Lessons we learn

Conversation in my household about 8 years ago. Jaiteg was in middle school then. He has grown up since. "ਮੈਂ ਨਾਏ ਨੂੰ ਸ਼ਤਰੰਜ ਦੀ ਬਾਜ਼ੀ ਵਿਚ ਦੋ ਵਾਰੀ ਹਰਾ ਚੁੱਕਾਂ। ਇਕ ਵਾਰੀ ਅੱਜ ਤੇ ਇਕ ਵਾਰੀ ਪਹਿਲੋਂ," ਨਾਏ ਜਮਾਤ ਵਿਚ 'ਸ਼ਤਰੰਜ ਦਾ ਪੱਕਾ ਖਿਡਾਰੀ' ਮੰਨਿਆ ਜਾਂਦਾ ਹੈ। ਜੈਤੇਗ ਲਈ ਉਸ ਨੂੰ ਹਰਾਉਣਾ ਬੜੀ ਵੱਡੀ ਗੱਲ ਹੈ। ਨਾਏ ਉਸਦਾ ਸਭ ਤੋਂ ਪੱਕਾ ਮਿੱਤਰ ਵੀ ਹੈ। ਸੋਮਵਾਰ ਨੂੰ ਜੈਤੇਗ ਸਿੰਘ ਗਿਲਬਰਟ ਨਾਲ਼ ਸ਼ਤਰੰਜ ਖੇਡਣਗੇ। ਗਿਲਬਰਟ ਝੂਠਾ ਨਾਂ ਰੱਖਿਆ ਹੈ ਉਸ ਆਪਣੀ ਕਲਾਸ ਦੇ ਵੱਡੇ ਬਦਮਾਸ਼ ਦਾ। ਅਸਲੀ ਨਾਂ ਕੁਝ ਹੋਰ ਸੂ। "ਗਿਲਬਰਟ ਨੂੰ ਤੈਂ ਵੰਗਾਰਿਆ ?" "ਨਾ, ਓਸੇ ਨੇ ਮੈਨੂੰ ਚੈਲੇਂਜ ਕੀਤਾ ਸੀ। ਤੇ ਹਾਰਦਾ ਵੇਖਿਓ ਕਿਵੇਂ ਮੇਰੇ ਹੱਥੋਂ !" "ਬੜੀ ਚੰਗੀ ਗੱਲ, ਚੱਕ ਦੇ ਫੱਟੇ, ਪਰ ਬਾਹਲੀ ਪਾਡੀ ਨੀ ਮਾਰੀਦੀ," ਹਾਲਾਂਕਿ ਮੈਨੂੰ ਪਤਾ ਹੈ ਉਸ ਊਠ ਜਿਹੇ ਨੂੰ ਹਰਾਉਣਾ ਗੱਲ ਕੋਈ ਛੋਟੀ ਵੀ ਨਹੀਂ। "...ਤੇ ਪਤੈ ਮਾਂ, ਮੈਂ ਆਪਣੇ ਚਾਰ ਪਿਆਦੇ ਵੀ ਬੋਰਡ ਤੋਂ ਹਟਾ ਦਿੱਤੇ ਮਰਜ਼ੀ ਨਾਲ ਈ।" "ਹੈ, ਹਾ ! ਉਹ ਕਿਉਂ ਵੇ? 12 ਮੁਹਰਿਆਂ ਨਾਲ਼ ਖੇਡੇਂਗਾ ਕਿਵੇਂ, ਕਾਕਾ?" "ਕਿਉਂਕਿ ਵਿਚਾਰਾ ਹਾਰਨ ਡਿਹਾ ਸੀ, ਤੇ ਫਰਸਟ੍ਰੇਟ ਹੋਇਆ ਪਿਆ ਸੀ !" "ਗਿਲਬਰਟ?" "ਨਹੀਓਂ, ਕੌਨਰ!" ਹੁਣ ਇਹ ਨਵਾਂ ਪਾਤਰ ਕੌਨਰ ਕਿਥੋਂ ਆ ਗਿਆ ! ਤੇ ਮੈਨੂੰ ਜੈ ਦੱਸਦਾ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਕੌਨਰ ਗਿਲਬਰਟ ਦਾ ਸਾਥ ਦੇਣ ਵਾਲਾ ਛੋਟਾ-ਮੋਟਾ ਬਦਮਾਸ਼ ਹੈ। "ਕਿਸੇ ਬੁਲੀ ਦਾ ਭਲਾ ਕਰਨ ਨੂੰ ਤੂੰ ਆਪਣੇ ਪਿਆਦੇ ਕਿਉਂ ਕੱਢੇ ?" "ਕਿਉਂਕਿ ਮੈਂ ਜਿੱਤ ਰਿਹਾ ਸੀ ਨਾ। ਉਹ ਏਨਾ ਤੰਗ ਸੀ ਹਾਰਨ ਕਰਕੇ ਕਿ ਗੇਮ ਛੱਡ ਜਾਂਦਾ !" "ਸੋ, ਉਹ ਗੇਮ ਛੱਡ ਕੇ ਨਾ ਜਾਵੇ, ਇਸ ਲਈ ਤੂੰ ਆਪਣੇ ਪਿਆਦੇ ਹਟਾ ਦਿੱਤੇ ਕਮਜ਼ੋਰ ਦਿਸਣ ਨੂੰ ?" "ਤੇ ਹੋਰ ਕੀ ! ਮੈਂ ਖੇਡਣਾ ਚਾਹੁੰਦਾ ਸੀ ਨਾ !" ... "I beat Nai twice in chess. Once today and once before." Nai 'is considered accomplished' in chess so it is big deal for Jaiteg to be able to beat him. Nai is also his best buddy. Monday Jai is going to play chess with Gilbert. Gilbert is the pseudonym given by my son to his class bully. "Was it you who challenged Gilbert, Jai?" "No, he challenged me. And he is next to be beaten." "Good then, go ahead, but don't be arrogant about it." Though I know he has a good reason to be arrogant about it. "...and you know what mom, I removed four of my pawns." "Whyyy?" "Cos he was so frustrated at losing." "Who, Gilbert?" "Nooooo, Connor." Now who is this Connor ! And I learn that Connor is a sometimes-accomplice of Gilbert. "Why did you remove your pawns for a bully?" "Cos I was winning, and he was so frustrated at losing, he would have given up the game." "So, to prevent HIM from giving up the game, YOU removed your pawns and appeared weaker?" "Well, yes! I wanted to play !" ..... Sometimes it is imperative to go on back-foot to engage a bully in a fight ! #lessonslearned

Jai's Lunch Boxes

Jai forgets his empty lunch box (god knows if he leaves it empty or throws his lunch away and then on purpose forgets his lunch box) daily at the school. I end up buying bulk packs of plastic sandwich boxes to compensate. And I have been requesting him to bring back those 10 odd boxes.

Conversation today:

Mampi-Would you bring the boxes back or you want me to show up at the school, yell at you and then bring those boxes back?
Jai- (hands folded) please !!
Mampi- No drama ! Would you or would you not, dude?
Mahesh - (who happened to be around when this conversation took place, in his usual polite tone) - the boy said he would bring the boxes back !
Mampi- (ignoring the father) I am talking to you Jai, would you or would you not ???
Jai- (quietly) You heard the Rooster !!

(For the past three days, Rasan has been roaming about with a book on Chinese horoscopes - Going by the year of birth, Jai is a Horse, Mampi and Rasan are Tigers, Mahesh is a Rooster )

(May 15, FB)

The Procrastinator

Mampi-Jai ! Stop postponing things. (in Punjabi I said, 'ਪੈਰ ਘਸਾਉਣੇ ਬੰਦ ਕਰ')
Rasan- Jai, you are so lazy. You while away your time doing nothing.
Mampi- Jai ! You are such a procrastinator !!
Jai - What is a procrastinator??
Mampi - Go look up in the dictionary.
Jai - I don't have the time !!

Rasan chokes on the morsel in her mouth and yells (not subtly at all), "Irony Irony." She has been reading 'Macbeth' lately. Thank God she didn't yell "Blood, Blood!

(May 31, FB)

Moms and Chaos

Jai is getting ready for school. His father is with him, sitting cross legged on the floor. Jai puts his foot with his shoe on, on his father's thigh. "Papa, tie the laces."
"Am I your servant?" retorts the father. "Well, that's what fathers are for," the boy is quick. Meantime I reach there and overhear the talk. "Aha, so what are mothers for, my sweetiepie ?" I ask and plant a noisy kiss on his unwilling cheek. "Mothers are for chaos." he is ready with the response.
"Umm, to remove the chaos from your life, right?" I ask, expecting him to say, yes, fathers cause the chaos and mothers tackle it.
"To remove some and to create most," he says dispassionately.
I am ready to shed tears !!! Bade beqadar ho ke tere kooche se hum nikle. Swere swere !!
(posted on June 25 on FB)

The Rite of Passage?

She is entirely dependent on you. Does not know how to manage her long hair. Brings her damp clothes to you to ask, "Mom, is it dry or not?"

Now your 13 year old is out on her own, for ten days, on an NCC camp. She has to fend for herself, decide for herself and manage on her own. She is due to make a PPT presentation on the second day of the camp. She is comfortable with the topic already given. They change the topic on the spot-about 6 hours before presentation time. She is visibly upset. She calls, "Mom what do I do?" (Thank God they are allowed cell phones). You tell her to talk to her incharge. She doesn't want to, for she thinks it is a cowardly move. You are busy in your college function where your stay is mandatory. While sitting there, you google the stuff, call her and give her the links because her incharge's internet connection on his computer is too slow to download the stuff from your email. She somehow manages to sew the pieces together. Calls you about an hour prior to the presentation. "Mom, does my voice look like I have been crying?"

What do you do?

The Family That Whistles Together....

....Stays together. This is the logic that Mahesh gave to both the kids while counselling them to learn how to whistle using their fingers and their mouth with their tongue twisted inside the mouth.

Last year, he had challenged me to teach the kids how to whistle. “Mampi, YOUR kids should know how to whistle.”

“MY kids? Wow... And by the way, how do you expect me to know how to whistle? You mean I have been whistling at people... Bole toe MEN? You are the man, you are the father, YOU teach them how to whistle.”

This touched a raw nerve somewhere, “I don’t know how to. Otherwise I wouldn’t bring you in picture.”

After an extensive session of YOU YOU ME ME, we finally decided to take some professional help in teaching the kids how to whistle. That was much easier than convincing kids why they should learn how to whistle. My funda is straight. If you can learn to whistle, you can bully people, you can tease people, you can hoot in the auditorium. My kids are rather worldly less wise, so I believed that the ability to whistle would make them more confident human beings.

Once Mahesh expressed his inability to whistle (and believe me, with that he absolved himself of ever having teased a female on the road, or ever having made a pass at one of his pretty classmates), I had to look for someone who could teach the kids the fine art of whistling. Once I found the boys who would help me in doing that (no girls knew how to whistle real loud). But as they say that you can bring the horse to water, but you cannot make it drink. So I, too, could not. My kids were shy, they were reluctant, and they enjoyed cycling more than whistling. So here comes Dad with his logic that I mentioned in the very beginning. He said, “Look, if you learn to whistle, you will have a survival tactic right within you. You can raise an alarm, you can catch someone‘s attention if you need to. If you are stranded at sea, you can even bring down a helicopter.” Okay, this last one was exaggeration and he didn’t say this. Jai was totally exasperated at his father's convincing tactics. "Papa, why dont you just buy us a whistle if it is so important to learn how to whistle?" Anyway, the persuasive devil that he is, Mahesh made both the kids go with me to the ‘whistling classes’. The whistle teachers are my college Bhangra Team. The boys are usually in the auditorium, preparing themselves for the coming Youth festival.

They all know me as a rather weird teacher, but this? They were all wide eyed.

“ Teaching your kids how to whistle? Ma’am, how can we whistle in your presence?”

“OK guys, I can pretend I cannot hear you.”

Most of them were on the verge of crying. “Ma’am if our parents had encouraged us to whistle, we would have reached places. We have been beaten mercilessly for having whistled.”

My heart went out to them. Poor Boys!! I said, “Consider me your mom and whistle away to glory. Practise, practise till you make my kids really good at whistling.”

Every day, in the evening, after swimming class, both my kids would stand with their fingers in the mouth in front of the auditorium and try to whistle. Initially, the whistle was only a forceful breath and the fingers got wet with the saliva they forced out of the mouth. With a day or two of practice, Rasan was able to bring out some semblance of a whistle out of that breath. Another day and she could produce a loud shrill whistle. Then there was no stopping this girl. She would whistle for visitors, she would whistle for parents, she would whistle in the car, in the pool, on the road, on the phone, at night, in the morning before brushing and after brushing, before meals, after meals, in the bathroom and even in the restaurant. “Papa, if I whistle here, nobody would suspect that a little girl with innocent looks has whistled.” And I thought of the group of boys who would get a sound beating for having whistled in the restaurant.

No, Jai cannot whistle yet. He should have learnt it before her; after all he is a Punjabi Boy. But given his dad’s track record, I am rather apprehensive that he would. Coming back to the Family Whistling mission, I am midway into the lessons but Mahesh has withdrawn from the whistling club.

The Last Day

My Little NewPinch has posted a poem The Last Day on her blog.
Since this blog has been running arid for a few days, why don't you go visit her?

Powered Rain and Dharamsalaed Trek

Punjab has been reeling under power crisis. Nothing new, considering that the two prominent contenders for power have always been at verbal loggerheads with little time and energy to think of common people. And do not forget Mr Sukhbir Badal contributing his (unfortunately worthless) more than two pennies too. Anyway, I desist from political commentaries and I stick to the bijli crisis that we all suffered and which was a supreme case of mismanagement, rowdiness, and haphazard supply. As a result, you have a paddy cultivating Punjab suffering badly with a power supply released for half an hour every two hours. Anyway, this post is not about power.

Thankfully, for the past two days it has been raining hard and good and I cannot help grinning. Rasan, ecstastically hugged me yelling, Mama, hun bijli nahi jayegi na? (there will be no power cut anymore, right?) Never in the last five years have I celebrated rains in such a spirit. Why, you would say? My previous residence was a closed kind of building where you did not get to see the stars. Mahesh loves to see and show off the stars to kids here in this residence. Here, I hear the koel, I hear the crows. Sadly there are no small house sparrows that I grew up watching in my house. I loved the way they picked at the grains that we scattered in the courtyard for them. They are innocence incarnate. Where did you all go, dear little sparrows?? And here I get to see grass growing so fast that the gardener is unable to finish trimming the whole garden in one go, By the time, which means days actually, he gets to finish the lawn, the grass at the beginning, much to his and my chagrin, grows back and yells for his attention. Being a sarkari banda, he doesn’t bother though. Grounds filled with water, cool breezes, jamuns falling off the trees in front of the main gate. You deserve a video. I will post it soon.

But then this post was not about rain also. This post was about our recent visit to Dharamsala and the trek that we enjoyed with the kids.

the fortunate girl, the unlucky boy

Before we set out for Dharamsala, everybody discouraged us saying that there is nothing much to see in Dharamsala. Sure they were right, if you go by the standards of a standard Punjabi family looking for fun. The staple fun that they expect in a hill station consists of these ingredients -there should be a good hotel, sumptuous food, car-able road (road where you can take your car and blare the stereo at full volume to disturb others), drinks – mostly for men, and shopping-loads of it-for women. We are different.

buddies

I mean I am different. My family was looking for the fun, sans the drinks. This time around though, I had my way. I made them live in a lodge with few luxuries. I pushed them out of the rooms at 8 am and we trekked all the way to a nameless waterfall. Most of the people who have been to dharamsala would understand that I am talking about Bhagsu Nag. Sure, we went there too. I found the priceless FBI at work there. This other waterfall is way higher above McLeodganj and Dharamkot where you leave your car to go into the wild to explore the priceless waterfall. I and Mahesh would have loved to go there alone but we had kids along. So we had a family meeting, took kids' consent that they would walk all the way to the waterfall which was about 4 kilometers uphill through narrow trails. It was fun, because with every step that we took, we were heading away from civilisation.

in the middle of the trek, we could hear the waterfall and could not see it

Kids were apprehensive, Mahesh quiet. I am sure he was thinking if it was a good idea to take his family into the wild. 1 hour and 45 minutes into the trek and we reached the waterfall. It is infact an assortment of 5 waterfalls and three wonderful pools that they form. With only two trekkers who reached prior to us, we were a total of 7 people on site. The seventh being Sansar, a man of 35 who runs a cafe here.

Sansar, the gutsy guy who lives alone at the waterfall

The cafe has the barest refreshments but the guy’s attitude is far more refreshing than anything else. A few minutes of talk with him revealed that he is unmarried and that he enjoys staying here-far far away from madding crowd. When asked if he misses living near the city he said “Those who live in stress need meditation; I am meditating every single minute of my existence. No, I don’t miss the village nor the city” It was somehow strange to find a humble businessman uttering these words.

I had a big fall on the rock near the waterfall. With an already injured knee it was a bit too much for me to handle. I wanted to cry, as in , I wanted to weep but just about managed with a yell and Mahesh rushed to my side, made me stand in the cold cold water to cure the knee of any fresh muscle tear and I was able to walk back through the tricky trail that we had chosen to spend our morning in.

the end of the trek-a tired trio, atop a cement ka ghoda

The day prior to it had been spent in roaming about in the McLeodganj market. Kashmiri stalls of trinkets and silver jewellery arrested me a lot of times but my favourite cop came to my rescue and released me from the shackles of avarice for newer pieces of junk jewellery. The Namgyal temple, its great wooden interiors , the funny signboard that warned us thus,

even when you are inside the temple? You gotta leave your eyes outside...

chess in every cafe, momos, Tibetan bread, bad humoured waiter serving us French toasts, a cool waiter bringing in chicken tikka, thin crust pizza,

bole so nihal, sat sri akal slogans in the McLeodganj main square, lunch in McLlo, dinner in CarpeDiem, cold drinks sans limits, half the night atop the lodge roof-under the stars, no internet, no TV , a dried up Dal Lake (yes there is one Dal here too- a duplicate one), St John's gothic Church and Lord Elgin's grave and Mahesh trying to play ghost,

this bell was foundered in 1915 in London

-that is what our two days consisted of. The third day, we went to this trek and said adieu to the hills, till we meet them again.

Whose Maid?

She sat outside an examination hall where I was invigilating for the CA exams. We exchanged smiles. I was wondering what she was doing outside this examination. She was only a child-a child possibly not more than 8 or 9 years. Later, I saw that she was scribbling something on her notebook. On closer inspection I found that she was writing from the notes that the examinees had left outside. She saw me observing her and we just exchanged warm smiles. I got busy with the duty inside the examination hall and did not come out for the next about 30 minutes. It was 3.00 PM by the time I came outside. Sitting on the bench with her arm resting under her head on the desk, she was dozing in the warm breeze. I called out to the waterman to carry the child under a fan if she wanted to sleep. She woke up and smiled sheepishly at me, as if ashamed at having been found sleeping. "You want to sleep?" "Yes." I blinked at her and gestured to her to go to the little office, she smiled and we struck a chord immediately. She again smiled broadly and waved to me as the waterman led her to the small office where she could lie down for her siesta. About half an hour later, she was back, refreshed. She resumed her copying duties. This time, I went to her and asked her, "What is it that you are copying out?" "I don't know, I'm just copying for fun." "Its good," I said, "you are doing a good job. Keep it up." ... 'strategic management', 'overview' those were big words slipping through small fingers. But she was writing them down. "Did you come with someone?" "Yes, with ... Didi." "Is Didi in my room?" "Yes, there she is," She pointed to an overweight girl writing her exam. "You work for them?" "Yes" "Do you study?" "Yes, in class three" "Wow, you sure are intelligent. Can I take a picture of yours?" She grinned in response. I took her picture and showed it to her. She gave me a billion dollar smile. "Thank you" I said and patted her head.


I went in, resumed my duty. It was soon 4 PM, the exam was nearing the end. I was collecting the answer books. When I reached her didi, I asked, "That little girl is with you?" "Yes Ma'am, she is my maid." The bell rang and the examinees trooped out, chattering , free minded , for it was the last exam. The little girl was lost somewhere in that loud mayhem.

Her name is Poonam-Full Moon.

It Happened One Night

It was around 10 P.M. They both went to that upclass sweet shop. She saw the boy standing near a couple. She thought they were a family and that it was their child. He was dressed in clean clothes. On a second look, she could see that pile of papers tucked under his arm. She even saw him persuading them to buy one of those papers.

They went in, she bought her apple pie, had a fight with the counter guy for heating it up too much. He tasted his favorite sweet, laughed about with the counter boys if only to make up for her bad humored verbal exchange. She wanted ice cream, he said, "I will share it with you. " He should have said, “Don’t eat so many sweets. You are already fat, sweets will undo your workout.” Instead he indulged her. They came out to the car. She placed her pie, their ice cream on the car boot and started to look for the car key that he often tells her to put in her bag.

The boy came near them, they tried to ignore. He said, “Ma’am, Please buy this map from me.” “But I don't need one, Beta,” she said, but told him to show her the maps. “I will take the city map. No, the state map is better. Umm, or maybe, India map is more useful. Uhoon, Let me take this world map.” He told the little boy, “Ow just give me the city map. How much is it for?” “Sir, it is for 25 Rupees,” He began to look at the map. She saw the boy looking at the feast kept on the car bonnet. She looked at the boy, he smiled. She asked him, “Do you study?” He said, “Yes, I am in class 6th.” She thought, “Almost as old as my older one.” Then asked him “Would you like to have an ice cream?” The boy hesitated, then said, “yes”. She blinked her eyes, gave him the little bowl, he paid the boy for the map and told him to keep the change. The boy grinned and thanked her. She decided it was the most beautiful smile she had seen lately . She would never forget the grin. Once the boy went, she thought aloud, “Glad I gave the ice cream away. Saved me from sinning.” Once inside the car, she told him, “We are a crazy couple, aren’t we? !!!” He said, “Why do you think so?” She said, “Aiwen ee.” He said, “You are !! and that’s why I love you.”

The Desired One

My little girl won a second prize in Flower Arrangement Contest in her school. She is very excited. So am I. I didn't know she had this talent in her. This is her prize winning flower arrangement. She has named it STEPS TO SUCCESS with input from her Nani.

She is submitting a very very short story to her school tomorrow. The theme is Girl Child. And this is her entry for the competition.

The idea, plot, characters are all hers. She made a handwritten draft and sat with me while I typed it out. I suggested a few minor changes and a few grammatical alterations. She graciously accepted them.

My Desired One never fails to amaze me.

India, My India

It was in those days when parents could not hide the newspapers from us. It was in those days when we had hardly any distractions. It was then that YOU decided for me what course my teenage will take. You sent letters of open threat to my house, my parents, and my friends’ parents. We grew up in times of utter anarchy. We grew up looking at our 15-16 year old classmates dying horrible deaths as ‘those boys’ running for their dear life in the open fields of Punjab. As children, we were awed by the museums featuring the pictures of ‘boys’ yet unbearded and already garlanded in ‘encounters’. You decided when my friend’s father, who shaved his beard and lived without a turban, would die. You decided how much scare could I take before my father came home. You decided that I would cover my head when I go to school, would not visit a beauty parlour and will not get my hair cut. You decided who I would meet, how I would live-because it suited your plan of action, it suited your religious fundamentalism. You decided that my parents tell me about the ways to save myself if you or your mates happened to come hold me and my home at ransom. You decided that I live with a burning tyre around my neck for the rest of my life. You decided that I grow up hating India.

But,
I won’t allow you to corrupt my child’s mind.

“Mama, Is India unsafe?” “Mama, Should we be living here?”
“Why not child?” “India is our home. India is safe. Where do we live if not here?”

You WILL not decide for my child if her country is safe for her…
You will not gloat thinking she is having nightmares after watching the bare bloody footprints and shoes scattered in civilized wilderness.
She will watch Tom and Jerry for as long as she wants.
At least till she has children of her own.

The Phone Call

My parents-in-law and I sat with the three guests as we waited for Mahesh to turn up. I knew none of them, but one of them happened to be a brother of my long lost classmate (whom I confess I didnt remember even after trying real hard) . He was from Canada, while the other two men were from his native village and were accompanying him to our place. A while later, Jai came to me and slipped my cell-phone in my hand. I asked, “What is it for?” He said, “You forgot it in your room and there might be a phone call.” Thereafter, he ran away. I wondered a while about his sweetness and then forgot all about it. About 60 seconds later, my cell phone really did ring. I was amazed at my son’s concern. I took it out of the pouch and looked at the caller. It was my home landline phone. So, the kids were calling from the other room. Nothing unusual, it often happens. Kids like to dial us even when we are home. Gives them a sense of control over their parents. And also gives them an opportunity to rant about each other. I picked up the phone expecting loud yells and war cries-which often take place when I am out of picture and they both sit/play/ watch television away from my eyes. My suspense had to end when I said hello. It was Jai on the other side. Very coolly he said, “ This is Inspector Jai speaking. Out of these two men sitting in front of you, the one with beard and mustachios has run away from our jail. Beware of him.”(ਮੈਂ ਇੰਸਪੈਕਟਰ ਜੈ ਬੋਲ ਰਿਹਾਂ। ਇਹ ਸਾਹਮਣੇ ਬੈਠੇ ਦੋਨੇ ਬੰਦੇ ਐ ਨਾ ਜਿਹੜੇ, ਉਹਨਾਂ ਵਿੱਚੋਂ ਜਿਹੜਾ ਬੰਦਾ ਦਾਹੜੀ ਤੇ ਮੁੱਛਾਂ ਵਾਲਾ ਐ, ਉਹ ਸਾਡੀ ਜੇਹਲ ਵਿੱਚੋਂ ਭੱਜਿਆ ਹੋਇਆ ਐ, ਧਿਆਨ ਰੱਖਿਓ ।) Imagine my plight. I looked at the man, and wanted to laugh out loud but somehow controlled myself and very quietly, seriously whispered into the phone, “Okay, I will take care and will beware. Thank you sir, for cautioning me in time.” The phone call ended. Blissfully unaware of the criminal background of the guest, my parents-in-law were talking to the same man. I now wore my glasses tinted by Jai’s declaration and saw that the guy really looked like a criminal. I could not control my laughter anymore and quietly stole away to my room where me and the kids sat giggling till Mahesh came.

NewPinch

Rasan has updated her blog. She had been asking me for long to put up a post. She had given me a handwritten page which I had misplaced somewhere. Today I found it among my papers, slaved for her, typed it out and put it up on her blog. It has only very minor editing and a couple of spellings corrected by me. I had to put it up because she had been accusing me of "making her lose her 'readers'." I was amused and loved to see her so concerned. After checking out that I was genuinely typing it out, she was assured that her post would go to her blog and then she slept peacefully. Now, I request all my friends-to go to her blog and give her some comment, even if it is a brief one. She would be delighted and it would make my day to see that gleam in her eyes.

Don't leave any comment here. It was just to inform you all.

:)

Jai's Worries-Yet Again

Jai one day discussed with his dad about how cars run. Then they talked about where people get petrol from. His dad told him that the petroleum is limited and that it might be finished one day. Now the little man is worried that the entire petroleum would be finished off the face of earth and we would be stranded in the middle of the road. I have been telling him that there can be an option of cars running on water, air pressure, nuclear energy, electricity etc. He wishes to know if someone has invented a way to run our car on anything except petrol/diesel.

Today, while I was going to drop them to school, he sat in the front seat-very serious, sombre and was in his thinking mode. Suddenly he checked the fuel indicator in the car and asked if we had enough diesel. Then in a totally matter-of-fact tone, he asked me, did someone invent/ discover something yesterday that could make this car run on anything except diesel/petrol. I did not know whether to smile or be worried at his worry.

The Monster Slayer

It was the beginning of the swimming season. Five days into it, and Jai and Rasan resumed their early morning swimming lessons when their exams finished. Jai did not want to go into the pool without Papa –his idol, his friend, his philosopher, his guide, bah! Rasan was to get into the big pool because she had already graduated from the ‘Training pool’ last year. We had even thrown an elaborate party in celebration of her “cap-change”. In case you don’t know, the beginners are required to wear red cap and once they graduate into the big pool, they can wear any colored cap. So, she had been into the big pool with a bang the previous season. But this season, she insisted, presumably for Jai’s sake, and I know for her own sake too (she found big pool too overwhelming this season I guess) that she would stay in the small pool for a day or two. I gestured her to move into the big pool because I was sure she would not be able to overcome her hesitation once she got too comfortable in the small pool. She grudgingly moved into the big pool and Jai, among other trainees was in the small pool. I had been keeping a hawk-mom’s (I am sure there are hawk-pops too) eye on both of them in their respective pools. These were the days before the submarine started invading the pool. After a while, Rasan started to do what the kids call “bubbling” and Jai was just busy splashing water but he was kind of morose with no Didi to share the little things with.

A little while later, I saw him come out of the pool. He was running towards me, sans his bath robe, shivering in the morning cool and running real fast. Before I could even start worrying, he was by my side. With his teeth chattering, he said, “Mama I am not going into the pool.” “Why, Bachhu?” I asked him. He said, “There is something in the pool.” “Something like what?” I thought he was making excuses to stop swimming already. “ Possibly a leaf, Mama” said he, vigorously nodding his head to convince me. In his Punjabi, it came out to be, “Shayad koi patta shatta hai,” And opened his eyes wider to convince me. I said, “Yes, Beta, with so much of wind today, the surrounding trees must have shed some leaves and one of them might have gotten into the pool.” He insisted, “Noooooo, the pool is dirty. There is something moving in it.” Now I know it is not, the managers of the pool change the water every now and then and I know there is a treatment plant working for these pools; and the season had just started. I tried to send him back. He refused to go. I planned to threat him with dire consequences, but gave up the idea before a tussle could ensue - with me coaxing him back into the water and he refusing to budge an inch and thus making a family show of extreme mushy-crushy love. I finally told him to go get his bathrobe from the peg and get into the washroom to change. I was angry with him. We both remained sullen and swollen faced. Finally Rasan finished her swim and came along. I did not talk to him all through the way because I had woken up at 5 am for God’s sake to take them to the pool, and all I was getting in return was a sulky kid complaining of funny things. During the day, however, we kissed and made up.

Next day, upon waking up, he categorically refused to get ready to go to the pool. I said, "Okay, at least come with us to the pool." Reluctant and suspicious that I would again ask him to get into the pool, he obliged upon the promise that he would not be forced to go the pool. I thought, we will cross the bridge when we come to it and laced the comment with Tere ta waddey waddey wi jaangey between my teeth. Off we went to the pool. I tried one last time. He put his little foot down, “No I am not going to the pool.” Rasan said, “Ok, I will go to the pool with you and see what’s the matter.” I didn’t like the idea because it gave Rasan a chance to avoid the big pool. But Majboori ka naam chota pool. Reaching upto her ears upon tiptoe, and very secretively he whispered, “Ok didi, I will also show you those sea monsters too.” She said, “Ok, I will see what’s bothering you.” I eavesdropped upon their conversation. And chuckled to myself, “Wow, SEA monsters in the swimming POOL! Only mera munda can invent them.” She got into the pool with him and remained with him and kept talking to him while he splashed. The coach came and found her swimming among the trainees and told her to shift the pool. She rarely gets into argument outside home. She did not try to disobey or explain. She moved out. Jai was again left alone but now he seemed to have come to terms with his monster buddies in the water. (He has never forgiven the coach since; and keeps calling him Khadoos with a double K) He now splashed water around, enjoyed himself and came out laughing. What sister-therapy Rasan gave him, I have no idea. But I am grateful she did.

Thank God for her. What would I do without my wonder girl, my super-heroine?


Cartoon courtesy-

http://www.quietmuse.net/images/wgirl.jpg

Ishmeet's Music

R wants me to put Ishmeet's music on her blog.

Ishmeet is No More

I am hurrying up the kids to finish their morning rituals of getting ready and eating breakfast. Just before I am about to go drop them at the bus stop, my mother- in- law tells me that last night, Ishmeet expired. Shocked, I am unable to register the news. She, on her part, has to decide about whether the singing program she is organizing in her college is going to be held or not. I have to decide what to tell the kids. I ultimately decide not to tell anything to them. Just when I call their van driver to pick up the kids in time, he informs me that the school is closed. That the vans will not be picking up kids. I call my daughter’s class teacher to confirm and she informs me that they will be going to school, but there is no point sending children to school.

Ishmeet was the alumnus of R’s school – a recent one. R adored him. When he had reached the finals of Voice of India, and needed votes of people to help him win, R simply told me to sit on net, use all my email ids and go on voting every single day. I don’t like reality shows, I despise the hot exchanges of judges, and I hate the disappointed looks on the singers’ faces when they are told they sung badly. I hate the sound of dreams shattering on stage, on camera and I cannot stand people trying to make money and audience deriving a morbid pleasure from the debris of broken expectations. But I recall that I had told a few of my blogger friends to support him because R wanted him to win. That was and is the only reality show I ever saw. I recall how R somersaulted atop the bed with sheer joy the moment she came to know of his victory. I asked her, “Would he come to know that his school mate, a little girl is risking breaking her neck because he won?” She giggled, said she didn’t care. She was crazy, she was shrieking, she was mad with happiness. I was happy for her. Her dad was happy for her.

How can I tell her now, that he is no more. She has a bond with him – she is his fan, like many others. I finally tell her, she is shocked. Her first words are, “I feel like crying mama.” Usually she doesn’t express her sadness like this. When she says these words, I know her throat is choked but she won’t cry because she cannot know if she is to cry or not. In a state of daze, she changes from her school uniform into her home clothes. She is not happy about the school being off today – she usually is not happy about not having to go to school. She takes up her abridged copy of As You Like It that she borrowed from her library yesterday and sits. Then closes it, says, “Mama, I don’t feel like doing anything.” I tell her to take a nap. But she won’t, I know she won’t.

May Waheguru give his family and parents strength to bear the shock. May his soul rest in peace . R is repeatedly saying, I cannot believe it. We all cannot.

The Child on the Road

The child was barely 11 months old. She sat in the middle of the road to my place. She was clad in a thin frock, she had dirty patches on her skin and her nose was running. Her eyes had big blotches of kohl. A small Ziploc bag having 5 or 6 mangoes was lying close to her. There were a couple of pieces of Indian bread (roti) wrapped in a piece of cloth lying next to her.

I was coming by car, I saw her from afar. I thought someone with her would pick her up just in time. I stopped the car very close to her; there was that fearless look in her eyes that you associate with innocent ignorance. There was enough space for me to drive by her , but I was afraid I might hurt her in case she suddenly lunged towards the car. I came out of the car looking for the mother, or a possible guardian, which I presumed was a beggar. Finding none, I picked up the child as lovingly as I possibly could. There was a little room on the side of the road. I make her stand there and sat near her, asking where her mama was. She was dazed, she didn’t even cry when I picked her up. I touched her cheek, I m amazed it didn’t take much effort to touch her dirty cheek though I am always finicky about my kids being always clean. Then I picked her mango-packet and placed it next to her. As I went to pick the pieces of bread, I saw a scooter coming from the other side. The young boy might just have crushed the bread and rode off. I almost bullied him into stopping and picked the bread, wrapped it in the piece of cloth and placed it next to the child. My car in the middle of that small approach road - I sat with the girl, painfully aware that in case she was an abandoned child, I would not be able to leave her like that and go home. In that split second, I tried to weigh all the options I had, in case I had to do something about an abandoned child. Once again, I tried to look for someone who had left her there.

I wondered, hungry myself, who could have the heart to leave her like that? Meantime a waif of a woman, carrying another infant, a girl less than 2 months, on her side, came there. I was so angry that I wanted to slap her. I think I was louder than I normally am, “ Kaun hai tu? Yeh teri bacchi hai? (Who are you? Is this child yours?)” She had an expression of a dog just kicked. Sheepishly she pointed towards a gate, “ Haan, woh main wahan se kapde lene gayee thi. (yes, well, I had gone to get clothes from there)” There meant two girls standing near a bike. I guess those girls had promised her some garments some other day and today was the day of the fulfillment of that promise. I was least interested in her donors. “Tumne bacchi ko beech sadak mein bithaya houa tha, koi kuchal deta toh? (You had made the child sit in the middle of the road, what if someone had crushed her?) She again mumbled an ashamed answer. My anger was mounting up, I don’t know why. I almost shouted at her, “If you couldn’t take care of her, why did you give birth to her?” Immediately I regretted having said that. If she had a choice, she wouldn’t be a beggar. If she had a choice, she would probably not have given birth to a girl child. After all, then she would have had the choice of Pre-Natal Sex-determination.

Seeing me shouting at that woman, a man came towards me. He tried to add fuel to the fire. “A couple of minutes ago, when I came with my car, she had made the younger one sit in the middle of the road.” I was so full of my own wrath that I hardly paid any attention to him, which I know he didn’t like.

I wanted to yell at her, “If the wheels on the road leave her alive, the predators roaming about won't. She would be raped, maimed, abused and left to bleed and die. Why did you leave her alone on the road?” But I didn’t say that. I just said, “Dhyan rakha karo is ka” (Please take care of her). My voice was sounding more like a request than an angry shout I had meant it to be.

...And I thought I was Smart !!!

Jai is becoming very finicky about his food. Does not want to drink milk, does not want to have his usual big bowl of curd, sometimes he would say a plain no to food.
These problems are not new to me. Rasan has gone through the same phase and I think I have tackled it efficiently. She had started to skate at Jai’s age. With such extra physical activity a growing child needs extra nutrition. She would eat with a little bit of convincing. This one, however, is a tough nut. He goes for tennis in the mornings and swimming in the evenings. (Alongwith Didi, of course). I was worried that with the continuous taxing routine, he might grow weak. Despite trying hard to convince him why certain foods are good for him, I was only partly successful.
The other evening, I was talking to the swimming coach about Jai’s progress in the pool. He said Jai needs to develop stamina in order to be a good swimmer. So I thought the time had come to use another strategy. I told his coach to chat up casually in the pool with the lad about importance of good food. I fed the coach about the fact that Jai hates Protinex in milk and wants only Rooh Afza. Everyday Rooh Afza is cool, but not very nutritious. A spoonful of Protinex in milk might help with his protein intake.

After about an hour, when my little man came out of the pool, he said, of course in chaste Punjabi, “Did you see me? I did a hundred breadths today.” I said, “Yeah, yeah I saw you doing great in the pool.” While Rasan did her tenacious lengths of the big pool, I started talking to Jai.
“I saw your coach talking to you in the pool.” (The truth is that I was away to my regular walk outside the stadium)

“Yeah,” he tried to dismiss the topic.
“And what did you two talk about?”
Again in chaste Punjabi.
“Well, just this and that” (actually he said, “Bas eh oh”)
“Ahaan, Even then, tell me what all did you discuss.”
“About food, you know.” Okay, so he was opening up.
“Wow, what? Did he tell you to eat something special?”
“Yes, he said you can eat anything, Just DO NOT drink Protinex in the milk, cos it tastes bad, b-a-a-a-d-d,” and he made a face that is simply not explainable in words.

Wish I had clicked him.