rushed to greet me at the door proudly showing an ink tattoo on his index finger.He had been immunised with a vaccine, was happily prancing around. The vaccine tattoo would 'protect' him through out life. Today also, some gullible adult folks will show off their inked fingers as if they have laid their lives for the country by voting.
Little do they know, their future is 'unprotected' as ever.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
LOST CHILDHOOD.
She was a middle aged lady who was the cynosure of all eyes in our old society. In the 80s, She was considered too advanced for that decade. She was always dressed in dazzling sarees and sleeveless blouses, hair cut short in auburn brown colours. Red lipstick oozing out from the lips and a lily fragrance left by her in the air wherever she passed by. We were kids and overheard our peers calling her 'sexy'. We never knew the meaning of the word. She spoke fluent accented English and walked tall with her high heeled shoes. The shabbily dressed ladies of our society secretly admired her but used to scorn her. She was the embodiement of their unfulfilled middle class dreams.She was a bold lady,They naturally used to avoid her.
Her husband was an alcoholic whose sole purpose in life was to fight with her day in, night out.He worked at some place for a pittance which hardly used to fuel his liquor budget, leave aside food and clothing. They had 2 dysfunctional kids who were in a runny nosed,perpetually dishevelled state.Their maternal uncle, settled abroad was the only saviour for the family. He used to look after the family.
Every evening was a fashion parade for the lady when she used to go out. Where she went was a matter of intense speculation and a hot topic of discussion amongst the members of the society. They doubted her character and labelled her as a 'loose lady'. Tongues wagged freely in that era.People used to bother about others,a wee bit more than themselves.But, no one had any evidence to back their accusations.
We never bothered them and got accustomed to their daily brawls.The kids grew up to be real pests who had no social norms and cuss words flowed from their mouths like water from a sea. They hardly attended school and were frequently seen loitering in the streets. The seeds of void in their lives were carefully sown by their good for nothing parents.They were the victims of a disturbed family. I pitied their docile decent neighbours who bore the maximum brunt and spent sleepless nights.
A decade passed and a few things changed. The lady aged and lost her marbles.She too became an alcoholic and sank into depression. The kids grew physically but with shrunken brains. The brawls were more vociferous as the kids too joined in. Fist fights and a free for all ensued in this mayhem. The deprived kids vented their fury on the hapless couple. Their father would disappear for days together. The lady had grown frail and virtually stopped eating. She would sit at the window sill and abuse for hours together. They had become an unbearable nuisance for the society.
One day after the yelling and yelping got out of hand, I along with my friends pushed open their door to see a ghastly sight. My blood curdled and hair stood out of every pore of the body. The lady was sprawling on the floor and the kids were jumping on her abdomen repeatedly from a substantial height of a stool. Why this satanic depravity? was the question lingering on my mind. We berated the kids and took them to the police.They shrugged their shoulders and pleaded helplessness. After a stern warning, they were let off.
One quiet afternoon, we were playing cricket in our compound. Yet, more was in store for us,We were flabbergasted to see the lady descend the stairs wearing nothing at all. We were scared to see her in such a plightful state. We did react by swinging our bats at her to push her back into her first floor house. The situation had gone out of control now.We were deeply affected by this episode.
Some newly formed social group got a call from our committee and promptly put her in a nearby mental hospital. The kids were taken over by child welfare foundation. Their father was nowhere to be seen.
PRESENT-
The kids are all grown up now. They eke out their living doing okay jobs. They have lost their parents. They look decent and behave in a well mannered way. They have attempted to catch up with their lives.
They do not recollect any memory of their parents.
They have buried their past.
Tears stream down their cheeks as they gaze at their photographs on the wall.
One question is uppermost in their mind,
God! Can you give us back our lost childhood?
Her husband was an alcoholic whose sole purpose in life was to fight with her day in, night out.He worked at some place for a pittance which hardly used to fuel his liquor budget, leave aside food and clothing. They had 2 dysfunctional kids who were in a runny nosed,perpetually dishevelled state.Their maternal uncle, settled abroad was the only saviour for the family. He used to look after the family.
Every evening was a fashion parade for the lady when she used to go out. Where she went was a matter of intense speculation and a hot topic of discussion amongst the members of the society. They doubted her character and labelled her as a 'loose lady'. Tongues wagged freely in that era.People used to bother about others,a wee bit more than themselves.But, no one had any evidence to back their accusations.
We never bothered them and got accustomed to their daily brawls.The kids grew up to be real pests who had no social norms and cuss words flowed from their mouths like water from a sea. They hardly attended school and were frequently seen loitering in the streets. The seeds of void in their lives were carefully sown by their good for nothing parents.They were the victims of a disturbed family. I pitied their docile decent neighbours who bore the maximum brunt and spent sleepless nights.
A decade passed and a few things changed. The lady aged and lost her marbles.She too became an alcoholic and sank into depression. The kids grew physically but with shrunken brains. The brawls were more vociferous as the kids too joined in. Fist fights and a free for all ensued in this mayhem. The deprived kids vented their fury on the hapless couple. Their father would disappear for days together. The lady had grown frail and virtually stopped eating. She would sit at the window sill and abuse for hours together. They had become an unbearable nuisance for the society.
One day after the yelling and yelping got out of hand, I along with my friends pushed open their door to see a ghastly sight. My blood curdled and hair stood out of every pore of the body. The lady was sprawling on the floor and the kids were jumping on her abdomen repeatedly from a substantial height of a stool. Why this satanic depravity? was the question lingering on my mind. We berated the kids and took them to the police.They shrugged their shoulders and pleaded helplessness. After a stern warning, they were let off.
One quiet afternoon, we were playing cricket in our compound. Yet, more was in store for us,We were flabbergasted to see the lady descend the stairs wearing nothing at all. We were scared to see her in such a plightful state. We did react by swinging our bats at her to push her back into her first floor house. The situation had gone out of control now.We were deeply affected by this episode.
Some newly formed social group got a call from our committee and promptly put her in a nearby mental hospital. The kids were taken over by child welfare foundation. Their father was nowhere to be seen.
PRESENT-
The kids are all grown up now. They eke out their living doing okay jobs. They have lost their parents. They look decent and behave in a well mannered way. They have attempted to catch up with their lives.
They do not recollect any memory of their parents.
They have buried their past.
Tears stream down their cheeks as they gaze at their photographs on the wall.
One question is uppermost in their mind,
God! Can you give us back our lost childhood?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)