The evolution of a parent
As human beings we evolve. We grow old. We mature, grow up …
Or not.
It is entirely up to us.
As growing up goes, if one wants to, I heartily recommend having a tyke or two of ones own. Diaper duties evolve into skinned knees, snotty noses, tears. Kiddie clothes and lego bits grow into larger clothes and dolls/action hero figures.
Those evolve into home work, exams, demands. Shrill, shrieks and tantrums evolve into emotional blackmail and shameless manipulation. They come with still larger clothes, food preferences that drive a parent nuts, comic books and computer games.
While all that is happening, the parent (you and I) are learning first hand on how to judge human beings. We learn how to deal with and understand our own species. Suddenly these tykes realize that you are seeing too much and learning too much about them. They react by becoming those supercilious resentful and secretive adolescents.
How these smiley cherubic naked bundles full of pee and shit turn into fiercely independent ornery grown men and women is an amazing process which is delightful. How they turn us from grown up men and women into old people who puff and pant as you haul your body over four flight of stairs to visit their apartment is something that shakes me up.
When? When did I turn from the woman who chased deadlines, tripped over skates and lego bits, cooked and supervised homework into this old biddy who can’t climb four flights of stairs? I felt my age when I visited the second born, now proud possessor of his own life, his own job and his own one BHK apartment in south Delhi.
I watched in silence as he got the carpenter and electrician to install his fridge, air conditioner and wall mount his television. I watched as he harangued the landlord and used all his guile in persuading the electrician to drill just one more spot and yet another, so that the extension board could be concealed behind the laundry basket. I watched in silent admiration, trying hard to shake the feeling of being redundant, of a parental role ( which once was assumed forcibly but now feels like a second skin ) is over.
And then he flung himself on the bed next to where I was sitting watching all the activity and said, “You baked the biscuits just for me? And you got me bread pudding!!! Love you Ma.”
The sun shone through the darkening clouds.
He is still my baby boy under all that beard and manly demeanour. I am still the mother.
We may or may not have grown up, We’ve definitely not grown apart, we’ve just evolved.
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