May you never have any more.

I turned the front page away from me in pain and frustration. The headlines screamed that one more child died after being stuck in a bore well for more than three days. Did anyone in the country think that child had a chance when we first read about it? No one was under the illusion that this would be a story of hope and rescue – countless little lives have been lost before and will be lost again for one simple reason – greed. Furthermore, after so many incidents, there is still no clear plan of action to be followed when a child suffers such an accident. So each and every time it is a harrowing repeat – a slow motion film being played over and over again with the same beginning and ending and only the little bodies being different. 

Why am I writing about this when my words won’t make any difference at all? I write because I cannot not write – this time the four year old who died so tragically had the same name as my daughter. I couldn’t read the article for the tears. Days after the incident it still refuses to leave my mind. One precious child thrown away like she was worthless dross. It was her birthday. Her parents were too busy celebrating her life to notice that she had already fallen to her death. There is no point allotting blame – the child will still remain dead – and yet how can one comprehend the carelessness and lack of supervision that causes these tragedies time and again? 

In my opinion the greedy illegal well-diggers who thought nothing of leaving a 70 ft bore well uncovered, ought to be hanged. It is murder after all to knowingly endanger another’s life. Could they not have covered the well? Or put some warning sign around it? They couldn’t simply because what they did was beyond the purview of the law and they couldn’t afford to draw attention to their activities. So dig half a well and leave it open and then move on and do it again without a thought as to how many lives are lost – why should they care? The ones who died were not the children of the perpetrators of these crimes. They haven’t been punished ever – not even in one single case. I am not going to waste my words on wondering why the government authorities don’t crackdown on these activities. It is the shortage of water- something that is part of the basic rights of every citizen that forces ordinary people to buy water at exorbitant rates from these illegal suppliers who in turn dig the killer wells. So who is the ultimate villain? No one comes out smelling of roses in this scenario.

The government offered monetary compensation. I wonder what the going rate is now for a four year old girl anyway. The parents blamed the authorities for not responding fast enough. The authorities point out that the child had died within a few hours of falling in. No one seems to feel the agony that that little girl must’ve undergone – dying in the worst possible way – in fear and dirt unable to breathe enough even to cry. And this on the one day when everyone should have been wishing her “May you have many more”....

No four walls

I look at my children and think that for the most part, they are indeed lucky. They have a more varied life than I did. They are exposed to more things. They have already seen more places now than I had till I got married. Their life is not always dull routine and while they do crib occasionally, they seem rather content with the way things are. They demand attention in a way that I would never dream of doing as a child. Its a good thing – undemanding children generally get ignored.

When I try to recollect my childhood, I feel it wasn’t an entirely unhappy one. I cannot imagine my children surviving being cooped inside four walls day in and day out for close to ten years. But the saving grace of being children is that you adapt. My physical environment might have been completely devoid of stimulation and yet my dream world was so peopled with adventures and excitement that out of sheer necessity creativity bloomed. My sister was a genius at making the spaces around us more interesting. She had a magic touch which made the drab surroundings look quite charming in their own way. My brother was too little to not know that four walls were too small for a child. And me? Oh I would read always – I would be a beautiful actress one day, a warrior the next, a scientist on the third day, a sophisticated lady about town on another. I would see my stories in print in my mind. I could live in that little world and it was far more appealing than anything the real world offered me.

Evenings we would play out with our friends on those days when there were no sandstorms. The infrequent rains transformed the ‘desertscape’ temporarily creating miniature lakes and deliciously tempting puddles. The rest of the time we were inside or at school. Weekends were the same as weekdays except we didn’t have to get up at 6 in the morning and the lunches were wonderfully elaborate. I do not remember a significant change in our routine ever. By the time we returned to India, I was so used to sitting at home for the most part that even given a chance to step out, I wouldn’t know what to do. It did not help that the area we stayed in had plenty of unsavoury characters up and about in the evenings and even walking short distances was made difficult by their rude stares and irritating comments.

My first true taste of freedom came when I left for college. For every other girl the convent-run hostel was a prison – for me it was wonderfully liberating. I could walk wherever I wished in the closed compound. I could dream under the trees. I could talk to so many other girls. I had no clue why the others complained so much about their confinement though I agreed that the food was simply too much to bear after a while! It was the first time that I understood that no one else lived quite like my family, that their life consisted of a huge extended family and visits to all , that a trip to the cinema theatre did not necessarily mean a loss of character! It was amazing how different the outside world was but given all the other avenues of excitement, I preferred my books which were the only constant in a strange new world whose rules I could never quite grasp.

After the girls’ college, I spent three years in an engineering college – my first experience of a mixed environment – meaning boys and girls studying together. It sounds so archaic when I think of those days and yet it was not very long back. I enjoyed those years making friends and opening my mind ever wider to absorb all sorts of interesting facts. I got my first anonymous letters and felt rather proud at the fact that girls would actually sit down and write how much they disliked me – and I made even more friends. My parents were alarmed at the new independent me. No longer could they coop me up in four walls or keep my mind from growing. They wondered at the ideas that now occupied my mind. They were however happy that I was traditional enough not to embarrass the family by doing something as low as falling in love. I am pretty sure my parents must’ve said a few hundred extra prayers to ensure their daughter was never prey to temptation ;-)

I do not want my children to be like me – carrying the vestiges of a fear of venturing into the unknown. I don’t want them to be uncertain about making mistakes. There is no such thing as perfection and I wish I could follow what I drill into them – make mistakes and grow my little ones – fly away and find your dream – fear drags you down. To that end I will take them everywhere so they can see for themselves the endless possibilities and dream better dreams and also never stop at dreaming but move on to realizing...

Little magic...

She stood at the base of the staircase looking intently at the newel post. I was watching her as I cleared the table and got Appu to sit down to study. Getting curious as to why she was staring so hard, I asked her the reason for the sudden interest in the post. This is what Mahi had to say:

“Amma, imagine for a moment that there are four columns on this square (just below the ball that surmounted the post). Each column has a different coloured button. If I press the red one the staircase will change to an escalator. If I press the blue one, it becomes an awesome slide. If I press the green one, it becomes a roller-coaster. To get it back to a regular staircase I can press the last yellow one. Can you make it like that for me?”

I smiled at her and said that I couldn’t do that for her but that I was sure she’d find a way to do it someday. She went off to play and I sat down to work still amused at her imagination. Isn’t it wonderful how unfettered flows the creativity of a child? Nothing is impossible – nothing is too fantastic. As an adult I see only limitations when I face a problem. I am filled with self doubts about my ability to tackle it. I see all the ways various solutions wouldn’t work. The four walls of my box always appear to close in on me.

But children are so different. They look at the world with light in their eyes. Joy is their innate nature. Every little thing is viewed so differently. Little hurts cause big pain. Little joys bring forth great happiness. And their love is the unconditional type – I am always the best mom in the world to my kids – at least for now, when they are yet young. They live life with all their heart – children can never hold back. Have you heard their laughter? Its so very unlike an adult’s self-conscious version. My son still has his infectious belly laugh from when he was very little. I hear it and know that his innocence is still untouched and I can’t help but smile.

That night we walked out and enjoyed watching the sky. Mahi was chattering on about all sorts of things when she suddenly asked me if I noticed the huge star she had drawn with coloured chalk on the tiles in front of the house. I said yes I did for it was a very beautiful star. I asked her why it had to be so big. She looked up at the sky and pointed out the moon “You know the moon over there? She was looking very lonely so I thought I’d draw her a friend. Moons like stars, don’t they Amma? Do you think she can see this one?” I assured her that she definitely couldn’t miss seeing the special star. She was comforted with the thought that in her little universe no one was now friendless.

How many years has it been since I have missed seeing the magic unfolding around me? Little birds’ eggs don’t make my eyes widen in wonder. A particularly ugly caterpillar invokes only disgust and not curiosity. Clouds have ceased to look like elephants and dinosaurs. But when my kids point it all out, I get a glimpse of what I felt as a child myself. For a while I can close my eyes and feel that magic once again....

Morning skies

After a night spent squeezing myself into an impossibly small section of the bed due to the invasion of the twosome (their dad is away on a business trip), I wake up still sleepy and crawl out to brush my teeth. I wanted to walk at least for a few minutes before the day hit me. So I rush to get ready – make a cup of coffee, pull on my shoes and go out. 

The morning was simply gorgeous. There was a pearl-tinged light in the sky and the breeze was cool and welcoming. I walk with my head full of random thoughts, bits of memories, snatches of songs and flashes of images. I smile to myself wondering if anyone else could even make out that the sober-faced woman who can be seen walking mornings, evenings and even nights sometimes, has a mind full of dancing thoughts and secret laughter. Maybe it is that you need to go through a lot of difficult times before you can gain the ability to smile or take joy in little things. Today it was the sight of the glorious morning sky – little interconnected gilded puffs of cloudlets forming wave after wave growing in brightness where they covered the sun itself. If I could pick up the sky and roll it, I could make you the softest cushion ever.

Then there is Obi, my neighbour’s pet beagle. I fell in love with him when they got him as a 30 day old pup. He loves everyone. I see him in the mornings. He runs to me with sheer joy and stands up so his head is on my knees. He is one bundle of happiness. He adores children but would cheerfully follow just about everyone just about anywhere. I love his morning greetings. It may not be only for me but I enjoy his unconditional affection all the same. He never fails to bring a smile to my face with his chocolate eyes lined beautifully with black, floppy ears, and endearing mix of black , brown and white colours with four perfectly formed white ‘socks’ on his legs. S, a completely anti-dog person has gone from “okay – if you are touching that dog, don’t come near me” to “ Oh! Hi little guy – isn’t he the best-looking dog here – none of the others come close ;-)” That is what simple love can do – love given with no expectations always transforms the recipient – I wish we all could be like little Obi.

I’m back home after a few rounds ready to tackle the day ahead. An inspiring morning sky and a joyous little beagle always make the perfect start to any day :-)

Gestures

A good friend of mine was chatting with me the other day. We were talking of this and that. I was pestering her to come and visit sometime. We had met after 14 years just this past year and it was lovely to get back to talking like we had never stopped. It never ceases to surprise me that when you have been very close to someone, you can always get back to connecting with them so seamlessly that the years apart mean nothing at all. Deep relationships are like that – the connection is at the heart – none of the layers you build up after will change that.

She then told me how much she enjoyed meeting S at last. He is a quiet sort not given to chatting or trying to create an impression and she told me last year that there was something about his calmness that everyone in her family found appealing. Her exact words were “there is something soothing about him – quietly flavourful like a perfect cup of tea” – her family of course thought I was the ultimate chatterbox albeit with great hair ;-)

I told her I was gratified that she of all people could understand my husband so quickly. Most people do not see his strengths that easily. He tends to get less attention because of his effacing nature. His diplomatic ways also ensure that he is never actively disliked. He makes friends very rarely since the very same distancing also makes it hard for him to share his thoughts with anyone else. I go around making friends and enemies with alacrity – no one can ignore me – its always been either love or hate. Sometimes I wonder how two such different people have managed to get along so well for so long. We met as almost strangers three days before our very arranged marriage. We became friends and more as time flew past. We discover new facets to our relationship with every passing year. He is still quiet and I am still talkative.

The last thing she said before she signed off was “I could see in his eyes the shining light of pride whenever he looked at you. The idea that you are his wife brings him joy.” I gaped in surprise and told her quite honestly that I never saw that. “Its because you are blind – open your eyes wide and just look at what you have. You are one lucky woman.” I logged out from the chat in a very thoughtful mood. Was it true? Did I not notice anything? I prided myself on being able to catch subtlety and nuances – how come I didn’t see the writing on the wall? Of course I knew S respected me and loved me – I am his wife after all – but I never have given him anything to be proud about. And yet in one meeting, my friend had noticed something that I never realized. 

Perhaps its because I need words. Affirmations are important to me. I might be too dense to notice the eyes when I am busy waiting to hear the right sounds. Have I been like this all my life? Did I go through so many years unaware of the feelings of others because they have never expressly said so? I always state what I feel – am genuinely affectionate by nature and I show I care in a hundred different ways. But that doesn’t mean that people who are not prone to verbalizing, feel any less than those able to find the right words.

My friend is right. I have been blind. I can look back at so many people that I failed to understand in their depth because I was waiting for verbal declarations. Even with my children I sometimes expect words that they don’t have. So focused have I been on the words that I missed the gestures that mattered. It took a friend to show me the simple truth that I have not really opened my eyes to the love around me...