Parenting

Oh! the joys of parenting and ah! its vexing moments!!

Rainy Rapture

Walking through the rain, what an exulting experience that was! Pouring, unceasing rain that came down in torrents, breaking the tranquil calm of the atmosphere two minutes before…it seemed magical! The transformation that happened within seconds, in front of my fascinated eyes, was unbelievable. When I had got into my car, to do the customary round of the local market, the air was still and the sky overcast but there was no hint of rain. So much so that it seemed eminently wise to dash across and finish the mandatory, Saturday recci before the kiddo, home for the week end, woke up and one’s precious time (whose precious-ness quotient can only be gauged by a parent whose children live in different cities) was wasted.

So, equipped with a to-do list, as is my wont while on such errands, I set out; if not exactly whistling a tune or doing a jig, pretty much near it, as it was an unbelievably pleasant morning. Just right for an outing, I told myself, clutching the purse in one hand and the umbrella in the other; the latter more a matter of habit than any real apprehension of rains. But a short ride of 15 minutes later, when humming the tune playing on 92.7 was all that was on the mind (mundane grocery and fruit-veggie shopping never transporting most of my ilk to any kind of rapture that shopping for clothes, shoes, accessories and what-have-you invariable does) I found myself at the nondescript entry point of the humble market. Even as I prepared to step out gingerly, so as to avoid any crevice in the ground, I noticed the sudden change in the immediate surroundings and became aware of nature’s watery onslaught. Rain, thick and fast, the kind that one doesn’t normally witness in or around Delhi, was all around me. lt was raining the proverbial cats and dogs and the landscape (read Noida roads) were suddenly, cataclysmically inundated!! Frailer hearts would have quailed at the sight, the meek would have deserted the earth, but not yours truly. Ever the adventurous sort, not given to easily throwing in the towel, I ventured out of the car, unfurling my dainty umbrella to brave the odds.

The torrential force hit me like a physical blow and I fell back for a moment. But the very next, looking the spate full in the eye as it were, I equipped myself to face the situation, and holding my bag while balancing my feet precariously on the fast-disappearing ground under my feet, I tip-toed my way into the market.

Oh how wonderful that felt! Walking in the face of cascading rain, the water doing a neat tangential spray on me as the surface of the umbrella deflected the misty spray my way, making me want to break into a tango. Not since I was a naughty kid, or perhaps, an audacious adolescent, or okay let me concede a sedate middle-aged person…well that’s immaterial. Not in a long time, did I remember a moment so magical, so refreshing, quite so fun-filling and so absolutely exhilarating!! Adding to the zing was the sense of achievement-for, as far as the eye could see, I was the only shopper, with nary a competitor. In fact, even the shopkeepers had withdrawn to the safety of temporary refuge, abandoning all idea of profit and commerce and I could see tell-tale signs of hastily-beaten retreat, as many a stall could be seen covered with tarpaulin or water-proof material of all kinds.

I waded in resolutely, encountering bemused looks from all sides-some may even have doubted my sanity!-but I had not a care in the world. It was too rapturous a moment; the sheer exuberance was too precious to be wasted on such trivial matters. My feet couldn't see where they were going, the place was ankle-deep already in muddy water, a misty film had formed on my glasses so vision was impaired, the bottoms of my trousers were drenched the footwear soaked and past rescue but the predominating feeling was one of ultimate bliss!!

Ah, the simple joy, the inexpressible pleasure of walking in the rain!!

Two ends of the spectrum

Two extreme comments in less than forty eight hours' difference!!
At a family wedding from one-who-knows (extremely bright IITian-turned bureaucrat) "McKinsey is the best company in the world to work for!!" transporting me to heights of maternal pride and bliss.

And this morning, from one-who-should-have-known (an ex-Symbiosis Pune guy) "McKinsey? What does it do? Why didn't you join some other company? Campus placement nahi mila kya?"
(The last with a distinct touch of sympathy)

As they say, munde munde matri bhinna (every mind thinks differently.) 

Magical May

It seems just the other day when, clutching my finger tightly with her tiny hand, the little one walked towards the bus stand, school bag perched firmly on her back. 7.15 A.M and we’d be off, to the corner down the lane we lived in, straight walk and a right turn, ten minutes in all-and waited for the familiar bus to amble into sight. Attired in their smart school uniforms, the pristine white of the starched shirt off-setting the navy blue skirt, admirably complemented by the white socks and polished black shoes, these little girls-yes more of them converged at this point from different directions –made a pretty picture as they waited for the bus to carry them forth to school and enlightenment. As the mother of one such girl, I would study their excited faces, listen to their endless chatter or simply observe the quieter ones, who preferred standing under the shady tree that grew right there, as if its sole purpose in life was to shade them from the morning sun.

They say a lecturer’s job is a cushy one. One is not sure if that is applicable in today’s day and time, but in those halcyon days of the early nineties, this sure was true. A normal working day meant leaving home around 9 A.M and after a ‘tiring’ schedule of two to three lectures, being back by 2 P.M, at the latest. Such were the timings, that a working mother didn’t suffer the pangs of conscience that have become a part of the collective working mothers’ psyche now; that she wasn’t spending ‘quality time’ with her kids. For here it was a perfect setting: early morning, escort the little ones to the bus stand and come afternoon, be right there to pick them up! As sonny boy grew older, this ritual kind of waned but in the case of the little gal, it pretty much remained the same-right till the time she was in the 4^th or perhaps 5^th standard. No matter where I was, no matter what the schedule or season, I would turn homeward the minute the hands of my wrist watch indicated that 3 P.M was approaching. The foot on the accelerator subconsciously pressed harder as I would make my way home on those ‘specially hectic’ days when one had to work oneself to the bones (read for more than four hours) and my tryst with the bus stand seemed threatened. But no matter what the task at hand, I always managed to be there, in the nick of time to pick up daughter dear. On most days, this routine used to be different (as I would come home first and then walk to the bus stand after lunch) and it was only on ‘extra heavy’ days that the need to go there directly arose.

In other words, this rendezvous was sacrosanct and over a period of time, became a habit.

Cut to the present. So much water has flown under the bridge!
May 2012.
For more than a month now, we followed a fixed routine when we went out together but the scene was quite different from the mom and li’l girl one all those years ago. The day now started with the not-so-little-one and me getting ready, but not for school and college respectively. Instead, we would both be headed for similar destinations-our workplace. No more the school uniform and black shoes…instead, there was sober office wear and formal shoes, complemented by a smart bag hung from the shoulder, as my girl would step into the car along with me, a mature, adult companion, walking shoulder-to-shoulder (a head taller, actually!) making interesting small talk as we made our way to her drop-point: the Noida City Centre metro station. She took off for work every morning after being dropped by me and I carried on to my office, two equals in the corporate world. At the end of the day, and again my timings were so well coordinated, I invariably found myself at this modern ‘bus stand’, waiting, as her mode of travel would bring her back home.

As the saying so tellingly goes, the wheel has come full circle. A lot has changed: the little one has grown up and found her vocation; she doesn’t need to be accompanied every day, it’s just a practical arrangement, a pretext to spend some extra time together, but what has remained unchanged is the immense joy and pride I take in watching her take confident strides into a world just waiting to be conquered.

Band Baaja Baaraat

Well, the first wedding of the third generation of clan Kadam Kuan, that much-looked-forward to event, is finally over. As is wont, any occasion that is awaited with undue fervour, leaves a sort of emptiness in its wake. The eager anticipation, the shopping, the choosing of gifts, the options related to what the family would wear (once the kids had decided whether it would be Western or ethnic, that is) the colour coordination, the footwear and accessories to match, the endless chats with other cousins, checking on who was coming and when…the count down was truly exciting.  And what was especially impressive was the single-minded focus with which gen Y-all interestingly born between 1987 and 88-planned to make it to the wedding..

The wheel having come full circle; these five youngsters are all working men and women now, attending this event was especially difficult for the three girls-living in far off Calcutta, Manipal and Bombay .One a fresh MBBS graduate had joined internship and had no leave due, the other, a dentist had similar challenges and for the third, who had joined the Banking-Insurance industry, her job was literally a nine-day wonder. Taking leave for all three was tough but whoever said When there’s a will, there’s a way must have had these youngsters in mind. Their determination and sincerity paid off and each of them arrived in style, on the morning of the wedding. The young guys, in the meantime, were already in town, one luckily working from his Gurgaon office those days, the other having winged in from the United Kingdom a week before.

All in all, the stage was set as the very popular Bhaiya prepared to don the shervani and lead the baaraat. The entire clan descended upon the venue, resplendent in their trendy best, and then followed what can only be described as marathon dancing by the selfsame enthusiastic lads and gals. We, of the older generation, looked on benignly, but now and then, were pulled into the merry circle, while the even older generation beamed from the periphery. A good hour or more later (the groom’s dad having finally beaten the crazy traffic of Delhi on a week-day and arriving) the frenetic dancing ended. In stark contrast to the swaying movements, and with measured steps, the baaraatis converged at the hall’s entrance and were welcomed with warm smiles and traditional, flower garlands.

It was pretty much a regular, big, fat Indian wedding but what distinguished it was the large number of cousins who had made great efforts to be there, from different parts of the country and even more heartwarming was the spirit with which they met one another after long gaps. The magic of the extended family was palpable, the joy writ large on each face, very heartening. The sense of kinship and bonding were  tangibly felt by everyone.

Truly, a memorable occasion!!

Ah friends....

The fortnight from the last week of Feb to the first week of March had a magical quality-spent as it was in the company of some of the dearest friends I have made along Life’s winding way. And it was special in more ways than one-for after three decades, four young girls who had shared more than just a room-whose dreams and aspirations, plans and crazy ideas had all been similar-converged at one point and shared space, albeit for a brief interim. Oh the joy of reconnecting with long-lost friends, friends with whom one’s association goes back years and years, who one has shared the better part of one’s life with…and the occasion was no less special, as it was the wedding of the first one of all the offspring-another first for the four chirpy ‘gals’ of room number 4, PWCH, 1979. A first of sorts in many ways, and therefore that much more important. From the Sangeet to the recci around Dilli Haat and GIP Mall, from catching up with other mutual friends to the latest gossip involving some hapless hosteller of those days, we did the gamut. And emerged refreshed and rejuvenated.

And then, the very next weekend, spent with another very dear, hostel friend-again, one of the closest and dearest that I have-transported me to the good old days once again. There was endless chatter, rollicking laughter, easy banter and yummy food. Truly memorable, and went on to prove how the intervening years-decades really-have not taken away an iota from the ‘giggling girls at heart’. Once back in the same company, the years simply fall away and it’s amazing to see each one of us revert to that carefree persona when inane conversation and senseless giggles become the order of the day. Incredible how we, responsible and sedate middle-aged creatures of the world, with careers to boot, have remained the unspoiled, unsophisticated, naive (in many ways) people, untouched by all the rough and tumble of life. Or is it that temporarily we revert to that persona while the rest of the time, we are worldly-wise and cynical and very much in sync with current times?

Good question to debate…..but whatever the answer, what is a fact is that such lovely interludes pass off in a trice. Even this lovely week-end got over too fast and soon she winged it back to the Wild West (!) but not before we had created some wonderful memories.

Which will keep us going till the next such meet happens.

Jisska mujhe thha intezaar…..

saying the steps to the first floor, I happened to look up mid way, and there he stood, in a white Pathan suit, white shawl draped under-an-arm-and-over- the-shoulder in quintessential AB style, hands politely folded in a namaskar, the way one has seen zillions of times on TV. Only this was different, and how!! For this was not the Amitabh Bachchan, who has been a part of our growing up years, whose films have mirrored the aspirations and frustrations, the dreams and the angst of millions of our generation (and counting!). This was the icon, whose films one watched avidly and unfailingly, no matter what the season, and meeting whom in person was a cherished dream, always. So this moment now seemed to gain an identity all its own-it was a moment frozen in Time, carved indelibly on the psyche….

Looking back, through all the turns and twists of life, from college to domesticity and kids, to relocation to a new city and finding my place in the sun, the one k constant in this life of flux was the undying admiration for this larger-than-life persona that has inspired millions. We were but a sand particle on the vast sea-shore of humanity, longing for an opportunity to meet the legend in person, always hoping, religiously watching and participating in every KBC season but always left out in the cold. But very optimistically promising to oneself hum honge kamyab ek din.

I think I must pen this down before the euphoria dies, and memories blur. More than 15 hours after the incredible, unbelievable happened, it still seems unreal. That we actually met and chatted with-I don’t have words to describe him-the Super Shehanshah of all times, the Living Legend, the one and only Amitabh Bachchan, still seems like a dream. Even while we were there-our normal garrulousness reduced to momentary silence by the sheer enormity of the situation-that we were actually sharing space and laughter, incessant chatter (completely from our side)-the fact that we were breathing the same air as the global phenomenon, Amitabh Bachchan, seemed impossible to believe.

In real life, Amitabh Bachchan looks taller, thinner and fairer (!) than he does on screen. He is extremely soft-spoken and speaks in measured tones, in that world famous, rich baritone.

My opening line, I recall through a haze, was something inane

“This is the realization of a lifetime’s dream; we can’t believe we are actually sitting in front of you!”. At which he had the grace to look surprised, as if this was such an unexpected thing for him to hear!

“Are you from Bombay?” was his polite enquiry. And all reticence disappeared, as our side of the story came tumbling out.

“No, we’re from Delhi. Mr. Bachchan, you would have had fans of all shapes, sizes and ages but never would sedate, middle-aged, working women have come all the way from Delhi simply with the intent of meeting you. “

“Oh, you’ve come from Delhi?” definite smile and sense of surprise and our response in chorus: “Yes and we’re flying back tonight; leaving for the airport straight after this.”

He asked us about our work, and then I kind of went into a long description of how, decades earlier, I had had the good fortune of taking his autograph in Pehalgam and even showed the dog-eared autograph book. His simple response was an Oh God!-- as though it was such an unusual thing to have happened. I also said how, ever since I could remember, this had been a long-cherished dream and how I had eagerly participated in the KBC questions, in the hope of making a breakthrough. But the fourth season was different, wasn’t it I queried, particularly the entry criteria? To which Mr. Bachchan replied that it was the same as before with no changes.

Once my prattle about KBC aspirations and failed attempts ended, I said that what we really wanted was to hear him speak. And he told us how he had just come back, the evening before, from his Gujarat Tourism Ad campaign (our luck had really been in!). He went on to describe the unexplored potential of that state and said it was such a pity that we weren’t aware of the beauty of our own country. I happily contributed to the conversation by adding the all-important fact that my daughter was studying in Ahmedabad and he nodded his head sagely.

So many thoughts were flitting through my mind, so much to say, what great fans of his we were, how desperately we had prayed each day during the Coolie accident, how we would be glued to the AIR news at 8.45 PM every evening, hearts full of trepidation, how brothers and cousins ragged us brood of girl cousins endlessly for our Bachchan craze……but all this remained unsaid. What I did remember talking about was our rapt listening to his recitation of Dr Harivansh Rai Bachchan’s poem from the LP record Bachchan recites Bachchan that still holds pride of place in my drawing room. We spoke, especially, of Jeevan ki aapadhapi mein, which we have heard him recite on TV countless times. I went on to add how our mother, being a student of Hindi literature, had inculcated the love for poetry of this language in us. And as if without volition, I quoted her favourite line on the haala, the mud container of drinks that pretty much sums up human life as well:

“Mitti ka tan, masti ka munn, kshan bhar jeevan… mera parichay."

A photographer was right there and all the time, photos were being clicked and we sat next to the legend, scarce able to believe our luck. Then he suggested that we didn’t’ need to get all the pictures clicked seated at the table, some could be taken standing and very happily, we posed with him. Again he said we could get pics taken one by one and we needed no second telling. We were hardly able to breathe-believe me, this is the effect Amitabh Bachchan still has on his inveterate fans!!

Now we decided it was time to leave and I fished for the little notebook I had bought for an autograph. Even as I was looking for it, I noticed AB had got little books with CDs-the Hanuman Chalisa rendered musically by him recently-and was signing them for us!!

We expressed our gratitude, said for the nth time how overwhelmed we were and almost swooned when he said (believe it or not!) “Do drop in when you’re here next!!”

What an evening, what euphoria and exultation and what memories to treasure for a lifetime. A tale to be shared with posterity.