Statutory Warning: This post is going to be all mushy...Readers can contemplate having a tissue ready. These are arbitrary sketches of my consciousness and perception of the world at large, as a child and as a teenager, then as a middle-aged parent trying to grasp the understanding of the other generation, of both the previous as well as the next.
I know that I am behaving like a sentimental, mother, who does not lose a single opportunity in blowing her nose and her trumpet in public and making a public display of emotions, when it concerns even the slightest of achievements of her children. I know that I am doing something today, of which, I was feeling mighty embarrassed about, two decades earlier. That is perhaps what role-reversal does to a perfectly logical person.
The other day, while wrik's father, who usually takes it upon himself to buy school shoes for the kids, called me up to confirm the shoe-size of wrik. I had to gently remind him that school shoes were not required for wrik anymore. There was a moment of silence, after which, we both smiled ruefully and admitted to each other that we didn't need to buy school shoes for our boy any more. Right at that moment, perhaps we both realized, that, that one phase of our lives, which, held together, both the difficulties, as well as the sweetness and satisfaction of being the principal care-giver, to our little boy, for whom we were the center of his universe, was almost done.
"wrik, don't gorge on fuchhkas, you've already had about 20, you will have a stomach upset and won't be able to attend your first day at school". I have to look up to speak to him, as he is almost a foot taller than me. I see a frustrated teenager face. "Ma...please!, not 'school' anymore...told you so many times, its college...COLLEGE". He would have loved to repeat this word a few more times perhaps. I hung my face, chagrined. It was no small crime to label a first year B. Tech student, as a 'school-goer'. I must be careful not to embarrass him in front of his friends.
This reminded me of an incident when I was barely six. My baba, had been transferred to a remote area in the North-East, in the state capital of Manipur, Imphal. I was admitted to the only proper school in perhaps the entire town. It was a missionary institution called, the 'Little Flower School'. After my interview with the principal, where she assured my father that, I would be admitted to class I in the school, I remember our walk through the never-ending corridor, holding hands, and the chagrin and embarrassment I felt, when, baba, in a sudden impulse, held my hand up and announced in a loud voice, " my mani is a big girl now, she is in class one". There were classrooms beside the corridor, and it was very silent, and I could see many eyes turned towards us in amazement. I still remember, even then, a puny girl that I was, I hushed my baba up.
Later in life, I remember, during my board exams, ma, used to turn up in the break between two examination slots with a water-bottle full of 'Tang' the orange drink, which she was convinced, gave me a lot of energy, and an aluminium tiffin-box full of, believe me or not boiled spinach, with a dash of butter and a sprinkling of black-pepper, which again she had gathered from some unknown source, provided my brain with just that extra amount of grey cells and gave me an edge over my competitors. Amidst hushed snickering from my friends, which my ma never seemed to hear, I used to be escorted to a secluded spot, on the steps, just in front of our school parlor, and I had to clear till the last morsel of that ambrosia. I used to be mortified at the idea of facing my friends after my ma left. Thinking back, I guess, that my first board exams were less frightening than those boiled-spinach sessions in front of my friends.
This memory propels me to the present again, when my son was appearing for his boards too. The first few days, I accompanied him to the examination center, and stayed back till his exams were on it's way. And I had just started giving myself credit for the fact, that I was a much more logical version of a parent than my mother ever had been, as I had subdued my intense urge to hold wrik's hand, one more time and give my 'little boy' a peck on the cheek, before he entered the exam hall, when on the very next day, wrik told me mildly, "ma, why do you have to go to the hall everyday and gossip with aunties and gather the most unsettling of information, which are totally unrealistic?!!" To tell you the truth, I was bruised. Kids of today, did not realize how immensely lucky they were to have been born to parents like us, who always had the best for their children at the back of their mind while giving them enough personal space and freedom. Could I have ever even thought of uttering these words to my ma? But times were changing, I admitted to myself and brushing aside all resistance, I stayed put on my mission. After all, 'he was just my little boy" and I being the ma, had lost the ability to hear those friendly hushed snickering.
I hope, wrik, forgives his ma, her possessiveness, her misgivings, her being a too motherly mother, when he grows up, and fondly looks back at my antics, the way, I do today, even though times are changing and times will be changing. Because, I believe that certain things never ever change.
The other day, while wrik's father, who usually takes it upon himself to buy school shoes for the kids, called me up to confirm the shoe-size of wrik. I had to gently remind him that school shoes were not required for wrik anymore. There was a moment of silence, after which, we both smiled ruefully and admitted to each other that we didn't need to buy school shoes for our boy any more. Right at that moment, perhaps we both realized, that, that one phase of our lives, which, held together, both the difficulties, as well as the sweetness and satisfaction of being the principal care-giver, to our little boy, for whom we were the center of his universe, was almost done.
"wrik, don't gorge on fuchhkas, you've already had about 20, you will have a stomach upset and won't be able to attend your first day at school". I have to look up to speak to him, as he is almost a foot taller than me. I see a frustrated teenager face. "Ma...please!, not 'school' anymore...told you so many times, its college...COLLEGE". He would have loved to repeat this word a few more times perhaps. I hung my face, chagrined. It was no small crime to label a first year B. Tech student, as a 'school-goer'. I must be careful not to embarrass him in front of his friends.
This reminded me of an incident when I was barely six. My baba, had been transferred to a remote area in the North-East, in the state capital of Manipur, Imphal. I was admitted to the only proper school in perhaps the entire town. It was a missionary institution called, the 'Little Flower School'. After my interview with the principal, where she assured my father that, I would be admitted to class I in the school, I remember our walk through the never-ending corridor, holding hands, and the chagrin and embarrassment I felt, when, baba, in a sudden impulse, held my hand up and announced in a loud voice, " my mani is a big girl now, she is in class one". There were classrooms beside the corridor, and it was very silent, and I could see many eyes turned towards us in amazement. I still remember, even then, a puny girl that I was, I hushed my baba up.
Later in life, I remember, during my board exams, ma, used to turn up in the break between two examination slots with a water-bottle full of 'Tang' the orange drink, which she was convinced, gave me a lot of energy, and an aluminium tiffin-box full of, believe me or not boiled spinach, with a dash of butter and a sprinkling of black-pepper, which again she had gathered from some unknown source, provided my brain with just that extra amount of grey cells and gave me an edge over my competitors. Amidst hushed snickering from my friends, which my ma never seemed to hear, I used to be escorted to a secluded spot, on the steps, just in front of our school parlor, and I had to clear till the last morsel of that ambrosia. I used to be mortified at the idea of facing my friends after my ma left. Thinking back, I guess, that my first board exams were less frightening than those boiled-spinach sessions in front of my friends.
This memory propels me to the present again, when my son was appearing for his boards too. The first few days, I accompanied him to the examination center, and stayed back till his exams were on it's way. And I had just started giving myself credit for the fact, that I was a much more logical version of a parent than my mother ever had been, as I had subdued my intense urge to hold wrik's hand, one more time and give my 'little boy' a peck on the cheek, before he entered the exam hall, when on the very next day, wrik told me mildly, "ma, why do you have to go to the hall everyday and gossip with aunties and gather the most unsettling of information, which are totally unrealistic?!!" To tell you the truth, I was bruised. Kids of today, did not realize how immensely lucky they were to have been born to parents like us, who always had the best for their children at the back of their mind while giving them enough personal space and freedom. Could I have ever even thought of uttering these words to my ma? But times were changing, I admitted to myself and brushing aside all resistance, I stayed put on my mission. After all, 'he was just my little boy" and I being the ma, had lost the ability to hear those friendly hushed snickering.
I hope, wrik, forgives his ma, her possessiveness, her misgivings, her being a too motherly mother, when he grows up, and fondly looks back at my antics, the way, I do today, even though times are changing and times will be changing. Because, I believe that certain things never ever change.
No comments:
Post a Comment