Please indulge me once more as I meander down the memory lane. After all, The business of life is the acquisition of memories.
The business of life is the acquisition of memories
Regular readers of my blog know that I grew up in a beautiful hill station surrounded by hills, forests, springs and tea estates. Obviously, I spent a good part of this time enjoying my life. I’ve tasted berries whose name I know not, played in the rain, walked through the fog not knowing whether I am heading for a cliff, I have walked and run so far away from home, but nature always guided me back to my home (well, mostly, folks who worked in my parents’ school and realized I was lost), drank water from fresh water springs, cycled on ‘bridges’ made of slender logs, ran helter-skelter after spotting wild boars hiding in bushes.
Lovely Nature, Sweet Nature
Maybe, I could have died in a hundred different ways, but I also lived in a thousand beautifully different ways.
Which is why modern parenting makes me stop and think. Do we structure our childrens’ time too much too soon to remove the true benefits of unstructured time? Are we over-protective? So many of the things this article spoke about resonated with me.
But today, to keep our kids “safe,” we drive them back and forth to school. “Arrival” and “dismissal” have morphed into “drop-off” and “pick-up.” Kids are delivered like FedEx packages. About 1 in 10 use their legs to get to school.
Do we really need 599 cars dropping off 599 children in a school less than 5 miles from home every morning? What happened to biking, walking or taking a school bus to school? It is no wonder that obesity rates are spiking.
The fact that I don’t see residential neighborhoods filled with children playing on the street saddens me. The only way to change that is to open those doors and step outside. Let children play.
The world is full of nonsense if you will just open your minds up to it. For example, one of my news feeds once thought it relevant to show me an article on how to pack when you have children and are going on a flight trip. Now, that is a nice title, knowing how we travel with children, and how often we have done it in the past with our own brood.
Maybe an example would help here. If you see us go on a week-end trip somewhere close by, you know drive for a few hours and get back sort of place, you would understand why I clicked on this link to read what novel piece of advice it had to give me. You see, once we had the car packed with the following among other things like suitcases and books:
1) Shoes (1 extra pair each for each member of the family)
2) Jackets (1 for every member)
3) 2 strollers (We only have one stroller rider, but I packed one in and the husband packed the other.) Both of us looked extremely proud of ourselves and told the other, “Ha! I packed something very valuable. The stroller. “
“What?! I packed it too. The red one.”
“I packed the blue one.”
Packing
I know what goes through the brain at this point in time. The stroller isn’t exactly a button. How then, does such a large thing get lost in the trunk? Well. Now, you know how we pack. If the place we are going to, has an attached kitchenette, the trunk gets fuller. Suddenly, rice cookers are jostling for space beside shoes and the curry powder is nicely sprinkling its aroma on the jackets.
We are planning on a small trip again and I wanted to gain the foolproof method of compact packing. I had enough of the “pack everything you need, may need or may one day need during the trip” doctrine.
To be honest, it astounds me that tripe like this gets clicked on, read and paid for. There isn’t a single thing of note here.
But, such is the world of news and writing. The unimaginative jostles with the trite, the run-of-the-mill nudges the novel aside, while a few pieces of inspired writing sprinkles its splendor on the web.
There are some mechanics whose work I admire. They have an orderliness about them. They take out things packed in 30 mm space, spread it out over 100 sq metres and put them back in 30 mm with minimum fuss and mess. I have always admired such souls of toil. So, when the father and daughter were pandering upstairs with a laptop lying open on the desk, I went up a couple of times partly out of curiosity and partly to keep the toddler son away from the table. (The son thinks he is helping out on the task and gets sorely disappointed when told that he can’t place his toy cars on that convenient hole inside the laptop where the hard disk used to reside. ) Halfway through the task, I saw the pair of them chattering about something and come downstairs. “Commencing after lunch!” said the mechanics. “But you just had coffee and chocolate milk!” said I. This was received with a chuckle and no retort. A moment later, the pair of them switched on the Television.
“Going to watch Television? “ I asked in that tone that mildly encourages one to finish up the laptop work. Among other things I was worried that a small thing will go astray and I will be called upon to get down on all fours and search.
“TV Amma. Not television. Television sounds so formal and then you don’t feel like relaxing with it.”
“Well, what happened to the laptop?” I asked.
“We watched a you-tube video on how to do it Amma. Relax. So, I know everything. We just could not do it because Appa wants to take another backup of the disk now.”
I launched into what I call my Science Teacher mode. “You can learn more by doing than by watching you-tube videos. “ I went on in this vein for a few sentences, and then let the thing rest.
A few days later, I caught her again and told her about the Science experiments that the President lauded, and how these children had taken simple problems and solved them.
It was a lovely afternoon chat, and I asked her what I could do to help her along in her ambition to become a biologist.
“You can buy me a pet!” said she before I had completed my sentence.
“WHAT?!”
“What amma? You just said that I will learn more by doing than by reading books or watching documentaries. So, in order for me to become a biologist, I think a pet would help me nicely. Maybe a dog, or a duck or a parrot.”
“I like snake.” said the toddler son playing with his toy cars.
I wonder what is being said about us in the animal world newsletters this month. We have articles on animal behaviors don’t we? This article on the various techniques adopted by animals is an interesting one. Some techniques are funny, some scary and some for which I can’t think of the right adjectives.
Life is full of interesting tidbits of information. For example: The efforts of Sir George Archibald who loved the ways of the whooping crane. I quote:
When whooping crane populations dropped to fewer than 100 individuals in the 20th century, ornithologist George Archibald stepped in to try to get one whooping crane in captivity, Tex, to mate. To initiate ovulation, Archibald danced with her, and after several attempts, she successfully hatched a chick in 1982, according to Audubon Magazine.
I was glad to have read this. Now, I know not to judge a person acting like a babbling baboon or an aggressive tiger harshly. We don’t know what their journey is about.
Like Jane Austen says, “There are as many forms of love as there are moments in time.”
I wonder why we exemplify Valentine’s Day to be a Lovers Day only. Let it be a day of showing love. Bring out your inner whooping crane or wake your dormant flamingo and have fun.
We all know that exercising has all round benefits and yet, it is good every now and then for an article to bump us into action, or merely to reinforce the importance of an active lifestyle.
This article talks about what the author wants her daughter to know about working out:
There have been times when I have come into the house after a stroll in the neighborhood at night, breathless with cold, a slight sweat from the swift pace I have tried to keep, only to bundle my daughter up and take her out so she can enjoy the enormous moon or listen to the leaves rustling or watch the stars on a clear night. I know the moon is a beautiful object for her, and she shares a liking with the husband for the night sky. I want her tales of imagination to leap from it and they do, often surpassing my expectations.
I love telling her stories from my childhood as we take walks. She knows it is the best time to ask me for one, because I am so willing then, not trying to do a dozen different things all at once. I am there enjoying my time with her walking and swapping stories. I grew up in a place almost magical to describe. There were heavily wooded Eucalyptus groves, tea estates in the horizon not to mention the crisp mountain air. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that I love a good walk that can heighten the senses and sharpen one’s thinking.
The article describes a good workout, and I have mostly written about walking because it is my favorite form of exercise. Another one of those gifts from my father who enjoys his 3-5 miles almost everyday. I find it to be a stress reliever, a soother, a pacifier, an exhilarator, an ideator and a mediator of internal conflict.
Many greats before us have extolled the virtues of a good walk:
“Maybe we should go out and have dinner tonight.” says the husband clearly intending to help. In any other family, a simple statement like that will either be met with a simple acceptance or a refusal. I am sure no more would have been said about it. Of course, in our family, a statement like that wrenches the spanner into the corner of the brain where the horrors of restaurant eating reside and ply it open.
“Do you remember what happened at that Italian restaurant?” I ask. “I mean do you still want to go and press our company on restaurants. I say we take the broad minded view of ‘Live and let live.’ ”
The husband looks at me like I have a point and agrees. What happened was this: We found an occasion to dine out, and took polls to see what kind of cuisine was most voted for. It did not help that the toddler in the house thought it was a game and stuck both his arms up for everything. A vote was taken, numbers counted, tallied and thrown out the window. We settled for Italian which had one vote (the daughter’s). So, off we went looking for an Italian restaurant. Just before we entered, I checked their hair and told them to behave. It was one of those places that I’ve heard people gush about. What I had not expected, was for us to enter one of those snooty, high eyebrow places with a touch of hospitality, not overdone and a spot of hauteur, quite overdone.
I wanted to scramble and flee, but summoned the warrior spirit and pressed on. The maitre-de came up with a gleaming suit, coattails and all, looked us up and down and asked us how he may help us. I have never understood this. Would I be standing there in the luxurious lobby of a restaurant wanting to be helped with goading a herd of sheep into a waiting truck? No. I want to be seated for a meal. Thank you.
There was some brow lifting and all this while, the toddler is sitting quietly in his chair and not saying a word. The daughter is playing with him, and the two of them present a picture of a serene advertisement to entice more humans to procreate. The maitre-de, in the meanwhile, decides that he does not really need to spoil the atmosphere of a good dining experience for his patrons and comes out wearing a thin look (He may have been trying the apologetic expression, but thin is what I thought at the time). The toddler smiled at him and said, “Tar?” and showed him a toy car.
No reaction.
“I am extremely sorry Sir and Ma’am. But there is a half an hour wait for tables at the moment. Would you like to be kept waiting?”
The choice of words really! What a clever man he was too. Not wanting to take the good behavior picture, but not wanting to let us in and find out either. Could be a diplomat that man.
We said we don’t like to be kept waiting and turned our back on the man in a dignified silence. “Come children!” I said and they came. We stepped out the door and then expressed all of our relief and anxiety at once. What if they had seated us? Maybe this is for the best. Let’s go for a family friendly place. Nothing fancy.
We proceeded to a familiar restaurant. The cashier there smiled at us and welcomed us. He has seen us there often and still manages to smile when he sees us. That is the kind of place I like. The fine dining can wait for a decade. I breathed freely in there, sat down and looked at the husband and asked “Where is the boy who behaved so well?”
Dining under the radar
The husband points under the table and there he is: playing with his toy car. Things may have been quiet for possibly 3 minutes or maybe 4 after the food arrived. We never make it to a full 5 minutes. There was mayhem. The toddler had put his hands into the spicy curry, and I sent the water cascading over the table while pulling the napkin underneath to wipe off the toddler’s hands before he rubbed his eyes with it. He did not like that, One would think his life’s dream was to dip his hands in spicy curry and rubbing his eyes with it, and I, the evil mother, stepped in and squashed his dreams. He screwed up his face and turned a valve that let loose a torrent of very loud tears.
The husband tore out of the room carrying the toddler and stood outside in the cold for a good 3 minutes before bringing him back again. We gobbled the dinner as fast as we could and came back, shaken a bit by the smile the cashier gave us. Maybe he needs time before we pay him another visit.
The next day, the fates decide to show this news item to me. Apparently, there are restaurants that offer well-behaved-children discounts.
I am amazed at the things people will throw their time and effort into. Look at this person. He is obviously smart: he sold tickets on his site, he had two agencies and he created a whole ecosystem to support his airline. He even had advertising on the radio promoting his airline. He only forgot one small thing: The actual airplanes.
When you start a restaurant, do you first get the food ready or prepare the food based on how many people get there? Maybe that was the problem that stumped him with the airline business. Nevertheless, here is a person who has product management, brand management and marketing skills doing the wrong things. People I tell you.
I wonder what happened to the Paraguayans who came to the airport lock, stock and barrel. What a lot of bother for them.
PS: Sounds like a nice title for a short story. Any weird ideas occur to you around this theme, please let me know. I would love to read them.
I suppose this always happens in the world of fashion. You look at skinny models in high heels tottering with the confidence of a skyscraper on skates, and you see the perfect lines, and flatbeds where ordinary people settle for curves. Then you stop to wonder what the competition is about. Sometimes, you pause enough to look down at your own feet and the sensible footwear below the matter-of-fact trousers with extra pockets for carrying the cellphone. Then you think, why isn’t there glamour in practicality?
Why aren’t the world’s most stunning personalities cased in things that the everyday man and woman wear while they go about their lives?
I often think that way in the world of cars too. I remember the first time I showed my mother a Ferrari on the streets of USA. “Where else in the World, other than California, would you find a Ferrari parked on the street between a BMW and a Mercedes Benz?” I asked her, clearly excited to be showing her the sights.
In her typical fashion, she looked critically at the car, and said, “Looks like an expensive car.”
“Of course ma! Do you know how much it costs?”
“Doesn’t matter what it costs! It looks like we can’t fit our groceries in the trunk. So, what is the point?”
Sigh: There is a reason, I find glamour in practicality. It is called ‘instilled values’ folks.
Anyway, applying practicality to cars, it looks like the show Top Gear finally sees sense in my argument. Those who have traveled in an ambassador car in India would be thrilled to note the humble car mentioned. For what else is a car by looks, a horse by power, a bus by capacity, an optimist in attitude and a dog in loyalty?
The Hindustan Ambassador is the King among Taxis. The only car where restaurant signs can be reused in a car: Seating Capacity: 30
The Car, that in most families, is known affectionately as the ‘Amby’.
I have a story about the time my grandmother came to my sister’s wedding in an ambassador car, but I will save it for another day. That is an entertaining read for sure.
P.S: I have since seen the video clip of the Amby winning that race and it seems to be because all the others crashed into something or into one another. Nevertheless, the Amby it is.
I was waiting to break into my new running shoes. Like a child waiting to play in the rain, I cast loving looks at the shoes every now and then and vowed to get up early the next morning and go for a run. Maybe my excitement rubbed off on my toddler son, but he was up before the lark and waiting for me by the shoes before my run. “Amma. Thum Amma Thum. Thunning Amma Thunning. Shoos thunning.”
(Lexicon: Thum: Come, Thun: Run, Shoos: Shoes)
My shoulders sagged a bit, but he had an enthusiastic-puppy-look about him and so off we went. The pair of us running with a stroller in hand. It was my plan to bundle him into the stroller a little way in and then run. But the fellow had plans of his own. He ran with his little steps by my side. I could walk, but he insisted I thun with him. So, I than. For this pace of running I needed no running shoes, but it was wonderful. He kept running, then squealed and stopped to see a passing truck. We ran again. A few feet on, there was a pile of dry leaves. We both jumped in there, squashing the leaves and listening to the crackle under our feet. This run was not going to be measured in terms of distance, that much was certain. We crushed the leaves underfoot till a yeti couldn’t have gotten a crackle out of it anymore. We ran some more and spotted a children’s park nearby and made for it. We chased birds, played in the swing and walked back – the toddler a spent force, but still refusing to sit in his stroller.
Rainbow Dash
As we walked back that beautiful day, the sun burst forth with a few well chosen sprinkles of rain and we walked home under a glorious rainbow that the child said was ‘Ennow Tash’ (‘Rainbow Dash’ is the name of a pony princess or some such thing that he is forced to watch with his older sister. This famous Rainbow Dash has a wiki link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Dash#Rainbow_Dash) I am sure this will become a problem later, but for now he is proud he knows about Rainbow Dash, the pony princess.
When I read this article about an artist collaborating with her 4 year old son, the story warmed my heart. It reminded me of that run that became a rainbow dash and how what I planned turned into something far more meaningful just because I was willing to let go. Maybe, if we relinquish control more often, we will find joy in different ways.
The father is an obsessive news watcher and every season sees a different upheaval. The news, for its share, never ceases to entertain him.
I remember, years ago, when he had his opinions typed out and sent to the newspaper. He beamed when they were published in the newspapers. He proudly showed the piece of paper on which he had typed it out using the pen-name he had given himself so people would believe him. I suppose it was something, given that the editors combed through hundreds of letters to the editor and posted a select few.
The advent of the Internet might be a blessing in many ways, but it has made this man’s life busier than ever. There is new content being posted all the time waiting for his review and approval. How many articles jostle for his comments and views? It is tiring work sometimes, but the septuagenarian keeps at it. He painstakingly lingers on the keyboard, his face screwed up with intense concentration, and uses his index fingers to type out his thoughts. As his comments rush out, his tongue peeps out of his mouth to see a bit of typing action. It means he is focused. Before long, one sees scathing remarks, where his dry wit shines through. It is a pity Literature students don’t comb the comments section on Indian newspaper sites. The prose there is littered with the profuse, the exaggerated, the new word that came through in the word-a-day email: it is all there and more. I have tried telling him that there being no limit to the real estate on the internet, all his comments will be published, but he shakes his head sanguinely and explains to the idiot child, “No. That cannot be true child. If that is the case, how come my comments don’t appear immediately? I get an email stating that the comment has been approved, which means that only valid points are being published.”
There is another change: he now boldly uses his own name, links to his Facebook profile (much to the mother’s chagrin, since they have one profile and it looks like she is typing the theses. “As if I have no work!” she says disapprovingly). A change that I am not exactly proud of, given that India’s tolerance seems to be dipping.
The last time he visited us, the 3G scam was the topic of conversation. This time, it is the sliding value of the Indian Rupee against the dollar.
The markets have been volatile as a result of which the Indian rupee lost about a third of its value. Inflation has been on the rise and Indian economists are clawing at arguments and counter-arguments to see what the solution is. The father, the commenter, has been writing furiously on varied sites about how the country came to be in such a sorry state with all the time he can spare. Sometimes, another octogenarian somewhere will ‘Like’ his comment, and that evening he is a pleased man. “I told you people read all the comments.” he says.
Even he had no comment to make to this posting however.
The Madhya Pradesh Unit of the Congress ( A leading political party in India) came up with the argument (pasted below) for the sliding rupee and was evidently so pleased with itself for thinking up something this brilliant, that it went and posted it on Facebook for all to see:
“The value of rupee is the same in India… Only the value of dollar has increased… The value of rupee has not fallen. How many of you people go to the market to buy dollars? How many of you come back with dollars? The value of dollar has increased only for those who buy dollars.”
A great philosophy that is not being given the credit it deserves. But such is life. I am sure that the father would have thought up something appropriate on the topic by the time I roll around in the evening, but till then, the article languishes without his comments. It seems a pity since it seems to be taking heat from a large number of people and there might have been a chance of someone reading his comments on the subject.
I saw this meme on my google plus feed and thought it most coincidental that it should appear the day I am writing a post on comments (I could not find the original author of this one to credit him or her, but I truly laughed at it….so, whoever you are, thank you.)
Nourish-n-Cherish 