HYDROPHOBIA.

It was a strange feeling for my toddler son who walked bare foot on the white sands for the first time in his life.The grains of sand were probably tickling his tiny feet as he struggled to walk on it.After a few shuffling uncertain steps he found his rhythm and started to catch us up. It was a new experience for him. He scanned the cloudy blue horizon and was amazed at the vastness of the infinite universe. The gentle waves beckoned him and he eagerly lapped them up. He sat on his mother's lap and faced the waves with a palpable fear and thrill.The waves rocked them to and fro much to his wide eyed amazement. The salty brine water swallowed by him was promptly purged by him.He enjoyed this first time beach experience and was reluctant to leave the shore. A ball carried by him was lost to the sea. It was an orange plastic ball which would float and maybe, traverse oceans to reach some destination unknown.He looked dejected as we brought him back to our hotel room. Through out the remainder of the day, he would point at the direction of the white sandy beach and urge us with his eyes to take him out there to play. Mercifully, our hotel had a large pool to satiate his hydrophilic pursuits. He and Chaitra would laze at the pool for hours together blissfully, regardless of the blazing overhead sun.He had a dragon float which became a part of his body for the next few days. He would walk with a float around him even in the hotel lobby and rooms. Some kids just love water. I think all of them do. They would play, splashing around water in the shallow kiddie pool.At times,Chaitra would be busy in the deeper waters practising her butterfly strokes. I used to enter the knee deep shallow kiddie pool then and play with my son till our bodies tanned. It was the best experience for both of us. An invisible bond was developing between us as a result of time being spent together which was a rarity in our day to day busy life. Our building complex has a oly sized swimming pool which is a much favoured haunt of the kids.It has been 5 years since I moved in here but my feet are still dry. I have never stepped inside the pool so far. I am a hydrophobic person who hates water.I do not like water on my skin. I maybe allergic to chlorine. I am afraid of water. My fears may have no basis but I am scared of drowning. A panic attack occurs as soon as I visualise deep placid pools or stormy oceans.Any water above my knee level send shivers down my spine.The kiddie pool is the most I can venture out. My wife gets visibly upset when I disallow her to take part in water sports or para sailing. I see inherent risks and dangers fraught in any aqua sports. Some fears are so deeply imbibed in us that it may take several lifetimes to overcome them. I am a happy person outside on terra firma when I take care of the cameras, phones and clothes of my family who are indeed happily enjoying in the pool.I click their pictures and enjoy the scene. I order drinks or juices for them and am glad to serve them.I run around fetching floats and towels for them. I may be scared of drowning in water but I look forward to drowning in their happiness and love...

A LAZY BOY.

He had indeed become a lazy boy. He used to sleep all day on his couch watching TV when awake. Reading was given up a few years back by him. His eyes used to droop and fail to focus on the fine print. The day used to be spent watching wrestling and cricket matches. He used to admire the rippling muscles and the athleticism of the players. With a weakened body but a strong steely resolve he used to imagine himself playing cricket and wrestle fighting with God. He was 22 years old and only one question bothered his mind. Why was he still alive? He remembered his sprightly school days when he used to run around and play with the kids with gay abandon. The memories used to fill his sallow eyes with tears. Life had been cruel to him. One not so fine day, when he was 10 years old he realised a difficulty in climbing stairs. His attentive parents immediately sought counsel and the doctor after a battery of tests arrived at the dreaded diagnosis of muscular dystrophy. He would live upto 18 years and mostly a dependent life confined to the bed or a wheel chair. A horde of healers were tried to restore power to his muscles but all to no avail. The parents slowly accepted their fate. The poor sad boy, his life, whatever was left of it. The parents withdrew him from school and focused all their energy and time to be with their boy. The muscles soon started their incessant march of atrophy. He was reduced to a skeleton with some skin on it. He never looked in the mirror and became a recluse. After he became 18 years old, he and his parents would daily look at the calendar and cry, fearing that his time would come soon now. God had planned further misery for him and further agony filled 4 years passed by. He gave up eating solid food as his pharyngeal muscles failed to swallow. He was admitted a couple of days back in my hospital for IV fluids and nutrition. Seeing his plight, tears rolled down my cheeks. His parents too joined me however their tears had dried a long time back. They were praying to God to end his misery. His breathing also had become a strenuous laboured exercise. When death would come, he would not put up a fight and lazily embrace it. He had no strength left in him. 'He that is down need fear no fall' I sometimes wonder about the existence of God. How can he bear such plight of his own children?

KANYADAAN.

It is under the most pathos filled yet humane circumstances that we have decided to bless a solemn union of two souls.

My daughter had fervently wished for our maid's marriage last month when we had visited the temple.It was a noble innocent thought from her side.When the children pray, God has to listen.He has to bow down to selfless wishes. He exists for them.

Shubha was Doogloo's best maid ever.She took care of him like an elder responsible sister.She had become like a part of our family. Doogloo used to run behind her all the time and she, behind him. He was happily looked after. Mind you Folks, he is a very difficult kid to discipline as he has naughtiness oozing out from every pore of his body. She used to feed him and make him sleep singing lullabies of her native town. She used to play like a kid in the garden and the play park. Taking care of him was her only priority in life. If he fell sick and refused to eat she would also sleep without eating. An invisible bond had been established.

Shubha had seen a guy around a year back and had expressed a desire to settle with him. He was salesboy in a mall and distantly related to her. They both liked each other but her parents were a thorn in the flesh. They consistently objected to their union citing illogical and absurdly weak reasons for the same. I knew their sad poor hand to mouth background but I kept quiet.

Their 2 daughters worked and sent money back home. Their survival depended on these earnings. Marriage would mean an abrupt cessation of the flow of money hence they resisted her marriage. The cash cow would stop giving milk to them.

Shubha is almost 26 now and not growing younger by the day. The guy had waited for over a year now. Nothing could stop this union now. She decided to take the plunge and is going to get married after 2 days. She is happily shopping, going to the parlour and applying henna to her hands.

I salute her guts and independence. Her parents have decided to boycott the event. They are in a state of shock and denial.

Doogloo and Chaitra look forlorn and sad nowadays as they have realised that Shubha is no longer gonna stay with them now on. A new maid has already walked inside our house and is strongly attempting to be friends with them.

Shubha's farmer parents live in a drought struck town. Last year, her father had even contemplated suicide. We had shipped some cash urgently to avoid the crisis. Their fears are justified to some extent.

I do not know whether they are right or wrong. God has not given me such powers to be judgmental.

From Shubha's side, We are the only guests.

Kanyadaan will have to be carried out by us.

Shubha Mangal Saavdhaan!

A DEBT OF CHILDHOOD.

It was early in the morning when she arrived at our home looking frail and tired of her long journey from our native town. Savita was our new caretaker. She was a very distant relative of my dad. We were small kids and my parents were working so it was a necessity to have one.Savita came in a floral dress which looked weather beaten. She came from a very poor farming family and this new job would help her family back home.

Savita stayed with us for nearly a decade and took good care of us. She was a strict maid who insured discipline in us.We would consider her as a part of our family.She became a metamorphosed person with new dresses, lip stick and powder on her dark face.She also was growing along with us and soon wedding bells rang for her. She settled in the city. We were very sad kids that day. After all,She had been a part of our growing up years.

Time flies away and people get busy in their own enmeshed lives. Her visits became very sporadic and soon a solitary annual phone call was the only means of contact with her. I always remembered her fondly.

Yesterday afternoon my door bell rang and I was pleasantly surprised to see Savita with her son. She had come to invite us for her daughter's wedding.

She was as excited as a small child. She was very happy for her daughter who would now settle in a building flat and move out of her shanty chawl. The bride groom was a bank employee to boot. She was on cloud 9. Her unfulfilled dreams would come true for her daughter atleast.

Savita's husband was a watchman who earnt a paltry sum which he wasted on alcohol every night.She used to cook at a couple of houses to sustain her household. It was a sad struggle for her everyday and everynight. Her current enthusiasm and happiness belied her abject status.She had only her daughter's marriage, uppermost in her mind.

She waxed eloquent about her wedding plans, the hall, the menu and the sarees and the decor. She had saved every penny for this day.The marriage would be conducted in a low budget. There would be compromises and cut shorts.

I went into my room and cried, hugging Mansi whose eyes also were moist.

Her child like enthusiasm despite her shoe string budget really made me sad.

She also mentioned that she had just come only to invite us without any monetary expectation.

I did what I could do best. I had to repay my debt of childhood.

We spend so much on luxuries without batting an eye lid.

My act of kindness would atleast mitigate her current trouble.

Seeing the red notes amounting to nearly half her wedding budget, she just hugged my mother and cried in sobs.

We all cried yesterday.

TOY STORY..

We have a small room in our home behind the hall. We store stuff over there.

The attics have long disappeared from current homes by the greedy builders who try to build as many floors as possible in the given space.I have been to places where an odd out stretched yawn would hurtle my hands towards the ceiling fan.

My store room is crammed with an exotic collection of all the available toys in our town. Birthdays and pampering relatives have helped the cause further. There are soft toys, hard toys, cars, trains,doll houses and various board games too. If a new toy is desired by my kid on a daily basis, the room would never be tired of providing them. The toys sing and dance regaling the kids. Some jump in the air. My store room looks like a toy shop. The very act of entering and removing a toy also requires a lot of dexterity and care in the stuffed room. They keep on replicating exponentially like rabbits.

A curious incident happened that day in my place which set my bells ringing. My kids were playing with a toy G I Joe soldier who could fly in the air for a short distance with the aid of a rotating fan attached above his head and a battery powered generator. I had bought this toy only looking at the incessant pleas of my daughter.The soldier set me back by an astronomical figure which was the monthly income of our maid, sustaining her family. The kids were playing and suddenly the soldier flew out of our window. The soldier crashed down on the floor and a car just ran over him. I went down to look at the dismembered toy. I felt bad for him.

When I went home,the kids were merrily playing with some other toy. They had no guilt or remorse over loss of the soldier. They casually asked and moved on. If one toy went away there were others to take their place. This incident alarmed me and I thought of some action with its resultant consequences.The kids had to be taught a lesson which would make them value their possessions.

I remembered a small plastic car which was my sole companion during a part of my childhood. I used to eat, sleep and even shower with the car. It was a sturdy companion and break proof too. The car had become an extension of my body and at no times would I be seen without the car. I treasured it.I valued it. My brother too had a similar car and we would play racing games. We had the best of times. We would enjoy even the smallest niceties in life, those days.

We were not spoilt with many choices.

'Take it or Leave it' was the mantra chanted by my parents.

I still thank my parents for inculcating a sense of value in early years of life.

Last Sunday saw a massive exodus of toys from my place. The store room now contained only a handful of toys. The kids were allowed to keep only their most favoured toys. The orphanage authorities were flabbergasted with the number of packed and unused toys donated last Sunday. Each and every orphan would at least have a couple of toys to play with.

The kids were happy that day. They felt a hitherto unexperienced joy in sharing their toys with the unfortunate ones in the society.

I see them now more attached to their toys, taking good care of them.

Maybe, they will thank me in the latter years of my life.

ABSENT HEART SOUNDS.

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.

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.