For a special girl...

She is about three years old I think or possibly a bit younger. Tiny and energetic with twinkling eyes and chubby cheeks, she grabbed my attention the moment I first laid eyes on her. Of course I seemingly ignored her for the most part – small children can never resist that – its how I have most kids eating out of my hands fairly easily. This one was no exception.

Her mother was my maid’s neighbour. She came asking me for a job. I eyed her doubtfully, wondering how she could manage to take care of the child and do the dishes at the same time. I told her I didn’t have much requirement for a second maid but she pleaded softly. She was very young and delicately pretty. I couldn’t say no but I was sure my decision would come to bite me in the near future.

The first day mother and daughter came in with big smiles. The little one was chattering away constantly and I do mean non-stop. I tried to suppress my grins as I went about my cooking and packing of lunches. She was a bit shy with me and would keep quiet whenever I was in the kitchen. Sushanth found the tiny girl adorable and he would openly show his admiration. She in return bestowed her brightest smiles on him.

Soon she took to being more and more curious. She would follow Mahi chirping ‘Didi, Didi” till Mahi could take it no more. She marched up to me saying ‘Amma, she has way too much energy. I can’t play with her anymore.” I raised my eyebrow and asked innocently “Oh really? Imagine having that kind of energy!” Mahi wasn’t amused. Riya, as the little minx was called, managed to adopt the entire lot of us. She would go on in Bengali about God knows what while we stared with bewildered amusement. She wouldn’t leave her mother for a second and kept getting in everyone’s way in the kitchen. Her singsong “Maaa, Oooo Maaaaa” and “Kiiiii?” had me in splits. Sometimes for no discernible reason she got into the mood for a dance and she’d be off shaking her nonexistent hips and moving her head about in wild abandon.

She was a total entertainment package and I marvelled at how clearly she spoke. I chatted to her in English so she could learn something new and she would listen with her head tilted to one side and her eyes wide with interest. Sushanth would come home from the office, cock a ear in the direction of the kitchen and ask “Where’s the pixie? I don’t hear her today”. He would greet her every morning and evening and wave goodbye and she treated him like an equal. I must admit to being surprised that my normally undemonstrative husband would melt like gooey chocolate over little Riya.

For both of us, what touched us most was the care with which the young mother watched over her daughter. Unlike most women I know, she had no issues about having a daughter instead of a son – nor did she curse the child for being dark as night itself while she was fair. Her pride in her and her affection was writ large on her lovely face. She told me she couldn’t get a job anywhere because no one would let the child in. She then said she was not so poor that she would leave her child elsewhere and go to work. Her mother had asked her to leave Riya with her back in her village in Bengal and she refused. “I know what it feels like to stay unwanted in another’s home even if the home is that of your own grandparents’. I would never leave my daughter to anyone else”, she said fiercely. 

I smiled at her and told her she should make sure the little one went to school. She replied that that was why she was coming to work – to make enough money so that she could educate her daughter. I was moved. It was beautiful indeed to see a mother such as her. Such a searing dedication to her child. Such patience with her endless chatter. Such pride in her achievements. I felt the emotion welling inside and sent a silent prayer that this mother and daughter should forever be blessed with whatever their hearts yearned for.

Riya is lucky indeed – I know in my heart that with a mother like that she cannot but succeed. Here’s to more wonderful mothers who unreservedly cherish their daughters....

A gift...

There are moments in life when you are surprised in a way that you never forget. The surprise may last or it may be ephemeral but for that moment all you can do is accept almost in a spirit of reverence that which is gifted to you unexpectedly. One such moment came my way a few days ago.

I was at Appu’s school dreading yet another open house session. These sessions are long , interspersed with accounts of what the teachers are working on with the students, how they are planning to overcome the difficulties and usually how we were not to be bothered about the slow pace of academics because the work habits needed to be tackled before knowledge could be imparted. I have been hearing versions of this for years. It was only last academic year that I placed my son in this newly started special school – he had always been in a regular school prior to that. His former school had no interest in special needs children apart from the extra money they brought in. He was therefore left free to play or merely walk around and was quite happily stuck in the grade level he found least problematic. Therefore my wariness of schools continues – I am forever afraid of hearing something I will not be able to handle.

I was proud of my child, no doubt and yet the dread I am describing would not cease to haunt me. The idea of helplessly watching as some children battled their almost insurmountable behavioural and nervous disorders in order to do the smallest of tasks – that which everyone takes for granted was never easy. All I could see was the pain – their determination escaped me entirely. Each time I had to visit the school. I would wake with a headache and go through the morning so tensed that a coiled spring was relaxed in comparison. I won’t lie – it is hard to accept that my son needs to be in a special school for he is so social and such a bundle of talent that I have never ceased blaming myself for not being able to unlock his potential.

The morning passed by in a series of discussions and demonstrations while I waited to see what the remedial class was going to show us. That was Appu’s class – there are four of them in his group and they are all uniquely gifted. I have watched them in class before and knew they had miles to go in order to learn to sit and focus, to do independent work, to be quiet while others answered, to ignore distractions like a partly opened door or a mooing cow from the farm next door or even a child crying downstairs.

I got out of the hall to call and check on my daughter who was at a neighbour’s house and spied Appu’s class teacher standing by the veranda. I walked up to her and started talking, telling her how impossible it was to get my son to study and do homework. She eyed me with a slightly disappointed expression and said “Please don’t talk like that about my child!.” I laughed and apologized – and promised to try harder for the next open house demo which Appu and I were to put up.

The principal then called us in again and it was the turn of the remedial class to show off. They walked in – four kids of different ages and sizes with the same cocky walk and big grins on their faces. They arrayed themselves in front of the teacher and helped her set up. The moms sat in a row behind them since we didn’t want them to be distracted.

The teacher drew a scoring table on the board and explained the rules of the science demo. Each child was to come to the board and draw a diagram and explain about it in detail. A golden star would be given for the diagram, one more for a good presentation and a bonus star for good behaviour (even simple stars are great motivation !). They were to answer questions and present in a chosen order.

The kids agreed. The questions then began and I couldn’t believe what I saw – four eager hands flying up – everyone wanting to answer at the same time! Appu kept looking back at me for approval and saying loudly “pick me ! pick me!”. We moms looked at each other in amazement. The questions began and it was Appu’s turn to go first. He answered all the questions and went to the board to draw a caterpillar which was his chosen topic. This child who hates drawing and finds it incredibly difficult to copy even the simplest of figures walked up confidently and drew an actual caterpillar – true it was mostly the suggestion of a caterpillar and was by no means a very good depiction but anyone seeing it would instantly know what it was and besides it was smiling!

He then proceeded to talk about caterpillars clearly and confidently albeit halting at certain moments when shyness made him look away from his audience. I heard him spout facts I never knew. I heard terms used that I had no clue that my child was even aware of. This little guy who till a year ago had to restart from the basics so that the gaps in his academics could be bridged, was actually dealing with science projects now!

Each and every one of those children presented beautifully. Each knew and helped out when the others seemed to falter. Each looked around for approval with shining eyes and huge smiles. I saw the same mixture of pride, surprise and tearfulness in the other mothers’ eyes. I did not try take a video or a picture or try in any way to capture the moment for it was indelibly etched in my heart already. No picture can match the image of my son taking that huge step to learning and discovering the joy of knowledge. No video can reproduce the thrilling feeling of being witness to a change I’ve longed for for years. No record can be made of the change in body language that a child displays when for the first time he feels a sense of pride in himself. I am overwhelmed by a deep sense of gratitude for being blessed with the gift of a moment such as this one. Here’s to many more....

My Memories

It has never ceased to amaze me how vastly complex and layered memories can be. My memories of incidents or people that have touched me greatly either positively or negatively are so clear and detailed that even after a dozen years I could put them down in words that evoke the exact sentiment I felt when I was living through those moments. It is a mixed blessing however. The happy moments don’t fade with time – there is no sepia tinge to those frozen captures. And yet the sad moments can fill my eyes years later – there is no softening of the edges of pain or at least there is a gradual softening but the intensity of those moments never leave me. No I am not living in the past – I talk of only those memories that are in my trunk – the ones that will not leave if I move house or change everything else about me – I am talking about those dusty and not so dusty relics of times that I have never quite relinquished. Some days I still climb the stairs to that attic – those days when I am in the mood to dream.

Memories are unique and they are very personal. I have memories that are shared with others because the happy or sad moments involved them as well. But our memories of those moments are never quite the same. Is it because our perceptions when we lived through them were different? Is it because my ability to remember is sharper? Is it because the degree of intensity experienced by each is not the same at all? Or is it merely that over time, as you change, as your thought processes change, your memories too undergo a transformation?

How do you explain to someone else the fragility and beauty of a memory that you have shared with them? How do you elaborate on the disappointment you feel when the other simply doesn’t remember the way you do? How do you handle the feeling of being let down when you realize that some moments you have cherished deeply turn out to be just pleasant and perhaps diverting moments for others? Memories cannot be shared truly – they are yours and yours alone – keep them close to your heart and never relive them in the presence of others – there’s always a chance that you get hurt and lose the joy in those memories for all time.

When I think of say, an unhappy childhood incident so many years later, I can remember the scent of the air, the look in my eyes, the feel of the sorrow that envelops my heart like a heavy wet blanket. My whole being bows under the weight of the emotion. I see the incident replayed like a movie. Memories are little collages of scent, taste, touch, sound, feel and emotion. And therefore they are easy to trigger – how many times has the scent of jasmine brought home to me the holidays at my grandmother’s place in the village, or the notes of a song reminded me of a tender moment or the feel of a baby’s skin flooded me with warm memories of my babies asleep with drops of their mother’s milk still trickling out of the corners of their little lips!

Every aspect of a memory is significant for me. The place, the people involved, the emotions felt, the words spoken or left unsaid – all these are held together and sealed into a tight little bundle in my mind. When I unwrap the bundle years or maybe just days later, a glowing tapestry spills out with its vivid colours and intricate craftsmanship. The beauty or sadness of that memory is forever preserved, woven into the threads of the tapestry that I have created in my mind. The idea that these memories have not the same place in another’s mind is painful but also perhaps somewhat liberating – for I have learnt that they are now not to be shared, they are and forever will be mine alone.

Pushing away....

A year is not that long a period of time – in my mind the past year just sped by on the swiftest of wings. Add year on year, however and watch as a succession of years pass you by and you realize with a cold metallic dread deep inside that you have not much time left. A day seems so insignificant and yet count the number of days when you have said to yourself “I’ll do that later” or “It can wait for another day”. We create for ourselves a weary debt – promising to do tasks at some later time, a time perhaps that may not even find us capable of doing anything at all. Why do we all push our lives along reluctantly instead of tackling each day, our list of wishes? We keep postponing till tomorrow when tomorrow is not ours to hold on to. Today is what we have and we shamefully neglect that and grasp at an elusive tomorrow, pinning all our hopes on some vague illusory moment of time that may never materialize.

I am a master of postponement. I could write an entire book on the topic but of course I would simply push even that to tomorrow. Everyday I tell myself I should do the things I consider important and everyday I break my promise to do just that. It could be that none of these things are what I want to do or it could be that some tasks on the list are so frightfully difficult that a safe inertia seems desirable. Whatever the reason, I am a procrastinator extraordinaire. There have been a few days in my life when I have simply gone ahead and done something I set my mind on. They have invariably been things that have brought me pleasure and satisfaction or things that I was confident of doing well. The unknown and uncharted as well as the long-drawn, no-easy-solutions kind of problems are the ones that I never act on till its well nigh too late.

I am in the middle of at least three non-easy tasks. One is a lifelong project. The other is something I have wanted to do since I was nine years old and the third is the desire to act on a cause that is very close to my heart. I haven’t made significant progress in any of them – admittedly they all take time but there still needs to be a visible change, a movement towards the goal in question. The frustration therefore builds up – intentions alone will not get you anywhere. And meaningless action just tires you. Targeted action is what’s needed and not my daily procrastination.

Blogging is my way of thinking out aloud. Its the time I sit and look at my thoughts in black and white. I sometimes find solutions to my problems this way. Many a time I do not find answers but there is a feeling of achieving greater clarity in the questions itself. That helps too – oftentimes it is a confused question that befuddles the answer – simplifying what it is that you are looking for is a good way to start. I have always felt that if instead of feeling lost in a nebulous cloud of doubt, you can actually sit down and write an one-line description of what you want to achieve for a task or project or  wish, you are already on the way to getting to your goal.

And now, enough of procrastination – let me get to work :-)