Thank God, you finally chose dancing to dishwashing. It’s hard to believe that you’ve once had a life to die for, a life that we were never a part of. It’s harder to believe that it took you 25 years to get back. And trust me it was the hardest for me to say a meek, shy, long distance, “have a nice time”. For, all these years both nice and not so nice times were well knit within the family. For a person who showed no keen interest in regular personal grooming activities, you sounded 18 when you vied for heavy budget facials. Believe me, you deserve all that and more. You sounded 18, when you discussed your clothes, planned your agenda, resolved to stay late hours - you were such an excited teenager, so 18 going on 47! You let your hair down, clicked endless pictures with best buddies in all those nostalgic college spots, did a fair bit of bitching, gossiped your vocal cord out and danced like there’s no one watching! I liked the way you answered your friend’s daughter.
“Aunty, how do you feel being in college after all these years?”
“I feel young”.
I’ve always seen you grow older with me and I kind of missed being with you, the day you un-grew those 25 long years. I wish I could’ve been there, but this was the best way for it all to happen – no family, no demands, commands, complaints and disappointments! It was your day and I guess we all wanted you out of the house for a while too – for your good and ours;). I felt a role reversal, you the berserk daughter and me the old, wise mom! I hope your “back to school” experience taught you a little more than what it did in the 80s. I hope it reminded you of the joy of choosing your own friends (after all these years of strictly limited friends chosen or destined by your children and spouse). I hope it reminded you of a life that you could still own. Finally, I really hope that it reminded you of an education that you sacrificed for the three notorious others in your family. A tiny hope in my heart says, back to school could mean back to work, back to your old, forgotten self. Really, life’s pretty much about early mornings, breakfast, snack, lunch, tea, dinner, shopping (groceries), wiping, washing, morning milk, evening milk, night milk etc… but guess what? It’s pretty much not too. I realize that as I slowly assume your role in a different family with different expectations. I totally appreciate all those years of your dedicated attention… you were simply amazing. But don’t drop your dancing shoes off yet, because I believe, that the special day in your life has set the dice rolling back in time.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Post 4pm, On a Sunny Day
I hit the shower with mad vengeance at 4pm, all set to show the “oh so boring noon” what bliss could mean. Whetting my weapons for the deed include charging my iPod and grabbing “THE” book from the book shelf and setting it on the counter top, near the house keys. Shutting the door as rudely as possible on my nemesis, I take the road with complete ownership; not looking back, listening to music that I sometimes wouldn’t fancy lending an ear to, at home. Braving through odds such as a tricky traffic signal, pencil wide sidewalks, self juggling bikers, dense woods, lonely streets etc. and relishing undemanding thrills such as hopping wild bunnies, glitzy wreaths and tiny streams, I enter the PARK, like a religious preacher, a book in hand and divine music ringing out loud from my iPod.
Surprisingly, my favorite spot is never taken and I seat myself proudly like it’s an exclusive reservation made by my personal secretary. Like the Bible, a few pages each day of The Kalam Effect, a few minutes of thoughtless staring into the water fountain, gazing up at the blue-green effect of the sky-tree combination, thinking deep about the illusion of woods that never seem to end – that’s enough to restore my sanity after the mad silence of the noon or the mad holler of the unrealistic –reality shows’ -midday –melodrama.
The old Vietnamese couple who fish like only this fish makes their three course meal (never failing to never catch a fish); the beautiful baby boy with an unparalleled dad, who slaps ducks on their backs, sending them quacking for life into the big beautiful lake and his fear for dogs which he carefully conceals with a kick in the air well after the dog moves ahead; a man in a suit with his dog furiously sniffing into the grass, like he’s slave to Sherlock Holmes; a big burlesque man with a detective cap and secret agent walk, who seats himself opposite to me, across the lake; the huge Indian family of boys and girls from 5-12 indulging in some unfathomable activity near the lake (I still fail to decipher their roots – they look both Telugu and what I broadly, safely and ignorantly classify “North”) crying out frequently “Shut up, You Shut up”; Grave faced little boys playing baseball matches, who almost con you into fearing there’s a death penalty for losing. They all give me immense satisfaction and happiness, almost as if I reached out smugly at the lonely noon and said “Loser, loser”.
I look up occasionally from Kalam’s magnetic effect, at the glimpse of any metallic silver car that enters the park. When I hear the “honk, honk” from behind, I know now that home’s finally ready to play “home sweet home.” With five minutes of togetherness in the park, I recite snippets that are all happiness, forgetting the loser of a long day that trails way behind me now. Sinking in the beauty of the sunny day at the park (Sunny days are special… like dog years and leap years), we drive back honk honking happy smokes in the air. Now, that’s what I call bliss, Post 4pm, on a Sunny Day.
Surprisingly, my favorite spot is never taken and I seat myself proudly like it’s an exclusive reservation made by my personal secretary. Like the Bible, a few pages each day of The Kalam Effect, a few minutes of thoughtless staring into the water fountain, gazing up at the blue-green effect of the sky-tree combination, thinking deep about the illusion of woods that never seem to end – that’s enough to restore my sanity after the mad silence of the noon or the mad holler of the unrealistic –reality shows’ -midday –melodrama.
The old Vietnamese couple who fish like only this fish makes their three course meal (never failing to never catch a fish); the beautiful baby boy with an unparalleled dad, who slaps ducks on their backs, sending them quacking for life into the big beautiful lake and his fear for dogs which he carefully conceals with a kick in the air well after the dog moves ahead; a man in a suit with his dog furiously sniffing into the grass, like he’s slave to Sherlock Holmes; a big burlesque man with a detective cap and secret agent walk, who seats himself opposite to me, across the lake; the huge Indian family of boys and girls from 5-12 indulging in some unfathomable activity near the lake (I still fail to decipher their roots – they look both Telugu and what I broadly, safely and ignorantly classify “North”) crying out frequently “Shut up, You Shut up”; Grave faced little boys playing baseball matches, who almost con you into fearing there’s a death penalty for losing. They all give me immense satisfaction and happiness, almost as if I reached out smugly at the lonely noon and said “Loser, loser”.
I look up occasionally from Kalam’s magnetic effect, at the glimpse of any metallic silver car that enters the park. When I hear the “honk, honk” from behind, I know now that home’s finally ready to play “home sweet home.” With five minutes of togetherness in the park, I recite snippets that are all happiness, forgetting the loser of a long day that trails way behind me now. Sinking in the beauty of the sunny day at the park (Sunny days are special… like dog years and leap years), we drive back honk honking happy smokes in the air. Now, that’s what I call bliss, Post 4pm, on a Sunny Day.
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