I am surrounded by super moms and child prodigies. Engulfed, deluged, swamped by them. Upper floor, same floor, next block, the next city, no matter where I go, I find them. I am beginning to wonder if the problem lies with me. Do I attract them ?
Sample these: These are SuperMoms on their offspring.
( for easier comprehension, this group will hereafter be referred to as SMOCP - Super Mom of Child Prodigy. PM stands for Poor Me)
SMOCP :: “My Ananya started talking when she was just eight months old. Does Aditi talk?”
(aditi is in her tenth month and all she does is make noises)
PM:: “ er…. well, she makes noises that sound like acha and amma”
SMOCP:: “ Only now? My Ananya could point out her father in a crowd and say Daddy when she was 9 months old”
( At this point, I stop contributing to the conversation)
SMOCP:: “ My Tarun could tell rhinos from hippos when he was nine months old
PM (in bug eyed wonder) :: “ Wow, he could vocalize that well at nine months ?”
SMOCP:: “No, silly. I meant he could point out rhinos and hippos in his animal book when he was that young. Can Aditi differentiate between animals ?”
( How can she when she tears any paper that comes within tearing distance. No animal book will last more than ten minutes in my babe’s hands)
PM:: “Emm… actually, no. Not yet. Isn't she too young to be learning from books? ”
SMOCP:: “ No way. My Tarun knew the alphabet by the time he was one.”
( A geek as been made)
SMOCP:: “Tanya is the class topper, you know. She has always topped her class wherever we’ve been posted”.
PM:: “That’s nice. Which class is she in now?”
SMOCP :: “LKG”
(!!!!????????? How many years did this girl spend in her LKG?)
SMOCP:: “Bala is a very balanced child. He takes everything in his stride. His teacher says it comes from good upbringing”
(Lady, I’ll have you know self praise stinks and so do you. Oh, if only I had the guts)
SMOCP:: “ As it is, Darshana used to be the first in class to finish maths tests. After she joined Abacus, she takes no time at all. She just whizzes in and out. “
( Ramanujan could have learned a few tricks from this one)
SMOCP:: “ You MUST watch Craig imitate Suresh Gopi. Come here Craigi. Do your Suresh Gopi act for this aunty”
At which Craigi obediently launches into “just remember that SHIT”, the hand gesture and all. At which his mother bursts into peals and peals of laughter and applause. At which point she realizes you are not ( as you are only recovering from your shock) and looks at you menacingly. At which you obligingly break into applause.
Now sample these : Super Moms on themselves.
( note: There’s an ongoing competition on whose delivery was the swiftest and the most painless)
( SM for SuperMom)
SM:: “ I just had a slight pain and went to the hospital only because it was nearby. The doc examined me and referred me to the labour room. Almost as soon as I went in, I had the baby. Took next to no time and wasn’t all that painful really”
( are you KIDDING me????)
SM:: “ My labour was so easy, I was in through one door and out through the other. And my baby was 4 kilos”.
( HELLO? No woman can deliver a 4 kilo baby JUST like that!)
Then there’s the baby birth weight , length and a whole gamut of other parameters to be compared. Who delivered the baby with THE ideal weight, THE ideal length and THE ideal head circumference.
Breastfeeding is a topic that whips as much fervour as labour.
SM ::“ Tommy was exclusively breast fed until he was one year old”
(O…k… But exclusively ? Until one year?)
SM:: “ I nursed Arya until she was four. That’s why she is so fair”
(FOUR????? And what is this mystery connection between breast milk and fairness?? )
The lot is energized when I let slip sadly that Aditi weaned herself off, without any effort from my side, in her ninth month.
SM:: ” Only for nine months. That’s nowhere near enough. Don’t you know breast milk enhances the child’s brain, eyesight and blahdiblahdiblahdiblah ?
( yeah right. complexion too)
Push presents are another hot favourite.
(Here the Super Girl talks about her Super Man. So the acronym is SGOSM for Super Girl on Super Man. PM remains)
SGOSM :: “ Giri took me to Switzerland three months after Yadu was born. He wanted to compensate me for the trauma I went through.? Did you guys getaway someplace?”.
PM:: “em…….”
SGOSM :: “ Amal brought a solitaire ring to the hospital. But I told him a diamond ring just does not compare with the pain I had to endure. What did Hari get you ?”
PM:: “ mmm… you know… I delivered a week before due date. He wasn’t really prepared”. ( I’m good at making pathetic excuses)
Strangely enough, a lot of these women are reasonable, humorous and thoughtful human beings. But on the topic of their offspring, they are maniacal in their attempts to prove their prodigiousness. This dichotomy puzzles me.
Thankfully, there are sane voices in this melee`. Women who admit they suffered post partum depression. Women who tell you to take it easy if your child wants to be weaned ahead of the prodigies. These are the women who listen while the other lot prattles away.
The real Super Moms.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
Thank You for the music
It was a class trip organised by the students. Since most of us were kept on a tight leash by our Dads, there wasn't much spare change to go into organising a gala event. Horrendous, our HoD turned the other way as he 'simply did not put up with such frivolity'. The batch had already had a class tour sponsored by the department which, according to Horrendous, was more than enough. So there we were, emptying out pockets and counting the change. Deciding to forego trips to the city and the occasional movie for one final class trip before the final exams. When you want something very badly, the entire cosmos conspires to bring it to you. Thus, despite the heavy cash crunch, we found hotels to stay and a cosy little mini van for transport, which not only contained the eighteen of us and our luggage, but also left space for Sanju's guitar and Chris' carry-along gym. We were off.
It was fun from the word go. There were no chaperones , just us classmates and our spirit. Soon after we left city limits, out came the beer bottles and the cigarettes. The girls in the batch - we were only six of us- did not complain. What the heck ? Minal was the first to finish the bottle, she outboozed the guys!!! Then of course, there was dancing and singing and hooting and heckling. Ever tried group dancing in a mini bus ? Each time the bus braked the lot in the aisle would fall back like a deck of cards onto the rear window - Paul first, on him Minal, on her Joe, on her Shiv, on him me, on me Tara, on Tara Sanju and on Sanju , the mighty Chris. We had to peel Paul off the window after that. We voted unanimously on Chris occupying the rear guard, as the man could easily bear our combined weight and more .
There wasn't one dull moment. When the dancing and singing stopped, we ate. When we stopped eating, we snoozed on each other's shoulders. There in that mini van, a couple of relationships blossomed. Romancing couples found ample time and privacy to engage in activities that romancing couples usually engage in. Sanju would play for them, ostensibly for all of us, but his songs were for them. Dedications came thick and fast, for Sanju was an awesome singer. He could weave magic on his guitar. Even Chris broke into a sonorous "Malaika, naku pende, Malaika" .Sanju had touched the hidden romantic in the hulking Kenyan. As quick as a wink of the eye, a day passed, then another, and it was time to head back. We partied twice as hard on the way back making the most of each moment before we reached Horrendous and our text books.
About 50 kms from the Univ, at five o'clock in the evening, our mini van's overworked, tired engine folded up. It clean quit on us. Considering the van was the only one we could afford on our babybootystring budget, it didn't really surprise us. What worried us, though, was the curfew at the Women's Hostel. Quarter to seven was the final cut off and if we made it later than that, there'd be hell to pay. We'd stretched the Warden's patience to the limit as well, you see, and it didn't help that she was Horrendous' wife . It was an unfamiliar route and we were quickly making and remaking plans to head home and fast. The locals told us about jeeps that ferried people . Off we went in search of them and whatwith the Cosmos and wanting something badly and all that, we found them. But it was nearing nightfall and the drivers were on their last trips. Sixteen of us found place in three jeeps, while Sanju and I were dumped into a cargo jeep along with baskets full of live chicken. We were the smallest and thinnest of the lot, so the logic was that we'd take the least space and cause the least damage to the poor birds on their way to slaughter.
The journey began. This time it was our jeep driver who sang along with Sanju and his guitar. Between the two of them they sang about love, friendship, Jesus Christ, nature and sex. "He may be drunk, but he sings great", says Sanju and then BANG. That was all I heard. I remember falling on the hard ground and rolling . I was rolling, hitting against things and rolling again. When the rolling stopped, there was only blackness. Blackness and pain. My arms were on fire, there was something poking painfully in my chest and my mouth was full of what tasted like blood. Terrible, torturous pain. Then as abruptly as it began, the pain ended . I could see nothing, feel nothing. But I could hear Sanju's guitar in my head, the tunes he strummed.
When I came to, the setting had changed. There was no road, no pain, I was on a comfortable bed in what looked like a hospital. There was no one near me. Just some machines and the whirring noise they made. The doctors came soon. They looked into my eyes, poked me here and there and took copious notes . I saw a familiar face at the door- Sanju. Probably waiting for the doctors to leave. He came in after they left and perched himself on a chair next to me. I wanted to ask him what happened, but I couldn't speak. He told me I had tubes running through most parts of my body, including my mouth. That there were some ten tubes he could see from where he sat. Apparently, I had been very badly injured. He showed off his immaculate self " Hey , lucky Me. Not one stitch ". The cheeky bastard. But I was touched he came. Sanju left after singing some of my favourite tunes. I must have recovered some after Sanju's visit because all my friends came trooping in after that. The docs had told them that I was never to be left alone. But it was Sanju and his music that relaxed me most. I'd wait eagerly to listen to his guitar.
One day some tubes came off. They said I could eat. They asked me to speak and to try and move my arms. They told me I was found unconscious with a fractured arm, a fractured jaw and two broken ribs that tore into my heart. Bad accident. I agreed. Apparently, there had been a two-day long surgery after which I was in and out of consciousness for a week. Many a time they thought they'd lost me. But then my heart would let out a feeble beat and they'd start working on me again. 'A miracle', my doctor said. "Its a miracle you held on ".
My friends kept coming to see me and kept my spirits high. But Sanju's absence worried me. When I mentioned it, my friends changed the topic or looked at the ceiling or just hemmed and hawed. I wanted to see Sanju and thank him for his music. I was sure it was his guitar that kept me pinned down on earth while I was unconscious. But I never saw Sanju ever again. For he had died in the accident - on the spot. He hit his head and bled internally to death. I remembered there was not a scratch on him when he came to see me. I should have been aghast when I heard about his death, strangely I wasn't. I was incredulous, of course. After all, I'd seen him, he'd talked to me, he'd sung for me. Vaguely as I could, I tried to pin down the days that Sanju had come to the hospital. They said I was unconscious all those days. In and out of consciousness. My injured heart would weaken and want to give up. Then he'd come and sing and strum his guitar and get it to beat again. So many times.
I got well, left the hospital, wrote the exams and miraculously passed. I couldn't throw my convocation cap in the air as I was still only on the mend. But everyday I doff my cap to the energy that kept my dead friend alive so I could go on to live. And everyday I say a silent prayer for the soul of my friend who must surely be singing wherever he is...........
[ this is not an autobiographical blog. neither is it fiction. the road accident, the trauma and the paranormal experience are real life experiences of a friend]
It was fun from the word go. There were no chaperones , just us classmates and our spirit. Soon after we left city limits, out came the beer bottles and the cigarettes. The girls in the batch - we were only six of us- did not complain. What the heck ? Minal was the first to finish the bottle, she outboozed the guys!!! Then of course, there was dancing and singing and hooting and heckling. Ever tried group dancing in a mini bus ? Each time the bus braked the lot in the aisle would fall back like a deck of cards onto the rear window - Paul first, on him Minal, on her Joe, on her Shiv, on him me, on me Tara, on Tara Sanju and on Sanju , the mighty Chris. We had to peel Paul off the window after that. We voted unanimously on Chris occupying the rear guard, as the man could easily bear our combined weight and more .
There wasn't one dull moment. When the dancing and singing stopped, we ate. When we stopped eating, we snoozed on each other's shoulders. There in that mini van, a couple of relationships blossomed. Romancing couples found ample time and privacy to engage in activities that romancing couples usually engage in. Sanju would play for them, ostensibly for all of us, but his songs were for them. Dedications came thick and fast, for Sanju was an awesome singer. He could weave magic on his guitar. Even Chris broke into a sonorous "Malaika, naku pende, Malaika" .Sanju had touched the hidden romantic in the hulking Kenyan. As quick as a wink of the eye, a day passed, then another, and it was time to head back. We partied twice as hard on the way back making the most of each moment before we reached Horrendous and our text books.
About 50 kms from the Univ, at five o'clock in the evening, our mini van's overworked, tired engine folded up. It clean quit on us. Considering the van was the only one we could afford on our babybootystring budget, it didn't really surprise us. What worried us, though, was the curfew at the Women's Hostel. Quarter to seven was the final cut off and if we made it later than that, there'd be hell to pay. We'd stretched the Warden's patience to the limit as well, you see, and it didn't help that she was Horrendous' wife . It was an unfamiliar route and we were quickly making and remaking plans to head home and fast. The locals told us about jeeps that ferried people . Off we went in search of them and whatwith the Cosmos and wanting something badly and all that, we found them. But it was nearing nightfall and the drivers were on their last trips. Sixteen of us found place in three jeeps, while Sanju and I were dumped into a cargo jeep along with baskets full of live chicken. We were the smallest and thinnest of the lot, so the logic was that we'd take the least space and cause the least damage to the poor birds on their way to slaughter.
The journey began. This time it was our jeep driver who sang along with Sanju and his guitar. Between the two of them they sang about love, friendship, Jesus Christ, nature and sex. "He may be drunk, but he sings great", says Sanju and then BANG. That was all I heard. I remember falling on the hard ground and rolling . I was rolling, hitting against things and rolling again. When the rolling stopped, there was only blackness. Blackness and pain. My arms were on fire, there was something poking painfully in my chest and my mouth was full of what tasted like blood. Terrible, torturous pain. Then as abruptly as it began, the pain ended . I could see nothing, feel nothing. But I could hear Sanju's guitar in my head, the tunes he strummed.
When I came to, the setting had changed. There was no road, no pain, I was on a comfortable bed in what looked like a hospital. There was no one near me. Just some machines and the whirring noise they made. The doctors came soon. They looked into my eyes, poked me here and there and took copious notes . I saw a familiar face at the door- Sanju. Probably waiting for the doctors to leave. He came in after they left and perched himself on a chair next to me. I wanted to ask him what happened, but I couldn't speak. He told me I had tubes running through most parts of my body, including my mouth. That there were some ten tubes he could see from where he sat. Apparently, I had been very badly injured. He showed off his immaculate self " Hey , lucky Me. Not one stitch ". The cheeky bastard. But I was touched he came. Sanju left after singing some of my favourite tunes. I must have recovered some after Sanju's visit because all my friends came trooping in after that. The docs had told them that I was never to be left alone. But it was Sanju and his music that relaxed me most. I'd wait eagerly to listen to his guitar.
One day some tubes came off. They said I could eat. They asked me to speak and to try and move my arms. They told me I was found unconscious with a fractured arm, a fractured jaw and two broken ribs that tore into my heart. Bad accident. I agreed. Apparently, there had been a two-day long surgery after which I was in and out of consciousness for a week. Many a time they thought they'd lost me. But then my heart would let out a feeble beat and they'd start working on me again. 'A miracle', my doctor said. "Its a miracle you held on ".
My friends kept coming to see me and kept my spirits high. But Sanju's absence worried me. When I mentioned it, my friends changed the topic or looked at the ceiling or just hemmed and hawed. I wanted to see Sanju and thank him for his music. I was sure it was his guitar that kept me pinned down on earth while I was unconscious. But I never saw Sanju ever again. For he had died in the accident - on the spot. He hit his head and bled internally to death. I remembered there was not a scratch on him when he came to see me. I should have been aghast when I heard about his death, strangely I wasn't. I was incredulous, of course. After all, I'd seen him, he'd talked to me, he'd sung for me. Vaguely as I could, I tried to pin down the days that Sanju had come to the hospital. They said I was unconscious all those days. In and out of consciousness. My injured heart would weaken and want to give up. Then he'd come and sing and strum his guitar and get it to beat again. So many times.
I got well, left the hospital, wrote the exams and miraculously passed. I couldn't throw my convocation cap in the air as I was still only on the mend. But everyday I doff my cap to the energy that kept my dead friend alive so I could go on to live. And everyday I say a silent prayer for the soul of my friend who must surely be singing wherever he is...........
[ this is not an autobiographical blog. neither is it fiction. the road accident, the trauma and the paranormal experience are real life experiences of a friend]
Thursday, March 6, 2008
What happens to the stars in your eyes ?
You start your life with so many stars in your eyes. Regardless of what you see around you, there is an unbound optimism that life will treat you specially. That , you deserve to be treated specially, differently, simply because you are you. On the rare occasions that you do contemplate on the future, in those heady days of adolescence and teenage, it always looks bright, promising and fulfilling. That's the beauty of being young. The absolute, true innocence that is the quintessence of youth.
And then your future meets you head on. You can't stop the onslaught of time. Well, at that point, you don't want to stop time. In your mind, the life ahead is so full of promises you are positively impatient to grow up and get there ! And one day, you do. Like that good-looking lawyer in Allie McBeal said "we've grown up from people with bright futures to people who should be living their bright futures'! He says it when he is diagnosed with brain tumor and shortly afterwards, he dies. Well, sigh !
For the rest of us who don't die and are left to dwell (read , duel) on Earth, real life springs many surprises. Not all of them pleasant. What you always took for granted may play truant and what you never imagined may just happen. Life is actually best to people who never think ahead, never dream. They may never experience the ecstasy of ambition fulfilled, but they also never suffer the agony of ambition thwarted. (shameless plagiarisation from P G Wodehouse, a far far evolved mind than mine). There are times when you feel that would be the best way to deal with what Life deals you. Take each moment as it comes. But alas, have you a few gray cells, and that becomes impossible. That is just how we are wired. Dreams fulfilled, part-filled, never filled...... And then the stars begin to fade.
As the starts fade, you start seeing Life from a different angle and you meet a very important character in your life. One whom you never met in the 'heady' days. You don't extend him an invitation, but in he walks through your front door and takes firm position on the best couch in your living room. He doesn't butt in your life, just remains there. He shares a mutually exclusive relationship with your stars. As the stars fade and fall, you start seeing him clearly.
In the early days, you may resent him. For his presence, for his refusal to leave. The constant presence. The constant reminder. And then you can ignore him no longer. When you are forced to take cognisance of his existence, you take the first step and offer a handshake . You introduce yourselves. He says, "call me REALITY. that's what others do".
As the days go by and you grow older, mature, you will find yourself seeking out this friend. He becomes your touchstone. And you pray you never lose sight of him, that you are never without his advice. For, by then, all the starts would have left you.............
And then your future meets you head on. You can't stop the onslaught of time. Well, at that point, you don't want to stop time. In your mind, the life ahead is so full of promises you are positively impatient to grow up and get there ! And one day, you do. Like that good-looking lawyer in Allie McBeal said "we've grown up from people with bright futures to people who should be living their bright futures'! He says it when he is diagnosed with brain tumor and shortly afterwards, he dies. Well, sigh !
For the rest of us who don't die and are left to dwell (read , duel) on Earth, real life springs many surprises. Not all of them pleasant. What you always took for granted may play truant and what you never imagined may just happen. Life is actually best to people who never think ahead, never dream. They may never experience the ecstasy of ambition fulfilled, but they also never suffer the agony of ambition thwarted. (shameless plagiarisation from P G Wodehouse, a far far evolved mind than mine). There are times when you feel that would be the best way to deal with what Life deals you. Take each moment as it comes. But alas, have you a few gray cells, and that becomes impossible. That is just how we are wired. Dreams fulfilled, part-filled, never filled...... And then the stars begin to fade.
As the starts fade, you start seeing Life from a different angle and you meet a very important character in your life. One whom you never met in the 'heady' days. You don't extend him an invitation, but in he walks through your front door and takes firm position on the best couch in your living room. He doesn't butt in your life, just remains there. He shares a mutually exclusive relationship with your stars. As the stars fade and fall, you start seeing him clearly.
In the early days, you may resent him. For his presence, for his refusal to leave. The constant presence. The constant reminder. And then you can ignore him no longer. When you are forced to take cognisance of his existence, you take the first step and offer a handshake . You introduce yourselves. He says, "call me REALITY. that's what others do".
As the days go by and you grow older, mature, you will find yourself seeking out this friend. He becomes your touchstone. And you pray you never lose sight of him, that you are never without his advice. For, by then, all the starts would have left you.............
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