Friday, September 23, 2011

Mommy-sick in Sickness


As a kid I used to be quite prone to seasonal sicknesses like common cold, flu, viral fever and such. If there was a common disease strain doing the rounds, then I had to be amongst the season’s pioneers to contract it. Top it with the fact that till about 10 years of age my tonsils also gave me frequent fever spells. While it may sound that I had a lot of trouble in my growing up years, I must admit that I did not mind being sick so much for the plain and simple fact that my mom took such great care of me.  She  herself used to feel quite lousy, empathizing with me, feeling my pain. I on the other hand use to feel like a princess with my mom fussing over me, looking after me and reprimanding everyone else in the household for no apparent reason.  There was a time when ‘Limca’ was quite popular as the drink for the sick and despite not being allowed to drink aerated drinks when healthy, my mom on doctor’s advice used to get Limca to my grinning self. To sweeten deal was sole access to the tv remote control and limitless tv watching while nibbling some fruit salad. What healed me best then, or even now was her warm touch on my forehead every few minutes, even when extremely sick, I used to feel that things would soon be alright.

That was then and this is now. Now I live quite far from my mother and am a mother myself. Recently I fell sick with high grade fever after a very long time and all that week I missed my mom like crazy and felt so much gratitude for what all she had been doing all those years. There were no juice or limca glasses finding their way into my room, no one cursing the world for giving me that fever and no warm, reassuring caresses telling me it will soon be over. I knew that it was a simple fever and would be over sooner or later, but my mother’s absence made me all the more sickly.  

Being sick is no longer fun and frankly I would like to unsubscribe from the seasonal sickness program.
Thank you, no longer interested in your new beautiful viral strain! I lack the infrastructure to deal with it.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Facade

Sitting on sand, watching the setting sun

the world seems beautiful and serene.

Just as you see the beautiful carpet,

and not the dust that I swept underneath


You came, you saw and you thought you conquered

convinced that you had pulled off a perfect rescue

I too played along and appeared cornered

Not letting you know that I was saving you


Those unkind words and vicious deeds

I assured you, had been all forgotten

For you, it was convenient to believe

the nice facade over the core that's rotten.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Losing out

Last weekend my family and I went to a super mart to buy some groceries. While my husband stood in the billing queue, I decided to sit in the waiting area while my daughter’s plan included doing short dashes between both of us.

As this was continuing , I happened to meet one of our neighbors in the exact same situation – husband in queue, wife in waiting area and daughter doing some cardio exercises between both of them. As is natural with Indian parents,( or maybe it’s this way everywhere) when they fall short of conversation topics they start to discuss their kids; We ended up doing the same. School admissions is quite a safe topic to discuss and we started talking about play schools and formal school options for our respective kids. When I told them that despite being eligible at most schools, we had decided to delay formal schooling for our daughter by an year, I could almost hear the couple gasp for more oxygen. They could not understand why we wanted to “waste” one precious year of her life. The man eventually pointed that this will eventually end up in our daughter “losing out” to kids her age whose sane parents send them to 5 days a week, formal school in a class of 40+ children, as soon as they turn 3. As inviting as it may sound to some, we gave all of this a pass for another year for some reasons that are quite compelling for us. When that conversation ended I came back with a heavy heart, not because it instilled some sense of regret in me for the decision taken by us, but due to the fact that people are so used to running in their daily lives that they think it is the natural way to go, for their own children also.

It seems as if life is a match, where we are constantly battling the people around us. This mentality seems to start right from the birth, the folks of little infants compare whose child experienced teething first, , who starts to sit/crawl/walk first, who can talk sooner than the rest. Who can recite rhymes better, so on and so forth. The one whose child is meeting these tiny milestones sooner than others tends to feel like a winner and the other starts to worry if they are going to lose out on this race. Not only kids, we have invented various ways to help us feel superior to others. Better exam scores, better house, better car, better job, better looks, better looking spouse/sweetheart, better clothes, better social life somehow give us the sense of being better than the rest who score not as well in some of these categories. Likewise people experience a sense of defeat if someone ‘beneath them’ explores an exotic holiday destination first, wears better clothes or gets promoted first or ends up doing something that they feel he/she did not deserve. We assume that a child who passes out of school at age of 17 is better placed for success in life than a child who does so an year later. All because we value reaching the destination first and not the experience of the journey in between.

Sad, that we measure our success and failure in relative terms and hence make them sort of inversely dependent on success or failure of others. A lot of people around me need to be unsuccessful for me to establish my success. Yes, this maybe the world order established by the mankind, but it depends upon each one of us to decide if it is a suitable order.

So, if life is a race for you then you’ll probably not see me around, since I would have wandered off the track, to a path of my own choice.