A real life romance!

You know how sometimes, when your mind writes a script for a situation about to unfold, with all the colours of the romance, but what actually happens is a far cry from it? It all still happens according to plan, but just the skeletal aspects of it. And all the other colours that came in, get blurry and hazy, because of the sharp contrast of reality.

For instance. when the summer began, I painted all these gorgeous colours of it in my head. Of how we would spend every darn weekend outdoors. Under the trees. With a picnic basket. A ball. A frisbee perhaps. The boys playing. Listening to birdsong. Et all. I went all the way. But then come summer, and come the actual weekends when it was time to make those day dreams come true, the reality was so much more drab and dry. As dry as the blade of grass, that has been exposed to day after day of 90 degree heat. On one such occasion, Winkie complained incessantly of the heat, and Thambi was afraid of all the bugs that had manifested just to bite him, even the imaginary ones visible only to his eye. And staying cool meant lugging around a knapsack full of cool drinks, while still taking those steep flights up on a trail trek. There was poison ivy generously dotting the fringes of the path we were taking, and rather than listen to birdsong, we were now vigilantly watching the boys, so they didn't land themselves flat on it. At the end of which, the romance of that vision was long gone, and the actual sight was so rooted in reality that it weighed us down, alongwith with the weight of that knapsack!

But then you come home, tired and hot. You take a cool shower and sit on the couch and think back on the day. And look at the pictures. And the trails look enchanting. The boys look like explorers. And even a sullen face makes for a mood of photography. And suddenly, the vision burns bright again and you feel like you've kind of met life face to face. And made eye contact. For that one charged instant. And the romance burns like a torch.

Picture this script now. An afternoon painting with the boys. In our brand new art space that is long beckoning. Colour will meet canvas in creations of conscience amidst interesting conversation and  a little chatter with the boys. And it starts off nice. The phone's not ringing, everyone's well fed and in the mood to create and get along. But that's as far as the fantasy goes. Pretty soon, there's a tussle for the brush and one particular colour. There's the little one looking at his brother's work and feeling like he wants to do the exact same thing, and the brother hating being shadowed. More words exchanged, more pleas for my support. And I sigh. Here we go again. Thambi puts away his brush in despair, because its never going to look like Anna's. You do it Amma, he says. At least that way it might look good. And then we have a back and forth on why it is more important for him to do it than I. While on the side I am secretly fretting how they are forgetting to clean off their brushes in between 2 different colours and its all mixing and getting "messy". And the peace just flies out the window. Everyone's sulking now. And its going to be a superhuman operation to reverse those feelings. And I breathe. A looo...ong, slow breath. And let go of all the knots of expectations of how it should go. I take over the brush and do a few strokes, and hand it back to Thambi and prod him gently to try too. And he does. Back and forth we go, with lots of ooohs and aaaahs on how pretty it is, and slowly a smile creeps into his cheeks. So we didn't stick to the script, word for word, but the story still played out and came up with its own twists and turns, but we managed to make the happy ending. Somewhat.

A long day and I am looking forward to my bit of zen. Which these days means, watering the plants out front. The boys are cycling, and I am looking forward to the sound of the water sprinkling over the grass and leaves and flowers, and that crisp look of green, when the moisture has soaked in, and just the smell of a freshly watered garden. Calling out hellos to the neighbours as they walk their dogs and just breathing. Ahhhh! But the minute they see me getting out the hose, they are off their bikes and over to me in a flash, both wrangling to see which one can get a word in and have the first promised go at the hose themselves. I brace myself quite well for this impact, knowing it can overturn my vision, but prepared to hold on to it with a few revisions to the script. So I will let them have a go at it. 5 minutes for Thambi and 5 minutes for Winkie. Back and forth until they grow tired of it. And those last 10 minutes for myself. So thinking, I go back in to put the finishing touches to dinner. But 2 minutes into the first 5 minutes, and Winkie is already popping in to check whether those 5 minutes are up yet. And when its his turn, to tell me that the hose is leaking in all the wrong places. Or that he wants to set up the sprinkler instead. And Thambi complains that he is not getting his next round of 5. And when he does, he waters everything else except the plants. By now, all my dreams have been expertly overturned and I walk outside to negotiate. The air is tense and the words will have to be many. And it is tiring just to think of it. I take back the hose and ban them from touching it, if they cannot figure out a more peaceful way to work alongside. Both of them glare at me and I glare right back. Then one of them crosses the path of the water and gets wet. And squeals. And there begins that game. The other copies him deliberately, and before long, its an unspoken script, of who takes the next turn. The script casts its spell on me as well, for I am now deliberately splashing them down. And I have become the water monster, whom they have to rescue themselves from. And a perfect summer evening is had.

Pretty soon, I realise I am getting better at writing the script and also flowing with all the consequent deviations from it. So much so that the imperfections become the charmed aspect, and give it the character that truly makes it a romance. Take this for instance. A hot summer afternoon. No school, no homework, no chores. Just a Mamma and her boys and ice-cream! The perfect setting for a slurp party. We get out the bowls, and the Haagen Daz sticks. I know its going to be a picture moment. I can already picture the milk whiskers and dripping down the chin, and the complete absorption with chocolate and vanilla. And I couldn't have been more spot on. The pictures speak for themselves.

" Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans!"

I agree. Because the following instance is the perfect play of this great truth for me.

A Friday morning perfectly planned out. 10:30 at the gym for yoga, while the boys play it out in the new Wii room. And then head straight to Borders to pick out good bargains on their closing sale. A dreamy morning, thumbing through paperbacks and browsing the shelves. But instead there is a storm. The trees are shaking violently, and the sun is plunged behind thick ominous clouds. The light from my laptop is the only bright thing in the place. And suddenly the air is charged with romance. And the sparks are flying everywhere. The boys are thrilled and excited with this sudden shift in atmospheric conditions. It means party time. They rush upstairs to get all the pillow cushions they can find and ply it all on the sofa. They are building a house. Whatever conversation they are having is all part of their own imagined script. The one that was instantly made up on the spot, just like that. Not the one they had pre-written which they had to strive to adhere to, just like mine.

Watching them, I too rewrote my own script. A real life romance....went the title. And the words kept appearing. And as I toggled with the pictures on Photoshop, playing with the brightness-contrast settings and adding just that dash of blur, to play up that 'dreamy' quotient, I realised something. That it was good to have a script for life in the first place. And good to imagine all those perfect parameters going into it, and good to envision what it could be. Because seeing life in that way, was what made me so aware of life as it ultimately happened. And enjoy the play that we had going back and forth. I hand Life a script, and it hands me back reality. And who's to say reality and romance cannot meet and fall in love? For while Life convinced me to embrace the hard contours of my own initial dream, it also made its own brightness-contrast adjustments, and softened up some of those pictures with just that dash of dreamy blur, and handed it back to me, as a sepia toned moment!