Being the first grandchild in both her paternal as well as maternal households, little Dipti at two and a half years, was a bit spoiled. Her mother, a strict disciplinarian, found it tough to manage her in the face of all the spoiling done by the rest of the extended family. The child, used to all the indulgence from the rest of us, found this act of disciplining rather repugnant. In a sort of retaliatory tactic, she had learnt when and how to irritate the parent.
Once, she wanted to wash her hands in the dish that she had partaken her lunch from. The mother forbade it. "Why", asked Dipti. "Well, it is simply not done. You should go to the washing place for that", sternly replied the parent.
"Alright, if I can't wash my hands in the plate, can I pee in it "?
This did it. The mother boiled with rage, gave her a lecture on sanitation and finally asked,
" How could you think of such a thing? Don't you get better thoughts"?
" Tell me, Mummy, what is a thought "? This simply stumped the mother. She had no ready answer. In exasperation, she did what parents are apt to do on such occasions. She punished Dipti.
As a bystander, I was myself puzzled by this question. I could find a precise definition of the word " Thought " in the oxford dictionary but how could I explain it to a two and a half year old? The nearest that I have come to is this. " Say, you are sitting, doing nothing and in your head, some 'Yum-Yum' is going on. It is called a thought ". However, by the time, I came to this solution, I also came to realize that a child at that age acts by instinct alone. No 'yum-yum' ever goes on in their head. Action being thoughts tightly wound like a spring, the stage of thinking has already been passed by a child. It can not think just as a brilliant school boy can not act like a backward boy in the class.
It would take some unwinding or dis-education for the child to be able to comprehend even the explanation of the word " Thought " that is given by me. At thirty, now Dipti should have been diseducated enough to understand all that I have written. May be, it would give a clue to some of the actions of her own daughters.
Post script:- At sixty, now, as a grandmother herself, she would perhaps understand some of her own mother's compulsions in acting like she did !
Saturday, September 18, 2010
NIRAV"S CHOICE
Nirav, my nephew was then about three years old. At a family gathering of both his paternal and maternal sides, he was the youngest. Naturally, everybody fussed over him.
We were talking about his impending entry into a kindergarten. He wanted to know why he should go to a school when he was perfectly happy at home. All of us told him in our various ways, the advantages of education. We also told him what he could become after a stint in education. By way of illustration, all his uncles and aunts told him what each one of them had become by pursuing education. We also explained to him what it meant to become a doctor, an engineer,a teacher and so on. After listening to the rest of us, he turned to his favourite - his grandfather, who said that he was a retired man.
Now, we wanted to know what Nirav would like to become. Once again, each one of us vied with each other in praising his or her profession in the hope that he would choose that profession. Standing in the middle, he scrutinized each one of us by turns, while the object of his scrutiny was keen with anticipation. Nirav did not however, did not choose any of the professions listed / recommended much to our cumulative surprize.
Before the next unspoken question on our lips could materialize, he walked upto his grandfather, sat in his lap and gravely said, "After school, I am going to retire". He had chosen the ultimate destination of all the professions !
We were talking about his impending entry into a kindergarten. He wanted to know why he should go to a school when he was perfectly happy at home. All of us told him in our various ways, the advantages of education. We also told him what he could become after a stint in education. By way of illustration, all his uncles and aunts told him what each one of them had become by pursuing education. We also explained to him what it meant to become a doctor, an engineer,a teacher and so on. After listening to the rest of us, he turned to his favourite - his grandfather, who said that he was a retired man.
Now, we wanted to know what Nirav would like to become. Once again, each one of us vied with each other in praising his or her profession in the hope that he would choose that profession. Standing in the middle, he scrutinized each one of us by turns, while the object of his scrutiny was keen with anticipation. Nirav did not however, did not choose any of the professions listed / recommended much to our cumulative surprize.
Before the next unspoken question on our lips could materialize, he walked upto his grandfather, sat in his lap and gravely said, "After school, I am going to retire". He had chosen the ultimate destination of all the professions !
" YEH TO HONA HI THA ! (THIS HAD TO HAPPEN )
Thanks to Amy, I am in the grandparents' generation. Till now, I was made to feel like a grand father on account of the confidence reposed in me and friendship proferred to me on an equal footing by children of friends and neighbours. I am one in reality now on account of the arrival of this American citizen. Amy is my grandniece. I have dandled her mother on my feet and now it is her turn. She was born in the U.S.A. where her parents werte residing. Grandfathership was till now a state of mind. Now it is almost a state of fact.
She is a typical female. Tell her to come to you and she will run miles away. Tell her you are busy and that you should not be disturbed ; she will pester you with kisses. Being a typical female, she is always fond of males. Her daddy is her ideal. My sons being called Mama ( maternal uncle ), though less important, are immensely proud at achieving this distinction at so young an age. How can I blame them when I am myself so vain about being called Dada Mama ( Grand Uncle ). We are all as proud of Amy as if we had won the Nobel Prize.
Amy has become Ami ( Indianization of an American name ) on arrival in India. Ami means nectar and that is what she is to us. The other day, her third birthday was being celebrated. We were invited to her residence. I was the last arrival. After wishing her a happy birthday, I picked her up. Hugging her closely to my prickly beard, I asked for a kiss. "Not here", she objected. "People might be watching". I took her to a corner and kissed her. Little did I know that she, a typical female was testing my masculine ardour. I hoped that I was adequate.
The answer came as soon as I put her down. She burst into verse, mouthing a popular Hindi film song, eyes dancing along with the rest of her body,
" Ek main aur ek tu
dono milay is tarah
aur jo tan-man main
ho raha hai..........
( One you and one me, the two of us met thus. And what is happening to the body,soul........ )
And then with a sudden accelerated pace but coming to prose from verse,
"Yeh to hona hi tha" ( Well, it had to happen ! )
She is a typical female. Tell her to come to you and she will run miles away. Tell her you are busy and that you should not be disturbed ; she will pester you with kisses. Being a typical female, she is always fond of males. Her daddy is her ideal. My sons being called Mama ( maternal uncle ), though less important, are immensely proud at achieving this distinction at so young an age. How can I blame them when I am myself so vain about being called Dada Mama ( Grand Uncle ). We are all as proud of Amy as if we had won the Nobel Prize.
Amy has become Ami ( Indianization of an American name ) on arrival in India. Ami means nectar and that is what she is to us. The other day, her third birthday was being celebrated. We were invited to her residence. I was the last arrival. After wishing her a happy birthday, I picked her up. Hugging her closely to my prickly beard, I asked for a kiss. "Not here", she objected. "People might be watching". I took her to a corner and kissed her. Little did I know that she, a typical female was testing my masculine ardour. I hoped that I was adequate.
The answer came as soon as I put her down. She burst into verse, mouthing a popular Hindi film song, eyes dancing along with the rest of her body,
" Ek main aur ek tu
dono milay is tarah
aur jo tan-man main
ho raha hai..........
( One you and one me, the two of us met thus. And what is happening to the body,soul........ )
And then with a sudden accelerated pace but coming to prose from verse,
"Yeh to hona hi tha" ( Well, it had to happen ! )
Friday, September 17, 2010
PRERAK'S PRANK
As far as naughtiness is concerned, Prerak is a class by himself. This 10 year old nephew of mine (nearly 50 years in A.D. 2010) has a way of measuring, on first acquaintance, the mettle of people, that would be the envy of the most experienced psychologist. When he was admitted to a new school, his father explained the characteristics of the boy to the headmaster so that the latter is not caught unawares.
For want of time, he could not repeat this to Prerak's class teacher. In the evening, my brother-in-law went to pick up Prerak and also to make up for the morning omission. He spoke to the teacher about Prerak's pranks. The experienced teacher told my brother-in-law not to worry as he had handled all kinds of children. "By the way", the teacher said as the B-I-L was taking leave, "Please do give him some pocket money. Prerak had to borrow one rupee from me for his recess time snack"
"Well, I am sorry to inform you that he has already measured you", said the B-I-L. "Prerak", he continued, "already had two rupees with him and his demand from you was just to see how you would react". The teacher dismissed this interpretation as coming from an overfond father. All the same, he made a mental note of dealing strictly with his new ward. For a month he did so and congratulated himself on having the situation under control till.........
One day, a prank was played in the class and the teacher could not apprehend the culprit. Nobody would admit its authorship. He therefore, punished the entire class to remain inside the classroom in an upright position on the bench - a punishment known in the school parlance as "stand-up-on the bench".
The teacher left the class in the recess for the teachers' common room where he was relating his strict handling of the pupils over a cup of tea. Just when he had got on to the subject of how he would have handled the Naxalites if he were a college teacher in Kolkata, at the very moment, one of his colleagues noticed a boy from the former's class loitering in the lobby. He promptly brought to the notice of the C.T.. The latter was hugely annoyed as only a disobeyed primary school teacher can be and rushed out. He caught the culprit by the scruff of his neck.
"What brings you out?" he demanded. "Why, Sir, we took the punishment that you ordered in place of remaining in the class and we were allowed to go", replied the shaken student. "What rot", exclaimed the C.T. "I never gave any alternative punishment and who is this person who allowed you all to go out?"
"Prerak, Sir! after you went out, he went towards the teachers' common room. On return, he informed us that he had pleaded our case to you. Out of the kindness of your heart, you had agreed to let us go provided we took another punishment. We agreed and he made us to form a queue. He stood at the door with a foot-rule in hand. As each of us passed him, palm held out in front, he gave one blow of the foot-rule excepting for Santosh who is not well today", the boy explained at length rather breathlessly.
The C.T., prior to consulting a doctor for a threatened attack of apoplexy, looked for Prerak, only to be informed that he had left the school to escort the sick Santosh to his home. He was already by then well on the way to the latter's home. Needless to add that Prerak had 'stomachache' for the next two days, a period in his reckoning, by which, things would cool down a bit !
For want of time, he could not repeat this to Prerak's class teacher. In the evening, my brother-in-law went to pick up Prerak and also to make up for the morning omission. He spoke to the teacher about Prerak's pranks. The experienced teacher told my brother-in-law not to worry as he had handled all kinds of children. "By the way", the teacher said as the B-I-L was taking leave, "Please do give him some pocket money. Prerak had to borrow one rupee from me for his recess time snack"
"Well, I am sorry to inform you that he has already measured you", said the B-I-L. "Prerak", he continued, "already had two rupees with him and his demand from you was just to see how you would react". The teacher dismissed this interpretation as coming from an overfond father. All the same, he made a mental note of dealing strictly with his new ward. For a month he did so and congratulated himself on having the situation under control till.........
One day, a prank was played in the class and the teacher could not apprehend the culprit. Nobody would admit its authorship. He therefore, punished the entire class to remain inside the classroom in an upright position on the bench - a punishment known in the school parlance as "stand-up-on the bench".
The teacher left the class in the recess for the teachers' common room where he was relating his strict handling of the pupils over a cup of tea. Just when he had got on to the subject of how he would have handled the Naxalites if he were a college teacher in Kolkata, at the very moment, one of his colleagues noticed a boy from the former's class loitering in the lobby. He promptly brought to the notice of the C.T.. The latter was hugely annoyed as only a disobeyed primary school teacher can be and rushed out. He caught the culprit by the scruff of his neck.
"What brings you out?" he demanded. "Why, Sir, we took the punishment that you ordered in place of remaining in the class and we were allowed to go", replied the shaken student. "What rot", exclaimed the C.T. "I never gave any alternative punishment and who is this person who allowed you all to go out?"
"Prerak, Sir! after you went out, he went towards the teachers' common room. On return, he informed us that he had pleaded our case to you. Out of the kindness of your heart, you had agreed to let us go provided we took another punishment. We agreed and he made us to form a queue. He stood at the door with a foot-rule in hand. As each of us passed him, palm held out in front, he gave one blow of the foot-rule excepting for Santosh who is not well today", the boy explained at length rather breathlessly.
The C.T., prior to consulting a doctor for a threatened attack of apoplexy, looked for Prerak, only to be informed that he had left the school to escort the sick Santosh to his home. He was already by then well on the way to the latter's home. Needless to add that Prerak had 'stomachache' for the next two days, a period in his reckoning, by which, things would cool down a bit !
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
CHILD IS THE FATHER OF MAN
The truth behind this adage was brought home to me one day some years ago. Ashesh, our son, was then about 2 years old and as naughty as naughty can be. His mother who was busy in the kitchen, suddenly noticed lack of any noise. A mother of three children, she knew what silence meant. She immediately looked for Ashesh. He was found playing with a knife which he had quietly removed from the kitchen !
She asked him to return it. He did not respond. She asked again, the tone changing from request to order. He ignored the peremptory note in her voice. Next, she offered him a toffee in exchange for the knife. The barter deal also did not seem to interest him. Reason and bribe having failed, she decided to resort to direct action. She grabbed the knife. He tightened his hold on the prized possession.She pulled. Her action found an equal reaction from him. Afraid that he might cut his fingers, she let go of the knife. Now, thought Ashesh, was the first opportunity for him to take an initiative in the matter. With the skill of an escaping convict, he ran.
The mother might have lacked foresight but not alertness. She chased him. Even practised escapees, sometimes get themselves into a corner when pursued by fleet-footed cops. So did Ashesh. He had the initiative and he had lost it. With the aplomb of a politician defeated at the polls, he decided to bide his time. To make himself comfortable, he even sat down in the corner that he had backed himself into. His mother towered over him. It was now for her to take the initiative, but she could not think of the next step.
FATHERS MAKE EASY TARGETS
Now, lack of resourcefulness is apt to result in anger. However, being angry with Ashesh was like getting angry with a block of frozen steel. In such situations, mothers have to find some other targets for venting out their strong feelings. Fathers usually fill the bill. Especially, if they are comfortably ensconced in a sofa with a newspaper in one hand and a cigarette in the other, watching the mothers grappling with recalcitrant children and on top of it, wearing an amused grin. I was in the position so described and I got the full blast of the light brigade.
I got up. I told her that she had used "Saam", "Daam" and "Dand" ( convincing. incentive and punishment methods respectively ) but these had been found to be inadequate. I told her that in such a case, "Bhed" ( trickery ) has to be used as advised by the great sage Kautilya in his welknown treatise "Arthashastra " dealing with statecraft. The look of disdain on her face told me that she was not much impressed with Kautilya. She even expected some action from me, not advice. So there was no alternative but to extinguish the cigarette, throw the newspaper aside with a flourish and get going. I did so.
I first explained to her my strategy which was based on child psychology. I had only to divert the child from his adamant posture of not returning the knife by converting the issue into a kind of game. She was even less impressed by my strategy than by Kautilya. So I had to show her that we Desais came in all sizes.
HOPEFUL SIGN
I swept her aside as I approached Ashesh. He seemed to take my entry on the stage with some amusement, judging by the the smile on his face. This, I said to myself, was a hopeful sign; so I made my first move. I covered my eyes with my hands. He followed suit. I uncovered my eyes. He dittoed. Even my wife now seemed impressed. Only, she averted her eyes when I gazed at her, possibly to avoid giving me the applause rightfully due to me. Not discouraged, I pressed my advantage further. I proposed to Ashesh that I would close my eyes and he could place the knife in my outstretched hand. This way, he could avoid the inconvenience of holding the knife while covering his eyes. Besides, there would be no loss of face on his part, since my eyes would be closed. He nodded agreement to this proposal. My wife did not even now applaud me but I could perceive a distinct thaw in her mien. I covered my eyes with one hand and outstretched the other. Ashesh however had one stipulation. He wanted to be sure that I could not see at all. To reassure him on this score, I pressed my hand tightly on my eyes and honestly closed my eyes.
A couple of seconds passed. No knife still. Instead I heard a peal of laughter from my wife. I decided to investigate this sudden otburst of mirth during a serious proceeding and opened my eyes. In answer to my questioning look, my wife, still convulsed with laughter, merely pointed to the the gate. I turned my gaze as directed and beheld our offspring executing a neat getaway through the gate, knife still in hand. He had, you see, made good of the opportunity !
She asked him to return it. He did not respond. She asked again, the tone changing from request to order. He ignored the peremptory note in her voice. Next, she offered him a toffee in exchange for the knife. The barter deal also did not seem to interest him. Reason and bribe having failed, she decided to resort to direct action. She grabbed the knife. He tightened his hold on the prized possession.She pulled. Her action found an equal reaction from him. Afraid that he might cut his fingers, she let go of the knife. Now, thought Ashesh, was the first opportunity for him to take an initiative in the matter. With the skill of an escaping convict, he ran.
The mother might have lacked foresight but not alertness. She chased him. Even practised escapees, sometimes get themselves into a corner when pursued by fleet-footed cops. So did Ashesh. He had the initiative and he had lost it. With the aplomb of a politician defeated at the polls, he decided to bide his time. To make himself comfortable, he even sat down in the corner that he had backed himself into. His mother towered over him. It was now for her to take the initiative, but she could not think of the next step.
FATHERS MAKE EASY TARGETS
Now, lack of resourcefulness is apt to result in anger. However, being angry with Ashesh was like getting angry with a block of frozen steel. In such situations, mothers have to find some other targets for venting out their strong feelings. Fathers usually fill the bill. Especially, if they are comfortably ensconced in a sofa with a newspaper in one hand and a cigarette in the other, watching the mothers grappling with recalcitrant children and on top of it, wearing an amused grin. I was in the position so described and I got the full blast of the light brigade.
I got up. I told her that she had used "Saam", "Daam" and "Dand" ( convincing. incentive and punishment methods respectively ) but these had been found to be inadequate. I told her that in such a case, "Bhed" ( trickery ) has to be used as advised by the great sage Kautilya in his welknown treatise "Arthashastra " dealing with statecraft. The look of disdain on her face told me that she was not much impressed with Kautilya. She even expected some action from me, not advice. So there was no alternative but to extinguish the cigarette, throw the newspaper aside with a flourish and get going. I did so.
I first explained to her my strategy which was based on child psychology. I had only to divert the child from his adamant posture of not returning the knife by converting the issue into a kind of game. She was even less impressed by my strategy than by Kautilya. So I had to show her that we Desais came in all sizes.
HOPEFUL SIGN
I swept her aside as I approached Ashesh. He seemed to take my entry on the stage with some amusement, judging by the the smile on his face. This, I said to myself, was a hopeful sign; so I made my first move. I covered my eyes with my hands. He followed suit. I uncovered my eyes. He dittoed. Even my wife now seemed impressed. Only, she averted her eyes when I gazed at her, possibly to avoid giving me the applause rightfully due to me. Not discouraged, I pressed my advantage further. I proposed to Ashesh that I would close my eyes and he could place the knife in my outstretched hand. This way, he could avoid the inconvenience of holding the knife while covering his eyes. Besides, there would be no loss of face on his part, since my eyes would be closed. He nodded agreement to this proposal. My wife did not even now applaud me but I could perceive a distinct thaw in her mien. I covered my eyes with one hand and outstretched the other. Ashesh however had one stipulation. He wanted to be sure that I could not see at all. To reassure him on this score, I pressed my hand tightly on my eyes and honestly closed my eyes.
A couple of seconds passed. No knife still. Instead I heard a peal of laughter from my wife. I decided to investigate this sudden otburst of mirth during a serious proceeding and opened my eyes. In answer to my questioning look, my wife, still convulsed with laughter, merely pointed to the the gate. I turned my gaze as directed and beheld our offspring executing a neat getaway through the gate, knife still in hand. He had, you see, made good of the opportunity !
Sunday, September 12, 2010
JULIE - MY DE LUXE NIECE
" Don't I look like a bu-o-i ", chirped a musical voice from a seat in a row ahead of me in the chair car of the Mumbai-New Delhi de luxe train. The voice belonged to a chestnut coloured shaggy mane. I was yet to know that I was going to meet Ninad's counterpart, a girl with a high FQ. Ninad, if you remember, is the little man with a high MQ.
" What are you? " I asked the voice. " I am a ga-al, of course " said the mane as it turned towards me to reveal a buck-toothed, freckle-faced little girl apparently of the white race with a charming gap in her front teeth. " I am wearing a boy's dress, but I am a girl " she confided in me. Love was instantaneous, simultaneous and mutual. Julie is a 7 year old girl. Pardon me, darling, for revealing your age but uncles will be uncles. We got to talking, me leaning on the back of her seat and she with her body half twisted towards me. During the course of the conversation, she got down from her chair and straddled herself on my lap as if it was the most natural thing to do.
" I have an uncle whose name is Rameshbhai " she told me. " Well, then, I too am your uncle, for that happens to be my name too " I responded effusively. I was rewarded by a hug whose feminity has not yet eluded me. " How come, you have an Indian for an uncle? " " Because my daddy is an Indian. I am an American, though " she said and sneezed. " Na Zdorovye " spoke simultaneously Julie and her mother. Surprises after surprises! " That's Russian, literally meaning - to health -" I exclaimed. " O..o..h my grampa is a Russian.. you know !" she giggled. She too was surprised that I understood the Russian language.
To pass the time of the day, I taught her a card game. That attracted two other Delhi girls of her age to join us. Fond as I am of all children, I was unable to avoid making a blatant show of my partiality for Julie. The other girls only helped to accentuate by comparison Julie's FQ. I must explain what I mean by FQ for those of you who have not yet made the acquaintance of my friend, Ninad, the chap as I said earlier with a high MQ.
FQ is short for feminity quotient. It is the ratio of the feminine attributes in a particular specimen divided by all the feminine attributes possible in an all-female female. I have yet to devise tests to determine this quotient. So, for the time being, you have to go by my instinct, which in any case, is more trustworthy.
As we tired of the card games, she recited Gujarati and English nursery rhymes to me, the former taught to her by her Gujarati father. Next, we played a game called " Simon says ", a game that I knew by the name "Gandhiji says" in my childhood, then the guessing game, the Antakshari and countless other childrens' games. I discovered that the childrens' games are universal and timeless. Whether the children are Indians, Americans, Russians or Japanese, whether of my generation or of Julie's, they play almost the same games. I had entered the railway train in one of those inexpressibly depressed moods. Books, journals, ogling the lovely ladies sitting around me, my mother's comforting presence by my side, my imagination, my thoughts, the chanting of the Gita - nothing had been able to divert my mind earlier as Julie's particular feminity did now. I even found myself playing "Hide andSeek " with the children in a coach full of adults. That was the extent of my loss of inhibitions. Thanks to Julie, I had temporarily regressed to my child ego state.
A dream like sixteen hours passed and New Delhi neared. I was breakfasting in the dining car when Julie sought me out. Holding out half a portion of chickoo, my share of the fruit, she said "Good Bye, Uncle " My heart wrenched. I too did likewise keeping a brave front as she left.
I do not know if I would ever meet Julie again. So long, darling. I know you would not grow up to be a women's libber. It is men who would have to try to liberate themselves from you and similar other specimens of your sex. Jailors do not start liberation movements, you know !
" What are you? " I asked the voice. " I am a ga-al, of course " said the mane as it turned towards me to reveal a buck-toothed, freckle-faced little girl apparently of the white race with a charming gap in her front teeth. " I am wearing a boy's dress, but I am a girl " she confided in me. Love was instantaneous, simultaneous and mutual. Julie is a 7 year old girl. Pardon me, darling, for revealing your age but uncles will be uncles. We got to talking, me leaning on the back of her seat and she with her body half twisted towards me. During the course of the conversation, she got down from her chair and straddled herself on my lap as if it was the most natural thing to do.
" I have an uncle whose name is Rameshbhai " she told me. " Well, then, I too am your uncle, for that happens to be my name too " I responded effusively. I was rewarded by a hug whose feminity has not yet eluded me. " How come, you have an Indian for an uncle? " " Because my daddy is an Indian. I am an American, though " she said and sneezed. " Na Zdorovye " spoke simultaneously Julie and her mother. Surprises after surprises! " That's Russian, literally meaning - to health -" I exclaimed. " O..o..h my grampa is a Russian.. you know !" she giggled. She too was surprised that I understood the Russian language.
To pass the time of the day, I taught her a card game. That attracted two other Delhi girls of her age to join us. Fond as I am of all children, I was unable to avoid making a blatant show of my partiality for Julie. The other girls only helped to accentuate by comparison Julie's FQ. I must explain what I mean by FQ for those of you who have not yet made the acquaintance of my friend, Ninad, the chap as I said earlier with a high MQ.
FQ is short for feminity quotient. It is the ratio of the feminine attributes in a particular specimen divided by all the feminine attributes possible in an all-female female. I have yet to devise tests to determine this quotient. So, for the time being, you have to go by my instinct, which in any case, is more trustworthy.
As we tired of the card games, she recited Gujarati and English nursery rhymes to me, the former taught to her by her Gujarati father. Next, we played a game called " Simon says ", a game that I knew by the name "Gandhiji says" in my childhood, then the guessing game, the Antakshari and countless other childrens' games. I discovered that the childrens' games are universal and timeless. Whether the children are Indians, Americans, Russians or Japanese, whether of my generation or of Julie's, they play almost the same games. I had entered the railway train in one of those inexpressibly depressed moods. Books, journals, ogling the lovely ladies sitting around me, my mother's comforting presence by my side, my imagination, my thoughts, the chanting of the Gita - nothing had been able to divert my mind earlier as Julie's particular feminity did now. I even found myself playing "Hide andSeek " with the children in a coach full of adults. That was the extent of my loss of inhibitions. Thanks to Julie, I had temporarily regressed to my child ego state.
A dream like sixteen hours passed and New Delhi neared. I was breakfasting in the dining car when Julie sought me out. Holding out half a portion of chickoo, my share of the fruit, she said "Good Bye, Uncle " My heart wrenched. I too did likewise keeping a brave front as she left.
I do not know if I would ever meet Julie again. So long, darling. I know you would not grow up to be a women's libber. It is men who would have to try to liberate themselves from you and similar other specimens of your sex. Jailors do not start liberation movements, you know !
Saturday, September 11, 2010
NINAD MY FRIEND
Ninad is a 3 year old kid. A very cool customer, he is. Cucumbers take lessons from him as far as coolness is concerned. He is the son of a junior colleague and a neighbour as well. Nothing ruffles him.Punishment has no meaning and enticements flow off like water on a duck's back. Fooling him for any length of time is equally futile. He is his own master. I am fond of children and generally, children reciprocate my feelings for them. Ninad however was unapproachable and posed a challenge to me.
What attracted me to him was his rather high MQ. I should explain what I mean by MQ. You have perhaps heard of the concept of NARA and NARAYANA as enunciated in the epic Mahabharata. Arjuna was portrayed as NARA and Krishna as NARAYANA. Arjuna was supposed to be masculinity personified, being cast in a heroic mould. Wherever he went, he not only vanquished men in battle; he also conquered women's hearts and won himself a wife or two! He had all the masculine traits that a person could possibly have. Krishna, on the other hand, was the friend, philosopher and guide. A ladies' man, Krishna was more of a NARAYANA than of a NARA. People instictively looked up to him for advice and were never disappointed.
Now, every person has some male and some female traits in him / her. Very few persons are all male - males or all female - females. MQ is the masculinity quotient and FQ is the feminity quotient. This quotient is defined as the ratio of the number of masculine or feminine traits in a person divided by the total of all the masculine or feminine traits that are possible in an all male - man or an all female - woman.
Coming back to our story, Ninad with his high MQ, has his father as his ideal. He has no place in his life for the feminine gender. His mother is for him a weak boy who cooks for the family and whom he could order around. If to him, it appears that his mother did not behave as a boy should, she was a " ganda ladka " ( a naughty boy ). Any attempt on the mother's part to discipline him would bring him post haste to our office in whatever state of dress or undress, he would happen to be. He would complain to his father about his "Aai" ( mother ) being a "ganda ladka", describing in detail, her crime of the moment. Having done his duty, he would march into my cabin and perch himself on my lap. His favourite activity was to fiddle with the paperweights and the telephone instrument. At 36, I was promoted by him to the grandpa's status perhaps because his father took his orders from me. Thus I earned his respect.
Like all grandchildren, he took me to be his equal. He shared his thoughts and his toys with me - a thing that he rarely did with other children. We were living in a township still under construction that I was in charge of. Trucks, jeeps and earthmoving machinery were constantly at work. Ninad had a great fascination for noise making moving objects. Trucks, jeeps, bull dozers, helicopters were his weakness. Drivers of all these machines were special people on whose good side, he always endeavoured to be, bending as much as was possible for him in the process. He always managed to get a ride on the bulldozer, the kindly operator allowing him to fiddle with the control levers.
Once, as the bulldozer with the familiar operator, hove into view, his eyes attained a wistful look. An idea struck him. Said he to me : " Hey there! How about a ride on the bulldozer? If you like, I can ask Naqui Ahmed, the operator to give you one! " The words were simple but the idea was eloquent. I have never felt more flattered in my life. Ninad had accepted me as his best friend and as a proof, he had offered to share even his pettest machine with me!
What attracted me to him was his rather high MQ. I should explain what I mean by MQ. You have perhaps heard of the concept of NARA and NARAYANA as enunciated in the epic Mahabharata. Arjuna was portrayed as NARA and Krishna as NARAYANA. Arjuna was supposed to be masculinity personified, being cast in a heroic mould. Wherever he went, he not only vanquished men in battle; he also conquered women's hearts and won himself a wife or two! He had all the masculine traits that a person could possibly have. Krishna, on the other hand, was the friend, philosopher and guide. A ladies' man, Krishna was more of a NARAYANA than of a NARA. People instictively looked up to him for advice and were never disappointed.
Now, every person has some male and some female traits in him / her. Very few persons are all male - males or all female - females. MQ is the masculinity quotient and FQ is the feminity quotient. This quotient is defined as the ratio of the number of masculine or feminine traits in a person divided by the total of all the masculine or feminine traits that are possible in an all male - man or an all female - woman.
Coming back to our story, Ninad with his high MQ, has his father as his ideal. He has no place in his life for the feminine gender. His mother is for him a weak boy who cooks for the family and whom he could order around. If to him, it appears that his mother did not behave as a boy should, she was a " ganda ladka " ( a naughty boy ). Any attempt on the mother's part to discipline him would bring him post haste to our office in whatever state of dress or undress, he would happen to be. He would complain to his father about his "Aai" ( mother ) being a "ganda ladka", describing in detail, her crime of the moment. Having done his duty, he would march into my cabin and perch himself on my lap. His favourite activity was to fiddle with the paperweights and the telephone instrument. At 36, I was promoted by him to the grandpa's status perhaps because his father took his orders from me. Thus I earned his respect.
Like all grandchildren, he took me to be his equal. He shared his thoughts and his toys with me - a thing that he rarely did with other children. We were living in a township still under construction that I was in charge of. Trucks, jeeps and earthmoving machinery were constantly at work. Ninad had a great fascination for noise making moving objects. Trucks, jeeps, bull dozers, helicopters were his weakness. Drivers of all these machines were special people on whose good side, he always endeavoured to be, bending as much as was possible for him in the process. He always managed to get a ride on the bulldozer, the kindly operator allowing him to fiddle with the control levers.
Once, as the bulldozer with the familiar operator, hove into view, his eyes attained a wistful look. An idea struck him. Said he to me : " Hey there! How about a ride on the bulldozer? If you like, I can ask Naqui Ahmed, the operator to give you one! " The words were simple but the idea was eloquent. I have never felt more flattered in my life. Ninad had accepted me as his best friend and as a proof, he had offered to share even his pettest machine with me!
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