teaching 'life' in 5 minutes flat

what a contradiction in terms... can anyone teach about life? or is it life that goes about, in its own inimitable way, teaching one and all?

both, i feel are true... yes, life is the best teacher, but i saw no harm in teaching a little wisdom to my little girl (actually not so little any more) when she came back from school in tears.

my first response was: are you ok?

she said, with a sulk, "yes i am ok and not ok."

me: why? what happened?

she: "the teachers have selected students for public speaking and as comperes fortheAnnual Day and they have selected all their pets."

Gosh, there are too many issues and i just have 5 flat minutes to address all of them, lest i be late for my post-lunch meeting.


almost thinking on my feet, i told her: "are you happy with what you have done, as in the speech that you had prepared for the audition?", half-knowing the answer that she would give me, since i had heard her rehearse and had suggested some changes in her delivery mode and expressions.


she said: "yes, Ma, i am happy with what i had prepared and had taken care to do all that you had told me. and i am sure that my speech was way better than the rest of the guys and gals. but they are the pets and i am not...", her throat wavered a little, in anger partly, in pain, partly at not being selected.

now the number of issues had not reduced though two minutes of my balance time had, but one thing i was sure of -- she was confident of herself.


i said: "if you are happy with what you have done, don't bother about the end result. that is not the result of your credit/discredit. there will be many such other instances in life when you will feel that you were better, but somebody else made it. the way out is to try to do even better, next time on. your feeling may be partly true; it could also be the result of a preconceived notion that you have about the selectors."


her face showed a couple of expressions, one after the other. first, she did not get my message about not bothering about the end result... and i do not blame her since she is not yet 14. but i purposely gave her this to mull over. second, that others may not be as good but will still make it... she partly got, must be through her tiny experience in life. she disagreed with the third, to do better next time on, saying, "there is no use in doing better next time... i would rather opt for dance where the selection is easier." this was a new issue hurled at me, that of changing track midway, giving up and not doing her best... but i decided to let go of it for the time being, though i will not let go of her in case she does not give me a convincing enough logic to opt for dance or mimicry (whatever it is), next time on. the fourth message, she partly got about preconceived notion, i could make out from her eyes...opinionated child, a genetic trait she has got...


my five minutes were up and i had to go, and when i left her, i heard sobs from her room... i dragged myself out, pretending not have heard the sobs, not because i was getting late, but because she has to learn to cope with life and such failures alone. time will come when we will not be around to hug and kiss her pain away...

let me be confident that she can, though i can hold her hand, if need be...

is there motivation tonic?

if there is, i need a tub of it... right now, here.

of late, i have just been feeling tired, for no rhyme or reason. when the alarm rings in the morning, i feel like sleeping... and i cannot, because R has to be sent to school... it is not as if B will not send her to school but he will not do it my way... i like to be around when she leaves home and we steal a stare, me at the door, she inside the lift. if the going is really good, she even throws in a kiss as the lift door closes... i cannot miss all this and be in bed, trying to sleep.

i am a very morning person. i like the mornings quiet and alone sipping my hot cup of tea, watching over R's paltry breakfast of a bowl of cereal, with BBC World for background music.

i try to retire early at night so that i get adequate rest, even if sleep eludes me... and i have my books for company. none of this seems to be working and the mornings are bad...

and for me, if the start is not good, the whole day seems a bit of a slow-down... if i sleep till late, i have to skip a bath and a little session of meditation in the morning, which means i am not fresh and that drags on the whole day...

i just need to pull myself to be out of this... i hate this lazy feeling, i hate to be slow...

Dear Bablu Dadu*1,

i write this letter as i sob, silently, alone, knowing fully well that this will not reach you. but i also know you will understand perfectly why i am still writing this to you when you are no more.

i got the news of your death two days back and since then i have been sad, really sad. now of course, i have learnt to deal with this strange phenomenon called death. i do no longer crumble on the outside, though there is a deep agony inside. but this will pass and i will get back to being my boisterous self, once again. i can see you giggle, with that characteristic twinkle in your eye and that naughty wave passing all over you.

you were not strictly even related to me or my family. you were Mashi's*2 father-in-law's cousin. it is strange that we got to know you... but had Mesho*3 not passed away, we would not have...

i can distinctly recall the first day i met you at the Kasba house where Mashi was staying with her daughters, sometime in 1983-84 and you had come to take us for a recital of Rabindrasangeet by Sumitra Sen. it was raining cats and dogs. the second meeting, same place, this time it was Jaws II.

thereafter you started coming home, often, but not regularly, mostly in the evenings, after work. you spoke little, sipped a cuppa, had a snack if offered and left silently. Dad liked you and often teased you to get married. and sure enough you did... around 1988-89. Ma and i had gone for your wedding reception. you looked happy, so did your bride.

years passed, i got married but you stayed in touch with my natal home... you kept visiting and each time, i visited, we would meet... you would make the effort to come and meet us, sometimes even late in the evenings. you had a son, he had an accident, at a marriage party, recovered... got into school, grew up, passed his 10th boards...

i kept up with your life as you did... you soothed my pain after Dad's demise, you constantly kept coming home, now my home. B liked you and understood the friendship we had. we shared a lot of time talking and in that, i was pained to learn that your wife and son did not really love you... i am busy with the lump in my throat now... and you are again smiling, i can see that...

you had retired from your job by now, but took up another... not so much for money but to get out of home every morning and as an excuse to return late at night, grab a bite and fall off to sleep. i recall your pain when i told you that i was deeply addicted to sleeping pills. you even threatened to blow the whistle and let B know if i did not stop...

i am out of my addiction. i am happy once again, having gone through a rough patch... and we met again this time when i went on vacation... you seemed ok, i could not prod you beyond the apparent, since everyone was around. you did promise to come back on the last day, but called to say you could not and said, "i am not feeling well."

how would i gauge that i had to blow the whistle to your wife? how would i know that your time was up?

on second thoughts, i have done some soul searching and come up with a logic for not calling in your wife... you had lost all will to live...

as a friend, i understood that, in my sub-conscious mind... and have accepted the fact that i did what i did, by design.

i again can see that grin of yours... a loving one this time, for your friend and sister, as you called me... and now the tears will not allow me to carry on.

S, the name you knew me in...

*1 Bablu -- a common name in our part of India; Dadu -- grandfather.
*2 Mashi -- Ma's sister
*3 Mesho -- Mashi's husband.

the place of the significant other...

... in our lives, depends a lot on attitude, in fact whole of it.

have seen couples who portray a total lack of balance when it comes to their spouses, because the lady decides willingly to be a doormat. the man is clearly more equal than the woman and the woman either does not know what she has traded away (identity), or does not want to have one. that's one way.

then there are others where the lady wears the pants, because the man is docile and takes the passive role. here, the man has less of an identity. that's another option. the straight ones, both these, i call them.

the third way is made by couples who have, knowingly, shunned both the above and want a decent space for each of them(selves)... and that is the trick, since even if they are clear, on how much they will yield to each other and constantly think hard of how well to finetune it, people around who have seen an either/or scenario, do not know what is going on in these homes... i happen to fall in this third bracket.

B and i met 25 years back, as college students, in the same class. we have courted for 6+ years, and have been married for the past 18+ years. so the question of inequality really did not arise, to begin with.

so after marriage, while we both were clear in our minds, people around were not. my folks knew better... that to comment would be inviting problems and they steered clear. his folks stumbled a little in the beginning and have let it be.

running the home is my responsibility. he earns, i manage. i decide what is to be bought, what is to be cooked, what is to be washed and ironed, what is to be junked. and i love doing it. where i cannot, i seek paid help, in cooking for instance.

i manage R too... keeping my schedules as closely linked to hers, her studies, her classes, the works... where i cannot, B pitches in willingly.

we use each other as sounding boards for our doubts in life, in general.

we have kept one aspect separate -- money. i manage mine; he manages his, though we do know what the other is doing and not doing. we are more mature here and do not question. possibly, we have developed a certain respect in each other's judgement.

rather a plain arrangement, it struck me yesterday when, at a get-together of B's colleagues, one wife from Category 1, commented that she had the liberty of spending $4200 on a diamond bangle and mind you, she does not work for a living. this bangle was just to complete a set with a diamond necklace that her husband had got for her earlier in the year.

the mention has not saddened me or surprised me, it has just made me more conscious of one fact -- i come really cheap... only hope B realises it.

why can't i be a martyr

this is clear why she does not like martyrs. i am with her on all she says -- that does not call for a post, though. what calls for a post is to state why i just cannot tolerate them and why i find it difficult to be one.

martyrs are irritating, period. enough said, no more emphasis needed.

they lack self-respect, thus they crib and only crib.

they bitch because they lack the courage to speak up in front of people, they have objections on.

and they whine, because that is the only thing they can do. they are sufficient for only that.

i have a Mt. Everest-ish ego. and i have tonnes of self-respect. i do not crib because it hurts my sense of privacy; i bitch, yes, but i also tell most people on their faces what i think on issues, i rarely comment on people and i hate to whine since i do not want sympathy or advice... my problem is mine and i can tackle it, if at all. i prefer not to have half-baked ideas as advice.

and most important, i can stand up for myself, which is one thing i keep drilling into R. let's see how she turns out to be, anything is fine, as long as she is not a martyr.