Feels good to grow older!

"I like the feel of your name on my lips

And I like the sound of your sweet gentle kiss

The way that your fingers run through my hair

And how your scent lingers even when you're not there

And I like the way your eyes dance when you laugh...."

'Boyzone' had set the mood on!

Music has that power! A strong pull! It takes you back in time to when you first heard it or when you often use to hear it, if it's an old record. At the same time, it sets up some new memory cells getting born in your mind's database, especially if it's the new track on the speaker.

Soon I found myself glancing in the mirror. Perhaps the only true physical reflection that had a lot to say! As I ran my fingers through my hair and focussed my gaze on the partition, I acknowledged the grey hair follicles depicting adulthood. I hope I've used my 'grey cells' well and wish to keep exercising them regularly keeping those neurons filled with vigor!

Thirty four years on this planet. What pride! Each day is life earned and lived well! Every passing day being a new learning! Did I ever imagine I would learn to swim in my twenties and my Karate training would begin in my thirties! Numbers are mere records to let the doctor know how biologically old the mass of body we're carrying is. It's the feeling and the enjoyment of belonging to the world that keeps us high spirited. 

If I ponder on how gracefully I'd like to age and foresee myself draped in those gorgeous six yards of Cotton or Silk, donning a bigger 'Bindi' and a natural grey hairdo, I'd be losing the present! On the eve of birthday, all I would focus on would be to live the greatest blessing, called 'Life'!

Time to have some cake. Cheers!

 

A Reunion we longed for!

One fine Tuesday as the clock was about to strike midday, I gathered myself with my coffee mug and the day's newspaper when suddenly my phone whistled to a ping on WhatsApp. It's not the group chats that I am keen to check as soon as they ping, they're all in silent notifications. Nevertheless, my phone does whistle when individuals ping me. At least this ensures I can respond if am not engaged. So this was an unknown number and as per the protocols of networking, the sender ensured she introduced herself. Thus affirming two engineers were on either side of the communication channel!

The call sounded formal. It was probably the years between the calls that tried to distant the conversation yet amity turned the time's wicked intent down. The dialogue ended in an informal note zooming across the time defeating it by connecting the hearts! It was an invite for a college reunion! And the prompt response was a big "Yes, am in!".

This was not a regular event. We had not met since we passed college. It has been over a decade that I've been in Bengaluru, my acquired home town. I wasn't born or brought up here. My origin lies in the foothills of the Himalayas! 'Namma Bengaluru' as we call it is where I started my career, settled after marriage, birthed my daughters and explore what parenting holds for me with each passing day. The city keeps us on our toes and has turned us into a constant planner scheduling and rescheduling our days according to the traffic! Alas! What a catalyst! Since 2006, many of my college mates shuttled between the Silicon Valley of India and the rest of the world. I had been in touch with most of them. Yet meeting as many of us as possible together had just never occurred! This was it!

  

There's this concept of Priority Scheduling in Operating Systems, Computer Science. If a high priority job enters the queue, all the other tasks wait for it to complete. This was exactly our attained state of mind by now! Come what may, we were to meet. And we had to do so at the earliest. Thus followed a series of pings, buzzes, chats, calls, mails and posts. Good to be living in the era of technology. We were sorted! The following Saturday was our date! Just three days away!

Saturdays are Karate mornings for me and my daughter, a busy one. Succeeding which  I had to depart for the venue where we planned an 'Only Friends' Meet'. No, we were not on a secretive mission! Our intent was to re-live our college days all over again at luncheon with a noble thought not resulting in boredom for anyone. Hence, no families this time.

While I was still battling my way through the mean traffic congestion, thankfully not behind the car wheels, which allowed me to check the WhatsApp message, the 'Ms. Punctual' announced her arrival at the venue. Butterflies fluttered in my gut and I shifted from one end of the car seat to the other, breathing deeply trying to relax and travel patiently. This happens with me every time time runs ahead of me! My chronic condition! The chat looked very tensing with the others pinging their respective arrivals soon. New ideas are born just at these testing times! I pretended to be too ignorant on the chat to believe that the meeting was scheduled the same day, and I bluffed that I missed remembering the date! Emojis assisted the melodrama. Thus triggering a bullwhip effect that lasted for quite a while leaving me with spurts of laughter!

Finally, we all were there! 

                            

  

Hugs, Kisses, Hellos and Hi were just the onset of what was to unfold! Now that's what an enduring friendship is. The twinkle in the eyes, the beaming smile, the everlasting chatter! No matter how many years pass when you meet, you're brought back exactly to that moment you were together with flashes of fond memories taking a hold on their rightful share. And then you want to narrate and narrate again and you don't mind telling the same story umpteen times until all at the table are aligned to what is heard! This is interleaved by the cackle with the mouthful . Manners have no room today! You speak in all your forms. The maiden that you were, the grad that you became together, the mother, the wifey, the employee, the athlete in you! Your pompous speech tells it all and everyone relates to it with a dash of their own experiences.

We were all at our high with no pegs down! Credit to 'Our Spirit' and none to any 'Spirit'. Our seating arrangement was aptly chosen. We were all by ourselves, the noisy corner table. What was the menu? I'm not the right person to jot that down. Something I don't remember at all! Yet, if someone asks me to review the restaurant, I'll rate it high. The four hours that we spent there were enriching, jovial and would have certainly released a high level of endorphins in our systems refreshing us to the core!

Such was our beatitudes that we didn't check we paid one head extra in the bill until the restauranteur approached us with an apologetic note highlighting the error in their cheque.

For us all that mattered was the priceless Saturday afternoon very well spent! And I returned home with a souvenir for my dolls that adorned their doll!

Martial art at Thirty Three

Popped out eyes, just the way Tom, the cat displays on spotting Jerry, the mouse! Flabbergasted, derisive, satirical twist of the lips, hysterical laughter that ceases when their eyes meet my stone faced look. These are the expressions which have become a usual routine of my Weekend mornings. Venue is any of the Sagar Ratnas which pack our idly-dosa breakfast or the the traffic signals where a glance through the driver's car window gives a clear glimpse of the 'Karategi', or any ATM where I would pause to draw some cash. No, the Bengaluru city does not host any fancy dress competitions every weekend where we would dress up in the same outfit every time, nor are we advertising for the Mommy and Me matching collection. My daughter and I are the students of the 'Joshinmon Shorin Ryu Karate-Do Federation of India' 

One fine evening, on my way back from work, I de routed my path to reach home. It wasn't a major diversion. The routine main road to home was congested, a normal sight in the city that is designed with the mains and crosses all over. And atypical to my practice I started taking perpendicular roads as an alternate path to reach home. It was on this one less traversed street canopied by Gulmohur trees that by fluke my eyes were arrested by the board that displayed Karate Classes. Ever felt the adrenaline rush that gives an extra power to that right foot of yours which oscillates between the brake and the accelerator? I halted my car abruptly. Thank heavens there wasn't one behind me! I noted the timings and the contacts and with a broad smile headed home. This is it! Time to live a long forgotten dream! The decision was final then and there, on the road less travelled!

Unlike Kill Bill's Uma Thurman, I do not aim a revenge. No. I am at peace! I had always wished to learn the art of self defence and practice a martial art. Joshinmon Shorin Ryu was named based on Grand Master Hoshu Ikeda's philosophy that,  "You cannot teach karate as a means for harming another man. There's so much more to karate living than mere punching and kicking." Joshinmon's unique qualities include its use of speed and accuracy over brute force. And it was only when I plunged into it, I realised that it is a pathway to spirituality! 

I have never been a sportsperson. The only occasions when I would have curled my fingers to form a fist would be while wearing those jumpers in the Dun winters or while kneading the dough. So when the Karate Master asked me to make a punch, I knew all the wrong ways but the right one. The Japanese phrase Karate-do means 'the way of the empty hand'. I had no clue folding the fingers in the particular manner would turn my hand into a power punch! Certainly, it was time to rediscover my body! I realised there was friction all over. All my body lubricants had faded like a vanishing cream! I could hardly jump on two legs, forget balancing on one! While my comate, my daughter jumped twenty times on the count of ten, I could barely hop five yet dittoed panting like a dog! 'Seiza', the Japanese traditional way of sitting would ache my ankles. A split or a roll on the ground was certainly out of question! I distinctly remember that Monday two hours Data Structures lecture which I delivered draped in a pleated saree on heels with every possible muscle of my wearied body aching in pain. I had attended my first karate session on the prior weekend! 

Every quarter the Federation conducts the Belt Tests. An entire day of persistent  gruelling of the participants ends up with the declaration of results in the evening. In my belt group, I'm the oldest. Quite an amusing figure for all the children around! I still don't believe that I can somersault on the ground when the Chief Technical Director of India tests my attainment. Thus, the only factor that helps me progress is the will power and my constant companion, my little, big lassie! As of now, the journey is undoubtedly an interesting and motivating one. Cheers to what follows!

The communication tool.

This started with a casual talk over the phone when one of my friends used a Hindi word I was a little doubtful of comprehending well. On confirming the meaning, I could sense a raised eyebrow in her voice. "Didn't you know it's meaning!!" Well, I said "I haven't used the word, yet I could conceive its meaning. Nonetheless I thought I would double check." The original conversation, however drifted on Hindi Language discussion. I was confident having studied the subject up till my tenth standard and having scored a good percentage in the boards that I knew the language well. My friend thought of getting the better of me and threw a challenge. She asked me to spell the Hindi word 'Adhyyan'. Of Course, I could not rant it. I don't remember having ever learnt the Hindi spellings orally. But I really wanted to pen it down and show it to her. Hindi is my mother tongue after all! And if mother is the adjective then the diction gets revered.

Thus, retrospection followed. I cogitated, how often did I read or write Hindi? Let me list. The only occasion when I regularly use Hindi and Sanskrit is my daily worship time.  This is the only hour I chant the complete sentences in either of the two languages. The list finishes before it begins! My daily conversation with everyone around me is a trilingual comprising of English, Hindi and a little Kannada. Alas! Eight long years in Bengaluru and only a wee bit of Kannada. Not only does my tongue refuse to roll in the right tenor, my ears are also incapable of capturing the exact vibrations when someone speaks to me in the local and my strained mind just gives up! But that's another story.

I was in the sixth standard when I wrote a letter to my grandfather to which he replied in Sanskrit. The learned man that he was, it took me the entire summer vacation to be able to read and understand his writing myself. The 'shlokas' carried his deep rooted advice. The letter was my priceless possession.  

So, how do we start speaking? The first dialect we hear our parents repeat for us umpteen number of times, comes naturally to us. When I took my two years old daughter to my sister's wedding, now you can imagine the big family gathering on weddings, I got the shock of my life! My little toddler was unable to reply to everyone in Hindi. The loquacious lassie that she is, she would definitely reply to the uncomprehended questions in English. Thus, my aunts and uncles promptly commented "you're raising this kid as a 'Firangi'!". I was flabbergasted! This was a feedback and I knew I need to work on it. Many of us have witnessed the civilised society folks gape bafflingly when they hear our toddlers declaim their minds out in English. Language is such a pure form of communication. It's unjustified to rate one over the other. The more languages one knows and the fluency with which one can speak demonstrates one's richness. Thus, the bedtime stories these nights are the likes of 

“huwa vivaad saday nirday mein,

Ubhay aagrahi the swavishay mein,

Gayee baat tab nyaayaalay mein,

Sunee sabhi ne jaani.

Sunee sabhi ne jaani, vyapak hui kahani!”

Childhood, a bliss!

What a blithesome morning it was! When we, the parents woke up our elder child this morning planting the two morn kisses, one on each cheek and wished her a wonderful children's day, the cherubs in us took our being. Our other bundle of joy who was lost in sweet dreams stretched and bestirred herself on the first sound of her sister's giggle. So on a rainy Friday morning at 7 o'clock , just before the father was to leave for work, there ensued a ball in the room. With the 'abhi to party shuru hui hai' music just a tap away, the quartet began frolic. The silent, cozy, snug room turned into a vibrant, peppy, perky leeway. Within five minutes the family was all charged up. The kids were in a tizzy thinking a vacation had begun.We were brought back to senses when the cooker whistled in the kitchen. Yes, the porridge that was kept to simmer had cooked to boil, indeed demanding my culinary skills! In a flash, with exchange of hugs and kisses the children's father took his leave for office, ready to battle the horrid traffic on the way. With the hustle and bustle followed by some incessant respiring the schoolgirl boarded her van. No, it wasn't a holiday but some fun day in school.


While massaging my younger one as I prepped her for bath, my mind wandered and I tried to recall how we celebrated the day at school. Children's day was always the most awaited event in schools. I remember on one such occasion, the teachers had enacted a play and entertained our lot. Those childhood days! Dancing in the rains, splashing on the puddles. Ready for school in the neatly ironed uniform with two 'jhoola' plaits ribboned into a bow. Hopping on to the fuel tank of the motorcycle or sitting on the pillion seat of the scooter, clenching papa's shirt tight, sometimes even hurting him when he would drop me to school. Leaving one clenched fist to wave bye bye to the school friend (who would be right at the adjacent seat, the whole day in school), leaning out of the autoriksha with more children than air to breathe. Saving the pocket money to buy the chips, 'churan', 'aam papad', 'disco ice cream' at the school gate. Long vacation plans during summers with no sleep in the eyes for the afternoon siesta. Surrounding the granny to hear a long bed time story, repeated every night. The 'gali cricket' with everyone wanting to bat and none ready to ball. The 'stappu' chalked on a cemented ground with a constant search for the flattest of stones to mark a good throw. The grumpy look on the face for the entire period Mom would oil my hair. The fancy dress competitions in school with children clad as a postbox, softy, star, pineapple or the like. The 'Doordarshan' telecasting 'Surabhi', 'Jungle Book', 'Potli Baba Ki', 'Shaktiman', 'Byom Kesh Bakshi', 'Ramayana' or 'Mahabharata'. The Onida advertisement marking "Owner's Pride, Neighbour's Envy". The morning blues of gulping the 'chyavanprash' with the hot milk. Those were the carefree days! Being a child, always felt so special! Living it with one's children again is a bliss! 

My joy knew no bounds when the doorbell rang and I received the courier of the online gifts I had purchased for the lassies. One day delivery guaranteed! Such is the felicity. The presents pampered the children and kept them busy till the evening. Then there was this pleasant surprise. The father arrived home early and took us all out for dinner at our favourite hangout. What a day to live our childhood again! 

Being mother to two daughters

This has happened often when I hear moms who have only male child or children very gaily pine over the fact that they so much wanted to mother a daughter. Oxymoron it is! No, not the fact that they long for the opposite gender, but oxymoron in their pining gaily! Indeed, the facts prove that their family has always had a great desire for a male child, which is also evident in the acts of the parents. Whatever be the reason, whether they feel the older generation in the family will be satisfied with a male offspring or whether they silently themselves feel that their son would light the fire in their funeral and bid them adieu to their heavenly abodes, which I believe is a myth! They know it very well that growing old and living with their son's family would not be feasible with the changing times. They're quite well aware of how much they live with their in laws! 

Then why this pining! And why this constant comparison of their son's progress with the other's daughter's? Why this constant yearning that girls have such chromatic dresses and embellishments? For a mother's love which is so divine and unconditional, should the gender be a bias? If any of these moms have this latent thought that the mothers who have daughters appreciate their so called love for girls which is dying to ooze out but lacks opportunity, they be very respectfully told that's not the case. My experience has gone to the extreme when recently I heard a Mom of two sons say that how she wished God could have given her one daughter and me one son instead of two daughters!! My impulsive reaction was to punch her hard on the face! But my upbringing got the best of me. Why on earth did this lady ever imagine I would be happy to hear her loose statement. Then there was this other mom who said that two daughters are far better than having two sons. My simple question is why, why at all should one go in for a second child with any gender prejudice!

There had been umpteen times when I was ear to such nonsensical talks. When my second child was still inside me, yet to be born, mothers would ask or comment, "must be wishing for a son this time, you already have a daughter!". My answer had always been the same, "I wish for a healthy baby with a healthy mother. There's no gender bias." This was not a statement which just meant them to keep shut. Indeed, this was what we, my spouse and I firmly believed. Our decision to parent a second child was very carefully considered. We wanted to bring another love of our lives into this lovely world and share our love equally between our loves. There was no gender bias for all we wished was a hale and hearty baby with a healthy mother to mother it. Apparently we had chosen two names one male and one female for the born to be. 

Besides this group of parents around me, I am fortunate also to have a group of such mothers who have never gaily mourned over the fact that they have sons but no daughters. They're raising their children as humans not as males or females. And how well groomed are they at such a toddler age! My friends have very well mannered sons who run, play, sing, dance, colour, decorate, recite, obey and discover constantly as a child. Believe me, it's not in the child's mind at all that he or she belongs to a particular gender group until the parents sow the seeds. Humanity is so pure, unsullied, untarnished in children. It's only parents who tend to rot it. The child is the best teacher!

An autobiography

How my bones were casted and framed, I know not. How I developed a flowered, starred, teddy printed pink skin, am clueless. I was packed in a carton and delivered to a house in Dehradun, sometime in the mid of May, 2010. That's when I believe I took birth and ended my journey from the manufactory to my abode. As is prevalent in the house of the new born, I was elated to see the agog chaos in the house. Little did I realise that all the excitement was on the birth of my master who was just about two weeks older than me. She was the princess of the house and I was to aid her. How many lives are blessed enough to realise the purpose of their being no sooner than their birth! Indeed, I was. Thus, my elation stood justified.

Days passed, and then weeks. But my master didn't even touch me. I started feeling low. Was I forbidden? I was cleaned spick n span regularly, which meant I was adored, yet I had not got to even have a glimpse of the princess. Verily, for no fault of mine! It was human habitude to keep cuddling their new borns and not let them rest on a perambulator. That's what I am, a pram, a baby carriage. The parents, the grandparents, the aunts, the uncles, all kept embracing the new born while I waited for my turn. I waited on and on until the baby turned at least a quarter year old. And then, one fine day the Gods seemed to be pleased. My prayers were answered and I was padded with a clown faced pillow, some colourful rattles and a nice cozy blanket. The princess obliged me for the first time. There she lied on me snuggled in my arms, in a deep sleep filled with sweet dreams. That day I was christened!

I was on a roll now. Soon, it was time for a long journey. I was packed and stowed for my first trip. Lying alongside other luggage, I could see nothing in the dark cargo that took me from Dun to Bangalore. Some pushes and nudges later I reached my home, where the princess and I arrived for the first time in our lives. This was such a chromatic place! My room, the princess'  room to be precise, was filled with such bright, attractive toys. The walls were adorned with amazing baby pictures. Father had decorated our room exquisitely to welcome us home.

Every evening I strolled around the patio and the foyer. Grannies, mothers and kids would swarm around me to adore the one I carried. Sometimes dads too contributed a whistle or a rattle.  There were times when the eager beaver mother pushed me all the way to the grocery store, to return with the baby in my arms and the lock stock and barrel stowed over my entire self. Those were the testing times! Times when I had to prove my mettle. As I reached my youth, I was made to accord the baby's sitting position. Thus, I flaunted my damsel curves! Soon the princess started toddling. She developed an antipathy for me. There were new, more adorable, ingenious devices that led the race while I was left far behind. Occupying one corner of the room, I turned out to be a liability and was soon packed and stowed in the loft. Alas! My old age was round the corner when I thought of flaunting my youthful wings. 

I thought my life was over. The loft seemed to be my grave and all the bubble wraps along with the carton appeared a coffin. I laid there for nearly four years. It was a really long time the Gods took to decide I was fit for heaven or hell. And finally it was heaven on earth! The family was blessed with the younger princess and I got the priceless jewel to adore. I was wiped, cleaned and sunned. Life is full of such pleasant surprises! 

My second innings kept me on my toes from the start. Perhaps the parents had matured. They would use me often and ventured out places with the baby cradled in me. On one such occasion, we holidayed in the hills. The live concert in the resort on a chilly evening by the fireplace titillated my entire being. Age was definitely not a factor in youth! Romance was surely in the air, for Mom and Dad grew nostalgic recollecting their old times spent together as love birds. I was witness to this reminiscence, realising for the first time in my life where the love in the family bloomed. A feeling that would make me stay forever young and keep serving the babies of the house. Amen!