Ipsita Banerjee's Blog

Too old for this!

Too Old To Change My Stripes #AmWriting 

Sorry for the late entry… I came across this blog prompt this afternoon and decided to ignore it. But then it sat in my head and refused to let go. Of course, I’m flawed. Yes. And I am not ashamed to admit it. Let’s face it, no one is perfect. We all have those unique character traits that make us so easy to despise, whether as a mother, a daughter, a lover, a wife or colleague or whatever.

But unlike the blog prompt, I am not one of those who thinks my flaws make me awesome: they just make me that much more crabby and difficult to live with. My spouse and girls will surely vouch for this as they have been the longest sufferers!

Before you turn away, let me tell you why. And since I love making lists (you can call that a flaw too) here’s a list of things you can hate me for.

1.     I lie. Oh yes, I do. There are times when I do not have the answer but do not want to say, “I don’t know”. So I wing it. Picture this: I was a new bride and the husband and I were shopping for light fittings and boring stuff like that at an old crowded part of the city where my father’s office used to be many years ago. Obviously, there were no parking spaces and loads of traffic so we told the driver to go around the corner and come back. My husband, thinking I was familiar with the area, looked at me and asked, “how long will it take him to return?” Promptly I replied: “8 minutes”. Half an hour later, when there was still no sign of the car, he looked at me questioningly. I shrugged, “I lied!” 23 years later, my husband still complains about it! And that is just one tiny example. Like any good liar, I’m good at making up stories too, like the time I convinced my tiny girls that the Taj Palace was really a palace and they were going to dine with the king himself and got the best behavior out of them. Or the time I told them if they ate sunflower seeds they would have sunflowers growing in their tummies and got them to run up to me, open their mouths wide and ask if I could see the flowers. Yup, how cute it was and how I saw flowers … every time! Or the zillion times I told them that if they did not study I would buy them sickles so they could go cut grass … or the “what comes out goes back in” rule while eating! Every mother is guilty of these little tales, I guess. We make up these stories that make monsters and evil witches out of us… for a long time my daughters seriously believed I had eyes at the back of my head! Raising children is no walk in the park and if a little bending of the truth will help, so be it!

2.     I look like something the cat dragged in: Among a sea of well-dressed, well-groomed mothers, I was invariably the one that turned up in a crushed kurta or jeans and a well-worn tee. It’s not that I didn’t have clothes, it’s just that I’ve never really cared about what I looked like as long as I have been comfortable. I remember that one time in the afternoon when I went to a child’s fifth birthday party (when the kids are small you have to do that a lot) in my usual grunge top which I had also visited the bazaar in and looked around and found myself worse dressed than the maids around me! That day I went home and told my husband for the first time that I thought I needed some new clothes! How he laughed when I described my predicament! At parent-teacher meetings my daughters used to be embarrassed that I invariably turned up in court clothes while the other mothers were immaculately dressed. I was always grateful that I had an uniform at my place of work, if I had to wake each morning and co-ordinate my slippers with my sari with my bindi with my lipstick, I would go completely mad!

3.     I’m mad: Trust me on this. Once day my teenage daughter looked at me thoughtfully after one of our fights and told me I was going mad. I looked her in the eye, “you must get one thing straight,” I said, “I am not GOING anywhere. I AM mad!” That child has been a little wary of me from that day onwards! I not only talk to myself, I actually have arguments with myself and hate it when I’m disturbed by tiny voices that ask, “Ma, are you ok?” I am the one who will happily go swimming in the middle of the night or sit on top of a hill all night to watch the full moon track its way across the sky. I’m the one who wakes my daughters at the crack of dawn to watch a sunrise because it’s gorgeous. I’m the one who, in a Darjeeling winter, opens the window of our warm, cosy bedroom room to take pictures of the Kanchenjungha as the sun rises! It used to drive my husband nuts, now he just turns the other way and pulls the blanket closer!

4.     I’m a bully: As a child I was quite the tomboy. I could wrestle my older cousins to the floor and climbed a tree a mite faster than the other kids. I would dig for earthworms and use them as bait to fish, I would scale walls, venture into graveyards after dark on a challenge, play for hours with mud and clay, sneak around the garden long after the adults thought we were in bed fast asleep and generally lead all my cousins and friends who listened to me into trouble. And I was quite the bully, there was hell to pay if anyone dared disobey me! That bullying has left me in good stead because if there is one thing I have learnt it’s that after marriage one has to be a bit of a bully to get things done. Specially with kids. They require so much poking and prodding and general reminders to move along that often I am left feeling like a shepherd having to move all my little sheep along. And yes, that includes the biggest baby of them all, the spouse! Of yes, you have to be able to wield that stick!

5.     I tell it like it is: I don’t hedge, I don’t hum, I don’t haw. If you asked for my opinion you will get it, whether you like it or not. Sometimes you will get it even if you did not ask for it. It gets me into trouble, it gets people angry with me, I’m the queen of faux pas, the one with her foot constantly in her mouth. To me, there is no topic that is taboo. As my girls have grown, I have told my girls everything they have wanted to know, including how many boyfriends I might have had before I met their dad! They get an honest opinion, whether they like it or not. This openness has held us in good stead with each other. While they were growing up my famous hits included “because I said so”, “I told you so”, “I was born mean”, the especially traumatic, “I have failed as a mother” and the perrenial "you won't like it if I have to get up" (which I still use with the dogs) so go figure. Having said that, there are times when I do not speak and that I believe is my biggest flaw: the times when I am silent. For that happens when people use me as a doormat. Yes, I guess it happens to the best of us. The husband tells me I have to stand up for myself at times like these. But the moment passes and I am still struggling for the words. If I do say something the words come out all wrong. I have always been this way and I tell myself that those people do not matter, but I guess for all my bravado, I’m just a ninny at heart.

These are the flaws that come to mind just now. There must be more… and no my flaws do not make me awesome but they make me exactly who I am. If that is what flawsome means, I guess I am flawsome too!

 

What do you think? 

Evil witch, this one is trouble!!!

Evil witch, anyone? 

I called my sister-in-law an evil witch the other day. (Point to be noted: my sister-in-law is a mother to a 8 year old child. A boy who is naughty, funny and an absolute devil at times. Just like children that age are meant to be.)

Understandably, she was upset.

Tragically, I do not see why. 

You see, I have been that evil witch the last 18 years and I was only passing the mantle down. My older sister-in-law was the evil witch before me and she was good with that.

Like I say, motherhood is no popularity contest. If your kids think you're ace, you've certainly got something wrong. Someone wise once said that your children start out loving you. Then they judge you, sometimes, they forgive you. I have been pretty merciless with my girls, I'm hoping they will forgive me. And even if they don't, if they pass on what I have taught them, it will be enough. The younger one turned 18 yesterday...so I consider my job half done. I hope they will not be reading this but I am proud to say that they are pretty street smart and grounded. I have raised them to be able to stand up for themselves and be independent. One is now in college, battling out a hostel life and the other has gone to get a learners license ... I'm happy. But the road has not been easy. And, oh yes, I have been an evil witch for as long as I can remember. I was evil when I did not allow the nights out. I became positively mean when I refused to give money for that party in the pub that allows underage kids, I was surely evil when I said they have to fend for themselves whether on camp or in college and I grew horns when I told them they have to sink or swim. 

I wear my horns with pride.

Raising kids is not easy. I've said it a thousand times and I will say it a thousand times more ... there's so much you have to share: responsibility, love, kindness, independence, even a fierce sort of freedom ... and you have to be mean to get there. Mothers are not the most popular of people, why even try? 

I remember when my daughters came home and told me so and so's mother was so nice, she let her daughter stay up to watch TV. I told them to ask if she would adopt them. Another time it was the phone, someone else had a iPhone, while hers was only a MotoG. I asked her to get used to the idea that she was poor. Another child was allowed to use public transport at night, I insisted on dropping her home myself. My daughters thought I was outdated but I was only playing safe. We have had endless fights and arguments, even now we scrap about the bed not being made, the room being dirty, night outs and stuff. I insist on knowing who they are out with and where and tell them clearly when I do not like their friends, they have to deal with it.

It makes me a bully. It makes me evil. Some times, I'm a witch. 

I love it. 

Mothering fail? When the younger daughter was in Class VI...

Mothering fail? 

When the younger daughter was in Class VIII, she wanted to drop out of school. She was quite serious about it when she said it too. So, I looked at her earnest face, sat her down and told her that the next seven years of her life were mine. Four years of school and three years (at least) for a graduate degree. Thankfully, she agreed. She did not look too happy about it, but she agreed.

This year, the seven years are up. And my girl has not forgotten. She graduates in a month or so and when asked what she plans next, she shrugs, says she is taking at least a year off from studies pointedly reminds me that she has given me my seven years. And I’m not complaining. And what seven years it has been! This daughter is a master at last minute arrangements, which I totally get. Everything happens just as you are ready to give up on her, whether it is her college admissions or internship or even her social life. Do I fret? Of course I do but deep down inside I know she will figure it out. 

As for the older daughter, she too graduates in a month or so. Its ironical, they are (as many of you know) just a year apart. So, when she was small and she wouldn’t study at school, I used to frighten her saying she could flunk and then study in her younger sister’s class. Well, she did a four-year degree and her sister a three-year one. So now they are at par!!! When asked what she wants to do next, she is wavering between trying for JNU and some other stuff. But she is also adamant that she wants to sit for the civil service exams. From home. 

As far as I am concerned, that is the part that scares me. From home. That means for the next few odd years she will be slumming it at home and I will be fretting about whether she is working hard enough or even trying to. I know I will look in on her and prod her to get up and tear my hair out at the state of her room. So last night the spouse and I had a long hard chat with her. Of course, we will let her follow her dream and of course she will be at home while she does it. We will just have to wait and see whether she has the grit or determination to see this through. 

The girls were both home over the weekend. The younger one left early yesterday, with barely a whispered “happy Mother’s Day.” The older one had to be prodded to arrange a “surprise” dinner for me! We don’t really believe in Mother’s Day and stuff save to the extent that it’s a good excuse to order in some nice food. What use is Mother’s Day, anyway? What are we celebrating? Motherhood is a unique and strange journey that speaks to each individual and their circumstances. Call me strange, but I never had a role model to follow when mothering my children. We just bumbled along till we got it right. The baby part was easy: potty training and breast feeding are simple in comparison to what’s in store. Toddlers were a handful but we toddled through it, one baby step at a time. The dreaded pre-teens and teens were spent with the three of us being hormonal and having loud fights and making up thereafter. Looking back, if you ask me the worst years are the seven to elevens. That’s when kids grow into their own, when they push every boundary and see how far they can go. Kids are wicked, calculating, devious and extremely perceptive instruments of evil. They know if you disagree with the spouse, they know which is the hand that gives and they jolly well know how to play one parent against another. They learn how to demand and get things from the people around them and that includes the uncles, aunts and grandparents. This is when the boundaries are set. This is the time to be firm and set examples. 

The other day we ‘met’ some modern parents. They blocked a gate, ignoring the cars waiting to go in and sat in the car and smiled while their toddler had a tantrum on the road about something and hugged him and coaxed him into the car. Trust me, I would have just whacked him or (worse) left him behind for a minute or two! Nowadays you cannot do that, you will “traumatize” the “little darling”! Another mother has this principle that she will not discipline her kids. They are growing into their own personalities and they should be allowed to do so. So, if she does reprimand or shout at them, she is punished by her children! I mean, how mad is that? Thank heavens all this was not there when my girls were growing up, I’d still be standing in the “naughty corner”! Of course, these modern houses have no concept of naughty corners! Of course, I think COVID and the lockdown is partly to blame. I read a report in the papers that children don’t wish to take notes anymore in school, the parents demand it be sent online. Another parent said she can’t go to work because her daughter is giving an exam and she has to sit there with her. I mean, who is being tested here? Children have become dependent on their parents in ways we cannot imagine and vice versa, so many mothers I know were actually upset that their children had to go to school when they opened up. “But don’t they need to be with other children their age?” I asked pointedly. Pat came the reply, “they have Google meet for that!” Nonsense, when will they play in the mud and get wet in the rain and run around playing catch with their friends? But most children, I was told, don’t even do that anymore. And if I used to have a complex about school-gate moms, now there’s a whole new world of WhatsApp Moms I can’t even contemplate. I give up! To each her own... As I say there is no right way of parenting, only your way.

Anyway, coming back to motherhood, my way. Thinking back, I was pretty lousy as a parent, as I said we bumbled along and somehow got it right. I think. More credit to the girls than me. I was the parent who was late to pick up her kids, I was the clueless mother in the parent-teacher meetings trying desperately to hide under the desk, I was the mom too tired to cook anything but Maggi for her kids in the evening, I was the mom who gave up on trying to remember that the girls had a test, I was the impatient mom who did not have time to sit with the girls when they were supposedly studying. There’s a lot I did wrong. 

So, thing is, if I got a second shot at it all, would I do it differently? No way. 

Now as I said, they are graduating. Everyone’s favourite question is, “what’s next? What about post-graduate courses?” Most of our friend’s kids are going places for their Master’s degrees and some of them look at me sadly when I say my girls aren’t doing any of that just yet. One even told me I was making a mistake, I should push them harder. I just smiled and said nothing. He won’t even understand if I try to explain that it is their life, not mine. 

There’s only one thing I demand of my children. And I have been steadfast over the years. Be happy (of course, it comes with a rider not to deliberately hurt others or be rude or horrible and all that) but at the end of the day, its simple: be happy. Do what makes you happy. Do what YOU want to. Not because you cannot do anything else or because it is someone else’s dream for you. One can live with failure but not the weight of other people’s dreams. So go follow that star, it shines only for you. 

“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,moves on: nor...

“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”

― Omar Khayyám.

 

 

Last year, for whatever reason, I cut my hair really short, shorter than it’s been for a very long time. Obviously, I wanted to show it off, in fact, I thought I looked… different and (of course) brilliant! Everyone complimented me about how gorgeous and different I looked, but one man came to me and told me, “don't do this, don’t leave your hair open, it doesn't look professional, it’s not you.” The only person on earth who could get away with a comment like that, without me retaliating, is Mr. Surendra Kumar Kapur, Barrister etc, etc etc…. a doyen of the legal profession in the High Court at Calcutta and elsewhere. 

 

Mr Kapoor, or ‘SK’ as  we knew or referred to him was one of the most genuine, kind, large-hearted persons I have ever met (second to my fathers, of course, and I think he’d agree), famous for his large parties, Singapore Slings, prawn cutlets and his jovial, happy nature. He did not distinguish between us who were junior (much junior to him) and those who were much senior to us,  he was equally loving, equally forgiving and equally demanding when it came to matters of law. I remember my first conference with him I was shoo-ed out after the important bits were done because thereafter he served whiskey to the other juniors who were obviously male. The next day, I dared  to ask him “Sir, how could you do this to me?” He lovingly paused and said “Okay beta, chalo next time you’re included” and I was.  

Much to my delight, SK was one of the first persons who invited me for a party at his garden at lunch. I was an unknown someone, a non-legal heir and I was struggling. To me, it meant a lot to be acknowledged by someone as senior as SK to be called for a party. I will never forget him because he was one of the most amiable and jovial men I have ever known, in the face of any adversity.  There was nothing you could not set right to him, there was nothing you could not tell him, he was the life and soul of every party (he still is, I don't know why I said “was”). I like to think we will listen in every party and miss his smiling face forever more. I remember his son’s wedding and the Champagne he just poured down our throats (Whiskey for the men, of course) and his consternation when, while he was dancing with the baraat, his son (from the top end of a horse, that too!) said “just chill”! 

That’s a man. That’s the man who can be everywhere and anywhere because we cannot forget him. There was this time when he told me he loved my writing and he told me to send him all of them and I was humbled because it was inconceivable that someone as erudite as SK could find any harmony in my work. He loved poetry, we often had long discussions about poetry and he would tell me that these days no one reads and I had to agree with him because it is true that no one reads, especially poetry which was his forte and Shakespeare, of course, at the drop of a hat, even in a court where the judge (with all humble respect), could not understand. That never deterred him, he went on to all his adventures (as I would like to call them that, because for him, life was an adventure) with no regard for the people who did not follow through and nothing but joviality and love for those who did. He was whimsically careless about those he disliked and open and heartfelt to those he was. (Thankfully, I was in the latter group!)

I will miss him, I will miss seeing him coming to our table and saying “beta,” (no one else ever called me that!) and chatting with me about things that matter or do not matter and I would listen because he was larger than life.  Because he was there when no one else was, because he was one of the most wonderful people that I have known. I feel blessed that I got to know SK, even more so because he was fond of me, and of course I have kept my hair tied ever since!

Do I dare argue?

SK left us on the Ides of March, 2024. The word “Ides” is derived from Latin, meaning “to divide,” forever dividing his world from ours. Yet, I will always remember SK, smiling, his happy laughter,  strong and resounding, for even when he was unwell, he would come to us with a smiling face and say, “no one can beat me!”. Indeed.

5 Cs 0f life.

The 5 Cs Of Life 

Isha. She was the talkative one, the friendly one, the one that spoke directly to my soul. Always, with her sweet smiles and giggles, she had a unique way of grabbing attention anywhere, whether you wanted it or not. Right from the time she would hurriedly crawl to the fridge door to get a blast of cold air and her love for “borosh” (yes, that was her first word) the world revolved around her. Yet she did not hesitate to give away her precious balloon to the little beggar girl. She has a large heart, a bit too large for my liking, but she is the gregarious one, the one that keeps the house full of talk and laughter and noise. Oh yes, noise, for those teenage years have been filled with noise, whether it was from the TV on at full blast or those songs blaring from the speakers or her voice loudly chattering on the phone, she filled my world with sound. She can drag me (kicking and screaming) into a conversation and talk to me about everything under the sun. With Isha gone, my world is that much more silent.

Amisha, the quiet one, the one that stole my soul. One look into her brooding big eyes and I knew my life would never be the same again. She took time to speak, when she did it was in one-word expressions, my favourite being “oley” when she would cling to my legs and want to be picked up. Her eyes tell me everything, even those little white lies she thinks she hides from me. Her tears too are silent, one could even think she never cries, but for the teardrops coursing down her cheek. She is my brave one, the one who knows when I need a hug and when I just want to be left alone. She is my savior, the light in my life, a light that burns fierce and strong. She is the one with the sensible head on her shoulders except when she is with her friends, who are her world and yes, there have been times when she has had me on tenterhooks when she has been on some escapade or the other. When we are together we share a quiet companionship that does not need words or explanations. With Amisha gone, my life is just that much darker.

My girls. Each as alike as chalk and cheese. Each with a distinct personality and character traits of their own, each totally unique. As with all children. They made me the woman I am today, and as their mother I had to change and adapt and learn and re-learn. Over the past nineteen years, they have kept my house and home full of their laughter, warmth and exuberance. My days have been spent planning my life around theirs, my errands have been run according to school schedules and pick-up times and I have had to wears many hats.

Now, both girls have left home.

I have just returned after dropping off the younger girl to her college near Delhi. Their room sits neatly organized for the first time in so many years and I can finally throw away their clutter and have myself some extra space! One friend called the other day, her child shall also be leaving for college and asked me, “you know, what advise do I give? How do I sum up everything I want them to know as they prepare to leave home?”

I don’t know. How can one sum up nine-teen years of parenting? Do we include basic hygiene? How can I even imagine what life will throw at them? Will the world be kind to them? But it got me thinking. And if I had to write it all down for my children (and I include the cousins and friends) I think it would boil down to the five Cs of college life. Here goes: 

1.     Challenge: Challenge yourself. You can do anything you set your heart to. You can get up early and be on time for that first lecture or that breakfast. Don’t drag your feet about it. You can fit in a walk or a swim or a game of badminton. Get some activity in your life, learn something new. Get out of your comfort zone every now and then, whether it’s by learning another language or a skill. 

2.     Cope: Learn to cope. With whatever comes your way, with whatever tools you have. Life will keep throwing you odd balls, learn to adapt and change and move on. It is not the end of the world. 

3.     Connect: Get off the phone. Look around yourself. Enjoy the scenery. Talk to people around you, taste your dinner instead of jabbering on social media. I’m serious, if you want to feel happy, you need to be alive in the moment and derive everything that each experience has to give. Snapchat posts are pretty pointless at the time. 

4.     Communicate: Talk, yes, talk. Talk to people, tell them what you feel. Do not hide behind a fear of “what will they think/say?” Everyone is entitled to their opinions, everyone can make mistakes. Unless you talk it through you will neither understand their point of view nor will you ever learn anything new. But be careful too. The times are never easy, do not ever deliberately hurt the sentiments or feelings of others. Yes, its is actually better to shut up at times. It's vital to know when. 

5.     Condone: Learn to forgive. Most of all, forgive yourself. One cannot love another person unless one is happy with one’s own self. So… learn to forgive, forgive yourself for your mistakes and slip-ups (but do not make it an excuse to repeat your mistakes!). Likewise, learn to ask for forgiveness when wrong. “Sorry” is a small word, but it can solve a lot of big problems. Never be afraid to say sorry, never hesitate to forgive. I guess I should say “forgive and forget" but I am aware that is not always possible. If you’ve been wronged, by all means, forgive and move on but don’t forget so easily that you can be trampled upon again. Learn. From your mistakes as well of those of others around you.

Most of all, remember, you are not the clothes you wear or the kajal you apply on your eyes. You are not your weight or the colour of the streaks in your hair. You are the words you speak, the promises that you keep. Your worth is measured not by the number of friends on Facebook or the number of ‘likes’ on Instagram but by how true you are to yourself. At this threshold of life, the person you are poised to become may cost you people, relationships, material things and more: choose that person above all else. Always. And remember, with all its sham and drudgery, it is a beautiful world. Be happy.

What would you say? Anything to add? 

Mesho. The forever gentleman.

“Dying is a wild night and a new road.” – Emily Dickinson


It's funny how words fail you when you need them most. So forgive me if I sound disjointed.  My Mashi, (mother’s sister) was one of the most important persons in my life. She breathed love into a tormented soul and made me believe that anything was possible, anything could be. I exchanged long letters with Mashi and she always replied with affection.  When she was struck down by Alzheimer’s, my Mesho (her husband) moved to India to give her the care she deserved. And she got it. In Jamshedpur with his mother and sister. We used to visit. Some connections are not forged by blood but by relationship and empathy. This was one of those. I remember while in college I would carefully articulate letters in the Bengali script for Mesho’s mother and sister, taking care my words were right... But Mashi languished. I hate to say it, she never got better but the connection stayed. After I was married, I made it a point to take my husband to meet Bamma and Pishimoni and Mashi, it mattered to me. After the girls were born too, I took them to Jamshedpur to meet the mother I never had, they were scared. I remember telling them, it was nothing to be scared of, she was one of the gentlest persons on earth. Luckily, they accepted that. 

But Mashi passed away. The mother (Bamma) and sister (Pishimoni) too. (I would have to write a whole book if I even attempted to describe those lovely ladies.) Mesho lived alone. Over the years, we developed a deep bonding. As I said, some relationships have nothing to do with blood. In fact, I think blood is futile, it’s emotions that matter, how the person has treated you in their lifetime and how you have treated them. Mesho treated me with love. And for that I shall be ever grateful. 

So, what can I say about Provat Mitra, that you have not heard before? He was a true gentleman. He stood by me like the father I lost many years ago, doing everything that needs be done, (you know, old traditional families?) when my mother-in-law died and my mother was jazzing about in Kerala on a vacation, he is the person who stepped up and ensured I did not lose face in my in-laws’ extended family. We took vacations together. He stood by us when my father-in-law died. I shall never forget his soft smiling face as he lit another cigarette or took that last drink to the room, ‘night cap’, he called it. If I have to pin-point a memory, it will be impossible. How can one encapsulate years of association? Shall I talk about the holiday in Bandhavgarh or the time we walked miles in Sikkim to buy whisky (it was horrible), or the fort we climbed in Ranthambore chased by monkeys or the lazy days spent in Kolkata? There is no end to the stories I could say, and that is the consolation I have. 

In the December of 2018, Mesho was with us in Kolkata, it was a fantastic time. We even went to an unimaginably loud open-air concert with friends and somehow survived. Mesho was gung-ho about things like that, whether it was a long drive into the boondocks or a visit to the mall, Mesho never stepped back. He left for Jamshedpur, after a rip-roaring new year’s party. Unfortunately, by the end of January, Mesho suffered a stroke that would ultimately lead to his death.  Of course, I went, as soon as I heard. His son, daughter and I rallied around. 

Mesho’s spirit was astounding. Despite having lost use of the left side of his physique, he was mentally completely alert and tried his utmost with physiotherapy to move those limbs. I often wondered at his grit and determination. Speaking for myself, I would have given up long ago. But time passed, there was some improvement but not much. The COVID situation and the subsequent lockdown ensured we could not visit him for a while in 2020. When the trains started running again, I went back in February this year. Something had changed. I could not get Mesho to eat, he had lost his appetite, I tried making him the things he loved, but even Shepherd’s Pie or caramel custard would not tempt him. He spoke to me about his younger brother who had died years ago and told me he was calling him, to green open spaces and a golf course… Mesho was an avid golfer and lived those last years hoping to return to the green. 

But. COVID got him in the end. Despite all the caution and isolation, COVID won. From the time we heard he was unwell, I was antsy, wanting to go, but helpless. When we heard of his passing, the spouse and I rushed down, hoping to provide some succor to his son who flew in from Delhi. I have never seen such an undignified send-off for anyone, particularly such a dignified man. But COVID wins. When I feel sad, I console myself that millions are going through this every day. It hurts, but as my father would say, it’s not the end of the world. 

Yet, a world has ended, as far as I am concerned. My quiet sojourns to Jamshedpur are over, I shall not be returning to that house any time soon, if ever. A whole chapter in my life is closed. 

I like to think of a world, far removed from ours where the skies are blue and the golf course stretches beyond imagination, where Mesho is right now accompanied by Mashi and Bamma and Proshanto kaka and Pishimoni and other loved ones. And my father will join him in a toast and they will sit and chatter liked they did on earth and sit back and wait for when we will join them. And the circle will be complete, for now. 

The Circus

 The Mothering Circus! 

In Calcutta, when we were children, winter was a much awaited time. And no, it wasn’t only for the weather. Yes, sure, winter meant none of that sweat of summer that clings to this city all year round. But winter also meant that school was over for another year, so no one could prod us to study. The class was done and dusted and we eagerly awaited a new class in the new year, it meant new stationery and tiffin boxes, a spanking new water bottle and books. Yes, winter meant lazy unstructured days, winter meant oranges in the verandah in the afternoon sun, winter meant those sweaters and blankets shaking themselves out of trunks, winter meant Kulfi in the cold and winter meant the circus.

Each year, the circus visited Park Circus Maidan. That was a pretty large park near our house and my parents always ensured we had tickets for the circus. I loved it. The big top was fascinating and you could hear and smell the animals nearby. That smell of popcorn and candy floss was in the air and music blared from speakers. These were the days well before animal rights activists and the animals were allowed to perform. Unfortunately awareness about animal cruelty was zero in those days which was a bad thing but I like to imagine that when we were kids animal abuse was not so rampant either. But maybe I am just being optimistic. Anyway back to where I was, a visit to the circus, usually with cousins, neighbours and maids in tow used to be an exciting part of my childhood. I remember sitting on the front seat and watching everything with awe, not daring to blink in case I missed anything! Now, with my daughters away in college and having been through the rigours of mothering, I can safely say that a lot of what I know about mothering, was from the circus. Let me explain with a few examples:

1.     The flying trapeze: This was always my favourite part. The show always began with the trapeze. We would get a crick in the neck from gazing up at the top of the tent and watching the dexterity and elegance with which the artists would fly about manoeuvring themselves from one high swing to another. Any mother who has had to juggle a child (or more) and their schedules and playtimes and extra-curricular activities will tell you that it often feels like we are flying from swing to swing with no hope of anyone catching our fall!

2.     The bears: Don’t look at me in horror, I told you there were animals! The bears would perform tricks on stage which usually involved dancing. While now I look back and believe it was cruel, as kids we were hugely entertained by the animals who were seen stepping in time to music. We loved the baby bears, they were super cute, following their mother on stage. Who knew then that all babies are born super cute. Look at my two. When they were born, they too were super cute. You wonder why bears are fat? Well, research shows that mother bears put on around 200 kgs during their pregnancy, in fact, if the female doesn't find enough food to double her weight, her body will actually reabsorb the fetus. Predictably, I too put on weight during my pregnancies. But when my two were small, there were times when I wanted to “re-absorb” them, specially after endless sleepless nights and food fights. And then they grew up and became the devils they are today, while I am still fat!

3.     The performing Monkeys: Monkeys are so similar to us. Any surprise then that when the girls were small, they reminded me most of monkeys , first that incoherent gibberish they speak and then their antics! Monkey moms carry around their young just as we do ours. Even after they leave “home”, they keep returning to visit. My daughters went through this stage when they were like Velcro, attached to me at the hip. When I tried to leave the house, one would attach herself to my foot and be dragged all over the living room. Then they grew up and left home. But they keep wanting to visit. I mean the other day I told them that their college should refund us the fees we have paid for the hostel and mess when they are happily sitting and eating me out of the house! Apparently the hostel food is not to their liking. So they complain and their father melts and orders them food or (horrors) flight tickets! I mean, I don’t care if you had gabarfalli for lunch again today, deal with it. The other day I went to the grocery store and brought back flour and lentil like the maid had asked. The store keeper looked at me in surprise, “is that all?” I was triumphant. “Yes, that is all.” No, I do not have to buy Maggi and Wai-Wai and Iced Tea and Tang and Bhujiya and Chips and heaven-knows-what else just because the girls like it!

4.     The Tigers: In the circus we could barely wait when the cages were put up and the tigers let in. Their trainers came through with a scowl. The tigers leapt through rings of fire and jumped on stools. While I do now realise the cruelty of it all, at the time it was a lesson in ferocity. We loved it when the tiger let out a bone-chilling roar. Even the “trainers” used to pale. Tigers are known to be fierce and protective, how could these be any different? You sometimes read about a tigress attacking a human or even another male tiger because it came between her and her cubs. I totally get that. No matter how much I may crib about my kids (and I include their friends and my nieces and nephews), if anyone even obliquely looks at my children, they have made an enemy for life. I do not understand forgiveness. You hurt my child and I am going to teach you a lesson in holding grudges. You may say I'm holding a grudge, trust me, it's actually a boundary wall topped with barbed wire and broken glass! Be it the teacher who called my daughter “hopeless” at age four or the relative who accused them of doing something they did not do or yet another who hurt them when they were too young to protest, I do NOT believe in moving on!

5.     The elephant parade: This was always a big one! Literally. Some of these majestic animals would stroll by and was usually followed by a baby elephant, who would be prancing around and all the other elephants would be indulgent, protective even, about it. I read an article online recently which said how elephants share one of the best mother-baby bonds in the animal kingdom (yes, nowadays being an “elephant-mother” is a thing) and are loving creatures. The moms stay close to their babies, bringing them back to the fold if they wander away, bathing them, nursing them, and teaching them survival skills. And elephants stay with their mothers for an average of 16 years. Sound familiar? My daughters stayed till they were 18 and then left for college. Even now they need to be told to have a bath, eat their meals and generally be looked after. Their survival skills are yet to be tested because we are just a phone call or plane fare away!

6.     The motorcycle stunt. There would be a huge vroom-vroom and a man on a motorcycle would drive up and go round and round in this huge circular cage, which used to be called “maut ka kuan” (or ‘the well of death’). Sometimes another man (or two) would join him on another bike and they would dangerously criss-cross each other in that ‘well’, sometimes a woman would ride pillion. For us kids, we would watch awe struck… My dad often reached over to tell me to shut my mouth or a fly would go in… maybe that explains my own fascination with bikes which still endures. So often, as mothers, we feel like we are on a bike ride which is veering out of control. Specially as the kids grew and were wholly unprepared for their board exams and studies and pressures and I wondered if they would ever get admission into any college, I often felt like I was creening mindlessly along. But there is order in the cosmos. The sound of the bike does fade and pulses come back to normal.

7.     The Jokers: Last but not the least, the clowns. Throughout the show there always are the clowns reminding us not to take ourselves too seriously and telling us that we have to laugh to be able to survive. What would I do without those valuable life-lessons? That’s the most important lesson of all. To be able to laugh. Not only with our children but also at ourselves. We share a lot, my girls and I. We share our sorrows and our joys, we share our achievements and disappointments. But most importantly we share laughter. There’s nothing so serious that cannot be laughed away. There is no problem that cannot be put to rest with a hug and a smile. It isn’t always easy, but its there. And that’s what helps me carry on when I miss my little devils and the night seems without end. The best as they say, is yet to come! 

And you? Did you ever visit the circus? What was it like? What did you learn? 

That fourth monkey

That Fourth Monkey Is Mine! 

You've seen that age old picture? It's the fourth ape, mine.. The sum of all three. He sees nobody, speaks to nobody and hears nothing... In fact, I commented that the fourth monkey looks strikingly like my girls! Friends agree that he looks like her kids too. My girls also see nobody except those they want to, speak to nobody, unless they want something, and hear nothing .. unless it concerns them! In fact, sometimes when I think of all the mischief I was up to in my college years, I am glad that they are so engrossed in their phones that they have barely any attention left for the outside world!

Oh yes, I worry about cyberbullies and stalkers and all kinds of deviants and strangers online and tell them to keep revising their privacy settings but those are mere peanuts compared to the world we called out own while living away from the safety net at home.

We had bikes, we had freedom, we had a budget (while I spent almost entirely on petrol) and we had no cell phones. So a call home was an event that we generally did not indulge in. A call home meant standing in queue and waiting for your turn. And then it cost money, (I told you we had a budget) there was no Paytm or bank transfer even, (money was sent the old fashioned way by cheque and took time to show up in the bank account!). As a result in five years of college life, I spoke to my mother all three times. Once, when my dad was ill, once when I got the news that my grandmother died and once when my grandfather passed away soon thereafter! Communications were exchanged by mail. Yes, old fashioned letters, sent by post, you know, stuck in an envelope and stamps attached? By the time it reached my parents and they replied, whatever it was I was talking about was long over… and forgotten.

 

So that was the amount of supervision my parents had over me when I was in law school. We went on crazy long drives, barely attended classes, jazzed off to forts and hilltops, treated Goa and Lonavla like it was our backyard, ate eggs and bread when we were hungry, ate bread and eggs when we were broke, barely kept regular hours and generally had a blast. We also got by. Simultaneously we did our internships and assignments and passed those exams too! And don’t forget there was no Google. Every research paper was done the hard way, sitting in the library and reading books. There was no copy and paste, everything was written by hand. As for the internships? We collected names of lawyers and their addresses and went there and waited and hoped they would take us on, even for a month or so! When we were bored we watched movies (in halls, even buying tickets in black!) And went on long unscheduled drives. And if we had an accident we'd just pick ourselves up and carry on! 

Now times HAVE changed. As they should!

My daughters call me almost every day. Sometimes more than once if they want something. I have never been a fan of phone conversations. I remember when I got married my in-laws used to ask me if I wanted to call my mother. Everyday. Sometimes twice a day. They were a very close-knit family and liked to talk to each other. After some prodding, I began calling my mum almost every day. For a few days, she was quiet. Then she suddenly blurted out, “Are you happy? Is anything wrong?” "No, no,” I replied hastily. “Then why are you calling every day?” That was that. 

Anyway, the girls have their own laptops and smartphones and Bluetooth speakers and headphones and every conceivable gadget that is supposed to make life easier. They still wait until the last minute to get an assignment done, they still whine about how much they have to “write”, what crap was served at the Mess and stuff like that. The problems remain the same as they were when we were young, it's just that nowadays parents have to suffer through them too! One even complains that I do not visit her! When I was alone I was always afraid that my mother would actually visit me! And of course, here we are planning their internships. Wondering who to contact because one child wants to intern with an NGO that works with street workers and one wants to intern with a fancy company!

Yes, my daughters are both away at college but I know more about their lives than I really wish to know. Generally knowing that they are well is enough, but that is not to be. I have an overload of information. I even know more than I want to about Priyanka Chopra and Nick Jonas and that cute guy in “Stranger Things” but that is another story! The spouse is usually in the know. I am zapped out of my wits when a request comes for a 'night out' or 'late pass' ( trust me, we never had all that, thankfully!).

One daughter is coming home tomorrow. The other follows on Sunday. One will be here for 3 weeks and another for almost two months! My house will be full again for a bit of time. They will fill my world with their words and chatter and noise and we will go over those stories of “gabarfalli” and IR and the puppy dog again…. The apartment has been painted. I have actually dumped some of their stuff in cardboard cartons and am waiting for them to organize it all while they are here! Will they do it? Or come February will I be sitting there gritting my teeth? My husband says the latter is more likely but hope blooms eternal in a mother’s heart! Do I miss them when they are away? You bet I do. But after they are back for a few days, it somewhat feels like they never left… And I look at their room which looks hurricane-stricken and hope their classes start soon. So I can miss them again. As my younger daughter would say, “You’re too emo!” So you all can crib about phones and the internet all you want, I'm actually happy the fourth ape has finally been found! 

J: Joy #Step10

Joy: And of course, let there be joy. There is joy all around us but it has to be found. I know, you will say you know that. But for years people have been setting out in search of joy. Note, I am not talking about happiness or emotional and mental well-being. I am talking about everyday joys, found in laughter and jest, found in everyday life. Volumes have been written, numerous movies made, all in the pursuit of joy. So where do you find this ever elusive joy? Is it in that fancy party you want to attend? Is it found in those expensive shoes or those branded jeans? Is it in that trendy gang at school? Nope (although those things can make you joyous for a while). Real joy is found even in routine existence: the touch of a loved one, in the eyes of a child, in the smile of a stranger. It cannot be bought or coaxed into being. It sits quietly in the corner and waits for you to find it in your everyday life. Real joy does not shout from rooftops, it manifests itself in your smile, in your attitude. It is found sitting at the dining table when the family gathers for dinner, in the chatter of a child as she tells you her dreams... It is silent, so silent in fact, that most days you are forgiven for thinking that it isn’t even there. And I sign off today (and this week) with one of my favourite poems, ever, one that hung over my desk when I was in college and one that still hangs over my daughters’ study tables:
DESIDERATA
GO PLACIDLY amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.Max Ehrmann.

I: Ignore #Step9

Sometimes, in life there are things we have to overlook and ignore. It’s simple really. As they say, don’t sweat the small stuff. I remember this time when I was a new bride and managing my own home and hearth and I used to be pretty OCD with the maids. Everything had to be just so. If the legs of the dining table were out of order I’d go ballistic. The table too had to be laid just so. The kitchen had to be spick and span, every nook and cranny. My mother-in-law had come to visit. For two days, she said nothing. Then on the third day she called me aside and told me to learn to overlook thins. Her reason was simple, “you cannot be everywhere at once. Every so often, you have to look the other way.” I was young, I was much more strident in my thoughts but what she said also made sense when I thought about it. I learnt to relax. I learnt to look past the mess in the kitchen as long as it was clean when I wanted to cook something. I learnt that that corner of dust that had been missed was just that. A corner that could be dusted later. Similarly, in life, there are minor little irritants, sometimes big ones too that you have to learn to ignore. Just ask yourself how much it means to you and how much effect does it have on the quality of your life? People will always talk, learn to take it with a pinch of salt. And people have their own assumptions about you. Remember that says nothing about you but says a lot about them. Ignore them, you do not need the whole world to understand you or what you are going through. It’s your life and yours alone. Learn to ignore the voices that do not matter. You do not owe anyone an explanation. And as the following poem by Lawrence S Pertillar (accomplished poet, playwright, actor and performing artist who was named one of America's distinguished poets in 1993) says, we are all entitled to our own ignorance! 

We Are All Entitled To Our Own Ignorance - by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Don't you love it, 
When people interpret your thoughts...
Or something you have said into what they wish? 
You can repeat what you have said, 
And it is still quite missed.

And if what is heard isn't agreed upon...
A debate about it is begun and goes on! 
Nothing in explanation 'sinks' in to consider.
They just aren't getting 'it'! 
Agree...
And walk away! 
Save yourself.
We are all entitled to our own ignorance.
No matter what the depth...
Shallowness or pain of it!