Shhh! Silence Please!

Shhh! don’t talk. Don’t even open your mouth while reading this. I can hear your breath. Baby has just gone to sleep. After a long time and much rocking she has finally closed her eyes to sleep.

There... I hear some clinging again. Ching, ching ching... click, and the door open. In came mom.

“I told you not to make any noise,” I scold her in a whisper.

“What did I do?” she asks me in a surprise.

“I told you not to make any noise. I’m putting her to sleep.”

“I did not make any noise."

“I can hear you walk loudly.”

“It was my anklet,” she explained.

“Then walk slowly on tip toe.”

“Ok, now you stop grumbling and give her to me. I will put her to sleep.”

With great delicacy I handed over Madhuram, my baby, to her. Just as I am stretching, bang! And in comes my father enquiring, “What’s the baby doing?” The baby gives a start and we calm it down.

“What did you do?” we ask my surprised father.

“What?” He asked still surprised.

“Why did you bang the door?”

“I did not bang the door. I closed it as usual,” he retorted

“But that woke up the baby. She was just going to doze off.”

“I just came to see the baby,” he justified.

“Only if she sleeps can we also do other work and take rest ourselves.”

“Fine, I will leave now. You carry on with her.”

“OK, but this time close the door really softly,” we command.

“OK,” he whispered and left obediently closing the door softly.

My mom again went on to make Madhuram sleep. Patting and rocking as she hummed to her. Her eyes were drowsy but she was not willing to go to sleep as yet.

Just then, tring tring... tring tring... the phone rings. The baby finds another reason not to go to sleep. Thankfully, dad picks the phone and handles it.

Again my mother concentrates to make the baby sleep. But alas, the clock rings this time. A musical is followed by the dongs. “We must disconnect the music first thing after the baby sleeps,” we both contemplate. Thankfully Madhuram seemed to have enjoyed the music, so the clock has not bothered her much.

But again after some time the door bell rings. We both are now irritated to the core. The baby’s eyes are now wide open, with no want of sleep. My father answers the door, but unfortunately, it is someone who wants to talk only and only to my mother. Dad softly opens the door of our room and signs my mother to come out. Annoyed, my mother again delicately hands over the baby to me and proceeds to send off the person at the door.

Again I am left alone with the baby. I rock her and sing to her to sleep. Her eyes are drowsy again. Thank God. Just then I feel my nose itchy. I twitch and rub my nose, but no good. It continues to itch and irritate.

Just then my mom comes in. Now I feel like sneezing. I brief her of the situation and ask her to immediately take the baby from me. “Go out and sneeze,” she commands. Again I hand her the baby.

As I rush outside, my itch increases. And as hold the handle to open the door, the itch has reached its peak and is ready to come out as a sneeze. In a hurry to reduce the noise pollution, I run out of the door but forget to leave the door softly.

Bang! Aaachhuuu! The door closes just as I sneeze too. A big sneeze it was! I feel relieved and the itch too has gone. A big smile is on my face. But this soon vanishes as I realize that I just banged the door. I feel hopeless. The image of my beaming baby runs past my eyes.

With a heavy heart I softly open the door of my room. I see my mom sitting gloomily with the equally irritated baby in her lap. She did not scold me. It just could not be helped.

We again got on with the task of making the baby sleep. I hope this time we will have no further disturbance. Please pray for us!

Towards Gravity – The Roller Coaster Ride

Probably the only time I have hated gravity is in a roller coaster. I love the feeling of being grounded; the feeling of having something hard below my feet or my bum. My other loves include aqua and aero. Water makes me feel so light. Just makes me float and bloat with happiness. I also love to fly… feel the air run through my hair, my hands stretched out like wings and air slipping through my toes. Floating in water and air would be wonderful. But a roller coaster, uuhh, its so sickening. You are neither floating nor flying and above all you can feel how gravity can play Devil.

Here’s my first experience with the roller coaster.

I had been to an amusement park. Wow, what excitement! Friends, tickets, popcorns, what else do you need? After an initial search for the most exciting games, we chose the roller coaster. Others looked small in height or too simple to ride on. Hmm, not that exciting, is it? So now we came to the roller coaster. The long queue for the same only made our excitement double.

The roller coaster was already rolling. We could hear shouts and hoots. What was that for, I wondered. Is it scary? But I could also see some laughing faces and waving handkerchiefs from the “tubs”. So I assume they are shouts of excitements. Finally the coaster came to a halt. Masses got out clapping hands and waving; some even wet with seat. Wow, is it so exiting, I murmured wondering.

Came my chance on the BIG wheel. I sat in my tub facing my friends. Slowly the wheel rolled to accommodate the others. My tub was tossing in the air now. I could feel the air brushing my ears. Oh what a feeling to be in air! Slowly I came to the top of the wheel. My tub was still tossing mildly in the air. I could see the whole world from there. Goodness, what a bird’s eye view of the city. It looked so small yet so expansive. The landscape was astounding. Tall concrete jungles with patches of green here and there, and the vast ocean beyond towards the horizon.

Ah! Now started my fateful journey downwards – towards gravity. I felt myself already half in the air. I tried hard to hold on to the handle in the front of me but felt my seat below slipping away. My palms had a tangling feeling. Oh God! Am I going to get stuck in the air? What if I fall, what will happen to me? Is my body not fast enough for the coaster? Thoughts were just shooting in my head; but alas with no time to think of answers. I was too concentrated to save myself from falling than think of reasons for the phenomenon.

The coaster started and the rounds were now uninterrupted. It felt so nice going upwards – feeling presses to the seat. The worst part was while coming down. Felt as if I would remain in air. The seat below me seemed far away. My grip on the handlebar seemed to become looser with every second. I was already shouting. Now I comprehended why people were shouting previously. The presence yet the absence of gravity made me panic. I was waiting to go up the coaster – to see the ground; feel the seat underneath; and get a good grip of the handlebar – and never to come down.

Coming down was the worst part. I was now anxious to touch the dear ground. Oh the feel of soil! How many more rounds of agony? I dared not see the city from above now. It felt to dizzy. I dare not see my friends as well; they seemed to be laughing. Those oohhs and aahhs only made it worse.

Finally the coaster slowed down. Our touchdown time came. I wanted to be the first to get down. But alas, I would probably be the last. I got another glance of the city from the top. The city was now dwindling from point to point. Oh sorry, my head was spinning! The tub was still tossing slowly in the mild wind.

At last touch down. I sprang and jumped from the tub to the ground. While my friends still laughed and shouted with excitement, I knelt and kissed he ground, “I’ll never leave you sweety! I love you too much to earn your wrath.”

The Hindi Examination – Mera Bharat Mahan

Examination times were a terror. Not for the fear of writing the examination in the seemingly short span of three hours but more because all the lessons that had to be learnt. The fat books that were a symbol of seniority in the starting of the term were really proving heavy. More time was spent in counting how many more pages of study were left than really memorizing the topics. And my biggest weakness was that I could never cram anything at the last moment. Everything had to be practically explained to me.

Each subject seemed to be worse than the other. English was the easiest subject as it was more practical. Mathematics was also fine as we already had some practice on the sums; just needed to brush up the concepts and theorems. Science was tolerable. It was the easiest to make sense of. For Social, thanks to our wonderful teachers, I never had problems in remembering the empires, revolutions, governments and climates. Last but not the least was Hindi. Ahhh! The literature section was reasonable but the grammar was the worst.

Contrary to English, I could never understand what Kriya, Karan or the other parts of grammar were. In English, they sounded so easy, but I could not understand why they were so difficult in Hindi, though both were principally the same.

As examinations approached, my parents also started getting involved in the preparations. While for other subjects their help was limited to explanations of phenomenon and reactions, Hindi was different. A visit to the local book shops and libraries became routine. Don’t mistake! The visits were not for finding some books to read, but to collect essay books for the Hindi examination.

After much research, my mother found out that invariably, in all examinations, form class 8th to 10th, the essay that was always asked was Mera Bharat Mahan. This essay was always in the prime position in my mom’s ‘A’ list. The other most likely ones in the list were Mera Priya Kavi, Mera Priya Dost or something that would be “Mera Priya”. She had realised that among the three options of essays, the first one was always Mera Bharat Mahan or its variants; the second was Mera Priya “something”; and the third an imaginative topic that needed some raking of brains, like Kisi pahadi sthal ki sair, Barsaat ki ek raat etc.

As I was never a very intelligent child, she felt that attempting the third one would be tough for me. If I already scored less after reading and memorizing stuff, how could I score by writing on something that I had not prepared for, she contemplated. Thus the imaginative topic constituted the ‘D’ list. My mom always banked on Mera Bharat Mahan. “There is so much material available about our country; you’d be a fool not to attempt something that you have learned from your childhood,” she’d persuade. Essays she opined were weighed on content, the use of short poems and quotations apart from the style of writing. She therefore did a lot of homework, or should I say groundwork, for me. While I was at school, she used to visit libraries and bookstores and collect essay books, select paragraphs, short poems and quotations from them which she would use to write a consolidated essay fitting all the parts from the different books into one. She tried to make it simple enough for me to digest it. She had also maintained a separate essay notebook for this purpose.

As soon as I came back from school and dressed myself, she’d hand out the written text and ask me to go through it expecting me to start memorising it immediately while she fed me grub. Yeeooww! The poems felt too dramatized; the quotes ‘made-to-fit’. I found it really hard to actually chew them leave alone digestion.

Before going to the examination, my mom gave all sorts of last moment tips and instructions. Special instructions included writing the Mera Bharat Mahan essay under all circumstances. All said and done, I nodded and sat for the examination. Lazy to write the essay right at the beginning, I left it for the last.

Invariably, the Hindi examinations are always long. By the time I finished all the other questions, there was just 10 minutes to spare for the essay, which I estimated, was less for the well-rehearsed essay. I needed to recollect all the matter, poems and quotations accurately. Uuff! A lot of work! Therefore I opted for the choice I loved most – imaginative topics the ones that constituted my mother’s ‘D’ list.

As I started to write, ideas just kept flowing, the ink in the pen just kept gushing. I was writing non-stop; stopping in-between only to check that I had not exceeded the word count. As the bell rang, I managed to complete with the last word. After tying the paper, I felt a sense of satisfaction inside. As I ran to the bus to go back home, the dread of mom’s reaction caught me. Every mile homewards increased my fear equivalently.

Finally I got down at my stop. My mom was standing at the gate with eager eyes. As I approached, she asked me first how I did. I nodded an animated yes. The next obvious question fired was, ”Did you write Mera Bharat Mahan?” her voice was hard and deep; eyes piercing into mine. Deep inside she had a hunch that I would have either left the essay or attempted the ‘D’ list essay. I avoided her by replying that I wanted to wash myself, as I was hungry. I wanted her to feel safe for some time.

While on the dining table, she asked me again. I gulped not knowing how to react. With my eyes still on the meal, I said “No” and then looked at her. Her eyes were fierce, yet wet. She wanted to scold me for all her hard work that went into the essay preparation; yet she found it hard to scold me. She hoped I had at least written the Mera Priya something. When I mentioned the ‘D’ list essay, she heaved and clinched her fist. Controlling herself, she let off her breath and asked me what I had written in that. I did not know what to answer. I was not sure if I was really ready to take her scolding but was surely not ready to see her fighting with her soul. I calmly told her a few points and left the dining table in a jiffy. I could take in no longer. She should either scold me now or just leave it at this and hug me for successfully coming out of the three-hour torture cell.

She calmed down in a minute, but did not talk to me much. She probably felt it was hopeless to talk to me more about it as I was already done with the exam. But she did not lose hope. The notebook she maintained was ready to use the next year with some addition and deletion. After reading this article I hope, she will not be so disappointed now that I did not attempt Mera Bharat Mahan.

My Mother's love- My Bike and Myself

If there was something that my mother was proud of me most, then it was the fact that I knew driving a geared two-wheeler. She loved to see her girl macho – ready to take on the guys outside. She just needed an opportunity to urge me to take my scooter out to drive.

There are many reasons for her being so proud. She was a feminist. Not totally but believed in woman empowerment. She believed that a woman was actually capable more than a man; all the talk that a woman does not have enough strength to drive a bike was a sham. And more than anything, she saw herself in me. She wanted that the encouragement to do various activities that should have been given to her when she was a child must not be denied to me.

She encouraged me in each and every step. I thank God for giving me a father who is not a chauvinist in this regard. He was more than happy to team me all the supposedly “manly” things. He considered that nothing was impossible if we put in sufficient efforts. Everything was in the state of mind; how positive we were to learn and accept things.

Anyway, when my father asked me if I was willing to learn the scooter, my mother was the most excited person. She wanted me to learn it as soon as possible and take her for a ride round the locality so that she can hold her head high about her girl.

My first lesson started in the parking lot. I saw my mother standing at the door not moving throughout my learning process, observing my progress. My first day went futile. I almost cried when I could not put on and take off the stands. Still she never came out to console me. She knew I had to be toughened. The second day, I was a bit better (though I considered that as luck) and I started pushing the vehicle by hand. She still stood by the door observing. Later the next day my arms started paining extensively. But she never let me make a big fuss of it. I continued with my progress.

As I started coming out to the roads in my locality, she too came outside to see me drive so well – observing with her hands folded at her waist. Her eyes gazing at my concentration and how balanced I was. Finally I made it. I was driving without any assistance. My arm-ache had disappeared. I had started loving speed. I wanted to take my parents for a ride, but then my father suggested that we better not cross the limit of traffic rules. So my lessons remained lessons. I never got an opportunity to drive my mother anywhere.

Later, just before got my driving license, she had a fall and was advised not to travel on two-wheeler. Her ride with me remained just a dream since then. But she never relents this. She believed she can see the world through me.

As I tell me my journey through the manly roads, her eyes enlighten. She’s excited to hear how guys stare at me, chase me, overtake me etc. she is thrilled to hear that the security salutes me when I go to office or anywhere. She is energized when I tell her that the guys look at me with awe and consider me not as a girl but as a guy.

Yes, she wanted me to be a guy in this male-dominated world. She never looked at me like a girl. Probably she wanted to be the same. But it needs a generation to change things. She made the change and I am a living example. I love you Mom.

The 1000 Watt Bulb

It was nearly midnight but the lights were still on – as bright as a 1000 watt bulb. We had no idea what to do with it. If this continued, none of us would be able to sleep. We were especially worried about the baby.

Madhuram was nearly a month old now and extremely colicky. She was hyper sensitive in the night. We had to literally speak in sign language in the nights. And the bulb was further annoying us. We could not do away with it as there was no other room we could shift to.

Madhuram’s cries only worsened with each minute. The colic was getting the better of her. The bulb was annoying further. We swung, swayed and sang to her – only to our dismay. She could not sleep. We tried all known tricks. Each member of the house tried their hand to pacify her to sleep. We put lullabies on the computer for a much soothing effect. But alas, her colic was hard to pacify. And so the light burned on night after night after night.

We took her to the docs for a solution, but came back without answers. We tried all sort of herbal medicines, but were let down. All we consulted told that this was a regular feature that would continue till three months. Three months seemed a long time. We were worried how the baby would pull on for three months; awake all the night with the irksome lights on.

The break point came when the lights burned on till late morning. Tears ran down cheeks of my mother and mine seeing the anguish of Madhuram. Depression crept in till… suddenly the light went off. There was silence in the house. The baby’s cry disappeared and there was a relief in all our eyes. We wanted to now quickly find a solution for the 1000 watt bulb before it shone again with its full glory.

Finally we decided to put the traditional swing. The first two days proved fruitful. The lights went off earlier and Madhuram enjoyed her sleep. The third day, it was back to square one. The lights burned again. As each of us tried our hand at the swing, it looked that swing was giving away the desired effect. As we peeped in to see if the baby had slept, we were greeted with a gurgle and its 1000 watt gleaming eyes!

A Tribute To My Cassy!

I am already late in this, but still better late than never. This article is my tribute to my old Cassy. If you are wondering who Cassy is, Cassy a.k.a. Cassandra was my previous scooter. I will not call her old, as she was still so young at heart.

Well, what’s in a name, She was a Vespa, but for me she was Cassy, a brave soldier of her times. She did not go through big endeavors but then she tolerated me. She was my pride, my passion. My passion for 2-wheelers sparked from her.

She was big-made, yet simple; heavy but light for the riders; aggressive, yet polite. She was the best for me. My stature increased when I was with her. Guards saluted me; guys raised their eyebrows; girls called me macho; and others called me “made of steel”. Such laurels she brought. I just loved her.

I think Cassy loved me too. I just had to raise my hand to make her fly through the roads and zipping past everyone. Guys in their Pulsars competed with me, but surely Cassy is not proud. She let them have fun but prolonging the race for some time and then let them win. What a satisfaction she got. Oh what a tomboy! She loved speed I think, she was so smooth while riding high.

She was there with me though various times. She came into my life while I was still in school, My formal training on 2-wheelers was on her, i.e. she let herself be a bali-ka-bakra. After school, she was my companion in college. Helping me go various places! When I was ready for a job, she was there too. I could count on her now. I still remember how guys chased me to office stared and how they stares at me in office. After I stared at them, they just shrugged their shoulders and left. Oh what a fun! And then was my marriage. She came along with me. Oh my poor thing was too attached to me to leave me. She had become an apple of my eye. I have carried loads on her. More than probably a donkey would have carried. Still she never even jolted.

She was such a darling. Never complained about anything. Sometimes I strained her a lot, drove her inspite of her sickness; carried weights more than probably a donkey, but she still she moved on. But she was getting older, Her sheen had not vanished but had gone down. Her surgeries were becoming difficult and due to her age, matching organs were short n supply. But I still loved my Cassy. I hoped Cassy would recover on day fully and ride the roads in style like she had done previously.

Then one day, I met Anne. Anne a.k.a. Anastasia – my new Kinetic Nova. She was stylish, simple but not macho. She was also trendy and fashionable. We gelled and I though of forgetting Cassy. But how could I do that! I was leaving Cassy only because she was old and worn and not trendy! That was atrocious for me. She had shown and given me so much in life. I was ready to leave all that and go on with Anne. But before I could realize all this, I had already traded for Cassy. I left my friend of yesteryears for a trendy one, in the hope that she will prove to be more than my Cassy.

Anne has not yet fulfilled all my dreams. I still yearn for the attention that Cassy brought me. Still, Anne is so simple, she lets anybody and everybody take a ride on her. She is so universal, but not specially made for me. I am now waiting for my Alexie; Alexander – my future bike. I hope I will own one. Alexie I am waiting for you, where are you!