There was an incident that happened this afternoon. Something that left me very upset for quite some time. I was picking Thambi up from school, and as he has done many times in the past, this day too, he refused to come home with me, claiming how much fun he was having there. Unheeding all my requests to get in the car, I finally had to lift him up and walk him over.
And so there I was, in the hot sun, lifting a wriggling Thambi in one hand and his sandals and his lunch bag in the other, and I realise his side of the door is locked from the inside. It had stopped working alongwith the central locking system a long while back, and the only way is to open it from the inside, and usually, I just reach over from the driver's side and unlock it. But this time, since my hands were full, I asked Winkie, who was sitting inside to do it for me. But he didn't. All he made was this half hearted attempt to reach over, without taking off his own seat belt, which means he didn't even reach halfway across.
And just watching him, barely attempt to help me, while I struggled profusely with this guy, cut me very much to the quick. I dropped the shoes and bag to the floor and opened my door and reached in and unlocked Thambi's side, and deposited him in, all the while giving Winkie a cold look, as he looked frostily back at me. We had just had a little argument on the way over and I knew it was his way of paying me back. But it hurt. Bad. How can you watch someone suffer right in front of your eyes, and not jump in to help, even when you were asked to?
Tears pricked at my eyes as I drove us all home, and I struggled to gain control over my emotions. I got into a bit of self pity mode. Is this what I deserve from my kids? Am I not doing enough for them? It was very difficult for me to stomach, that a child of mine could exhibit that much of coldness that deliberately.
While writing about my kids here, I have always tried to write the best of them, and remember only all the things that gave me the most reasons to smile. It wasn't that I was in denial about the hard days that are always there , but it is always better to focus on the good and sweet things, is it not? And give them all those nice memories to indulge in when they are older, if they ever get around to reading this space.
But today, I feel like writing about this. Its not so much to remember the flip side as much as what it made me realise and the simple force with which it dawned on me.
After we came home, he refused to get out of the car. And I was in no mood to cajole or request or even talk to him, so I walked in with Thambi, expecting him to walk in soon enough, for how long would he stay out in the garage by himself. A half hour passed by and still no sign of him. By this time, of course, me anger had evaporated, and I resigned myself to being calm.
Whenever I feel stuck for a remedy to a parenting problem, I just liken it to how God treats me, when I am being an errant child. I recall all the many times I have sinned and how my free will was never taken away as a result. I remember nothing of a lessening of love. If anything, I felt His presence more, as the Conscience within me, giving me the clarity of what I had done wrong, and what I still needed to do. And all of this was unobtrusive, and as gentle as switching on the bedside lamp, and never as a harsh flooding of light. And so I knew what I must do now, the love I still had to give, the judgement that I had to take away, the complete acceptance that I still owed him. And I breathed in deep and walked out.
And he was asleep. His head flopping to the side, his mouth slightly open, as he breathed in and out, in a tired slumber. My baby! How we act up, when all we need are a few extra hours of sleep! I went over and lifted him out of the car and carried him in, in my arms. One of these days, its not going to be easy to do even that, but today, thankfully, was not that day and I could be a mother to this child and carry him still.
He stirred as soon as I lay him down, and wanted to eat his lunch. I fixed him a plate, and we sat down together to eat. What happened, still bothered me. He may have been sleepy and he may have been hungry, but in my estimation, it was no reason for him to not click open his belt, and unlock the door. A matter of 10 seconds. It still hurt. And the words were bubbling up again. And I began the conversation.
That I was upset by his actions. That it was so easy for him to have helped me then, and how easy it would have made things for me too. How by choosing not to do so, he made it clear that he didn't care about me just then. That in life, as he grows, most of the choices he will be confronted with will boil down to just 2 things : whether he wants to be good or not. That he has full freedom to choose. And if he chose the latter, it may not make a big dent in his life, but inside, he knows what he did. And he knows whether that feels good or awful. But if he chose the good instead, even if it was at the cost of hurting himself, there was this wonderful chance that it would strengthen him from within. And make him feel right inside his heart.
I can only tell you all this stuff Winkie, I cannot make you 'realise' it. Because that is an inside job, and its your choice. And I am telling you this because I care about you, and I care about what you can become.
And with that, the words ran out. He heard me in full silence, with his head bowed down, and at the end he smiled at the choice of one of my words, which only upset me further then, and I walked upstairs to me bedroom to lie down and just breathe out the burden of my emotions. And I realised why it hurt so much. Because I was so embroiled in him, and the fact that he was my son, and any behavior of his was a reflection of my influence on him as a mother, and the pain was from this feeling that he was letting me down. It was all incredibly misguided, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. And forced the illusion out of my head, though not permanently. I am sure I will have to go through many cycles of this pain to come to terms with the truth.
But just then, it was a relief to know that while I could only work to mold his character as best as was within my reach, the outcome of that was way out of my league of control, and hence my worry too. When you know you can't control something, the most practical thing you can do is be peaceful about it. That peace came to me in the form of some shut eye through a catnap.
But this evening, my son also came to me, all of his own accord, much after I had left him alone and to his thoughts, and told me softly....
Amma, I am sorry.
I am sorry that I did not help you with Sathya. I am really sorry.
And I looked down at his face and into his eyes, the penitence written all over him. Several seconds passed. I had already forgiven him in my head, the second he came up to me........but wanted him to feel the weight of that pregnant pause, as he waited to hear the much anticipated words of acceptance. So he looked into my eyes, and I into his, and the silence stretched just a little bit, and I finally said.... It's okay. And kissed the top of his head, and his hands came around me.
Yes, you do need to apologise for any wrong that you want to make right, but sometimes when the reply comes only at the end of the stretch of silence, you get to realise how much it means to you, and what a privilege forgiveness really is.
That's what most of us want right, basically out of life. To live it well. To make many moments count. To have no regrets over anything.
So what does it mean to live life well? What is this elusive art that seems like a dream to accomplish & achieve. Something that is just beyond reach, that puts that distance between you and "it", and lures you more and more into chasing it?
Does it mean that you spend your life finding yourself? Discovering who you truly are? What are all your true values? Does it mean figuring other people out? How their minds work, and why they act the way they do? Does it mean being a good role player? A good spouse, a good parent, a good child, a great friend? Does it mean travelling far and wide and absorbing cultures? Or not travelling far and wide, but just travelling more within your means and enjoying that.
" Do not take life too seriously. You will never get out of it alive."
Does it mean plunging yourself headlong into a close knit circle of other people's thoughts and feelings, and feeling the richness of the tapestry of life as also its mystifying complexity? Or does it mean etching out space and time for yourself and your needs, in the midst of all the other tugs and pulls? Does it mean even knowing what your needs are in the first place? Does it mean stretching your body and your mind to rigorous disciplines, all with a view to tame the sense in one form or another? Or does it mean indulging in every sense and every experience to see what it all leads to, and whether eternity is hidden in there somewhere?
Does it mean driving safe, wherever you go, and travelling light? Does it mean reading books that make you see the stars that much brighter and inspire you to heights? Does it mean acting on your dreams, while countering gruelling odds, but having vision enough to make them that vintage reality?
Does it mean sitting back in an armchair on a rainy day, looking out, trying to see what is that last piece that could fit into the puzzle called life?
Does it mean finding that one place, and that set of people and circumstances to which you belong? Or keeping yourself so open that you could be at home anywhere, with anyone, so long as there is a smile to greet you somewhere and something soft to rest your head on?
Does it mean the pleasure of food, for after all, we all work to put food in our bellies, at the end of the day. Does it mean discovering your one true talent and dedicating your life to using it to create happiness for everyone? Does it mean always buying shoes that feel most comfortable, never mind if they don't always look good?
Does it mean finding something just when you think it was lost to you forever? Does it mean always making time not to rush? Does it mean sleeping a full 8 hours every night, with no dreams to toss you in and out of that drowning? Does it mean listening to music, not just while you are driving, or cooking or multitasking, but sitting down and listening, just to listen?
Or is it all of the above and then some, in a certain proportion, that is rationed balance between whimsy and something that can have better warranty? A sprinkling of this, a smattering of that, a generous 2 portions of something else, and next to nothing of the other?
I am full of all the questions and cannot help but seek some answers, and I started with the people I work with. Some answers were from the top of the head, and some came from a place of deep feeling. But whatever be the case, they all had to hit the pause button on their lives for a moment and just consider the question and dwell in the more silent spaces of their own hearts, to define that feeling that rose up to them as vapors of answer, and then to crystallise them into words for communication. And this is what they told me.
Living life well means to be happy, on the whole (there's that elusive term again!) and have a positive influence on others. And living it without too much of stress, and when it gets to that point, to just compare your life problems with that of another person and see whether you'd really like to swap with him or does your lot seems just about right. And when asked what being happy meant....pat came the reply....love and a treasure hunt!
And I realised....Yeah. Life is a treasure hunt all right. You are searching most of the time, going from one place o the other, searching for clues and a sign to clear the confusion, to clear the path ahead, bumping and jostling with other treasure seekers along the way. And sifting through piles and piles of things, to extract that one thing you call a treasure. That one thing that you would like to have, above all else, as an adornment in your life. That one thing that makes you feel like you have lived your life well.
Which brings us right back to where we started, doesn't it? The question that began it all. So is there an answer? What's yours?
[Image courtesy : Google]
In our home now, we have a new system for how we display our toys. Its called the Buddy Zoo system. More of why its called that later. For now, let me just describe what it is. To my untrained eye, it is just all the toys, cars, mini-teddies, blocks, actions figures, which were erstwhile lying neatly in their separate bins, now suddenly dumped onto two separate tables, and arranged in some cohesive fashion. But ask the boys and they will tell you a whole different story. They will have it be known, that both those 2 tables, on which these "things" are lined up on, are actually 2 countries. And since they are so close to each other, they are actually Australia and New Zealand. And of course, Winkie being the older one and the designer of the whole plot, gets to be Australia and Thambi's corner is New Zealand. For reader reference, the left pic is Australia, the right is New Zealand.
The 2 countries are separated by water. Australia is gifted with a nice beach, a nice new terrace house where all the cars can go. New Zealand has 2 big camping spots, and invites Australia over. Now I don't know at what point Australia took on a human connotation, but there it is. We do not question imagination. We just quote it. The mailbox is actually the tent (not in picture). In Australia, the wooden box is the house for all the cars to be in. The action figure is a soldier to help New Zealand fight whenever the need arises. The kid monitor is for communication between the two countries. Obviously technology hasn't progressed way more than that, but who am I to crib? But I am also told that there is an invisible computer in NZ, from where you go to mapquest.com to find directions to other places!! The teddy bears in NZ are all the family that lives there. Suffice it to say this covers many branches of the same family tree. The setup changes from time to time, depending on which toy is currently in, and which one is out. Once they even put these thin silver chains which I got them from the jewelry exhibition in their zoos.
For the longest time, the whole thing to me, was an eyesore. Sure I enjoyed this vivid imagination that could be called at will to conjure up the most fantastic situations to get lost in, but at the end of the day, I liked everything neatly tucked away and out of sight. But how can an entire country be dismantled? And two countries at that. *sigh*. So this is one thing I had to let go on. And I think I have it under my belt. These days, when I find a stray car or a teddy lying around, I don't just dump them back in the bins, I take the time to do my research and ask, which country they belong to? Heavens! It is always better to double check these facts and make sure, for who knows which character has gone visiting where, and God forbid they are found outside of that zone, and it was sure to escalate tensions between the two countries!
Yes, we have all become a part of the Buddy Zoo system. The boys are so into their world, that the minute Winkie set his eyes on one of his birthday presents from his Aunt and Uncle, a K-Nex bridge construction set, he had immediately envisioned how he would now build a bridge that would go over the ocean to connect the 2 countries. Now that's being committed to something!
Which brings me back to my promise to reveal why Buddy Zoo. Buddy, because he is one of the main protagonist cars, around whom all the excitement happens. The Zoo because it is my addendum. For how grating it was on my senses at the very start. And wanna hear a secret? It still is.
On one day of the week, Winkie goes for Art class. Something that I thought he would enjoy, but not to this extent. I have never seen him as animated as the times that I pick him back up after his 1 hour and 15 minutes. And its not only because he enjoys art. Its because he likes his teacher so much. They share this rare chemistry, where they actually like each other and actually like talking, and as a result, what comes out as expressions of that time is that same friendly conversation. She guides, but he leads. She prods, but he perfects. She initiates, but he impresses upon it. And it is pretty gratifying to watch his personality and his happiness bloom as a result. Here is a sample of some of his latest creations (click on them for closer viewing), some of them in this new setting (top 3, in watercolour), and one from school (the pumpkin, in oil pastel) and one from home as an idea prompter from me (after we read the book, ' The Spider Weaver').
And this last one here, is my favorite. Its acrylic on canvas, his first ever canvas painting, and it depicts our recent holiday at the Dells, on a jetboat tour. The people on board are him, Thambi & their 2 cousins, who had come visiting, and they all enjoyed the rowdy splashing on this tour. I just love looking at those waves, and how choppy they look. All in all, bright, cheerful and completely his own expression, which now graces our side table.
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!
This morning, I laced up my shoes and decided to go for a walk. And not just around my community as I usually tend to do, but out. Across the street, crossing the main road and into the rarely explored world. Its funny how much we shut ourselves into boxes of different kinds, each one with its own pre-imposed restrictions and constraints. And the slyness of it is how you don't even notice it. Not until you unconsciously set yourself in the direct path of confronting it. I noticed mine in the slight hesitation, even trepidation, why even fear in setting off beyond the boundaries of my own community. And I was shocked at myself. At how deeply I had embroiled myself into the box.
So I set off on my walk. To see what life outside the box had to offer. And to see if I could open myself up to it. The weather was a little balmy, a sure promise of the kind of day to come, but the light morning breeze caressed in all the right places, and set in place a feeling of general well being. Inspired by the momentum of my walk, I began to notice the little things and hear all the high notes being reached, on many a tree branch. The pretty lavendar wildflowers, that could give the spring dandelions a run for their money; wild geese congregating on the banks after their morning swim; a red robin hop hoppity hopping across the grass; sprinklers going haywire watering the lawns and the street; 2 green deck chairs sitting pretty in the backyard, pink flamingos perched daintily between the bushes, looking like they just had a fresh coat of paint. And what is it about picket fences that makes them look so alluring and paints this picture in your head of something calm and quiet? And begs you to come with your own lick of paint to whitewash them with???
This was all the life that was happening, so vibratingly around me, when I hit the pause button on my thoughts. But of course the mechanism of it is a wily one. Its like on a tape player. How you have to press all the way down to start the function, applying all the pressure of your index finger, but all it takes to stop it, is just that light pressure on the 'Stop', just until that point, and it all releases with a loud click. So many times, I caught myself thinking about everything that took me away from that place, and from the person in my shoes. I made plans for what we would do that weekend, how we would get out and ultimately relax in these perfect surroundings, rain or shine! What I would do as soon as I got home. How I was going to cross that busy intersection of a road, miles before I even came to it. How I wished I had my Canon instead to take pictures. Just to name a few.
And this is precisely the kind of thing that has exhausted me and brought me to this point of being locked in a box. This incessant, unrelenting, mental activity, that doesn't let up, even in sleep, manifesting instead as vague dreams and a toss and turn night. The ultimate was when I was sitting down with Thambi and it looked like he was asking me something, and I don't know what happened, but it must have been a full minute later, when I realised that R was counting down some numbers, while looking at me and smiling. And I noticed it with a start, and then it dawns on me that he is counting down to the length of time it was taking me to respond to the little guy. Who all this while had been patiently repeating his question, without giving up on me. It was just so heartbreaking, to see how far I had gone, when there was absolutely no need for that trip, when the nicest possible thing was right there in front of me, waiting to be experienced.
How much of life has such been lost to me already? And how much more will I helplessly forgo, before I can just be simple again? Every day, I wonder. And maybe that is what peeping out of the box, every so often, reveals to you.
Sigh. Also the one that is hardest to write about, for how do you write about something that is a living, moving, evanescent experience..futile to pin down to a few hundred words, with a few choice adjectives strewn in? You can't. Yet, my maternal heart longs to write 'about' him, and the ever-cheery playfulness, that is the essence of his being. So maybe, I can content myself by writing of him w.r.t things that happened, words he spoke, smiles he wrought, as also his sometimes ruthless disregard for what I lay down as the law. Its all a big big game with him.
He is cheerful about most everything. Though he has also perfected the fine art of whining, in his rather high pitched voice, which acts like a super sonic laser beam, slicing through layers of muddle and thought, and disturbing the very air around you with shrill vibration, such that you are jerked out of your reverie of peace, and forced to listen. Right now, in his stage of innocence, all it takes to woo his worries away are a few well rehearsed sympathetic clucks, a rubbing of his back, and a warm hug. Why just yesterday he told me this very thing, where he sagely explained that he feels happy when I tilt my head sideways and say... awwwwwww. So just when I thought I had gotten away with the whole act, he in fact tells me that he sees right through it, but appreciates it anyhow. And that's how it always is with him.
He sees through most things, but plays along anyway. He gets into the act of most things, but retains his sense of humour about him. Its the Bhagavad Gita all over again, rewritten by the tender hand of an ageless heart. He is Joy cloaked in an Old Navy blue jacket, his eyes locked into mine in a direct gaze.
There was one day, not too long ago, when my spirits were very very down, and I began to weep. No moment was lost as he came over to my side, abandoning his play, climbing into my lap, to ask me....with a steady manner and that heart to heart expression on his face. What happened Amma? Why are you crying? Tell me. What happened?
And when someone asks you with such an air of self-assurance and comfort, you lean on that shoulder, no matter how small it is. And I did, with him. I rested my head on his lap and told him all my woes. He listened, his hand on my face, my hair, and repeated whatever I said back to me, in a questioning form, as if to confirm his understanding of it all. I nod all my affirmation, and then comes his advice. It is just what I need to hear, and several degrees more than what I thought I needed to hear. And it took me and shook me by shock. For no one could have said anything else to me then, that would have healed my heart as absolutely as he did with me. Our children are not who we think they are. There are unseen forces that mold them and enable them to be mediums of expressive truth. Until they begin to fill themselves up with the world.
And then there is his quiet absorption with little lego blocks. He makes some of the most imaginative objects with them, the precision, symmetry and design of which leaves us amazed. And yet, how many times have I made him hurriedly abandon his construction, just because the clock struck the magic hour of 8PM, and that much closer to 'my' quiet time. And how many times, have I cleared away pieces that broke away, thinking he could always do it again the next morning, not realising that each and every single one is an exquisite creation, a masterpiece that can never have a double, even from its Creator?
He has forgiven me all that and more and made it a point, everytime I wear a skirt or something fancy, to tell me that I look like a princess, as also telling me on the days that I have not decked up, that I don't look like a princess. Such that on the days that he does, you feel decidedly like one, as also the Queen Mother to a cute-heart!
We have this little secret love code, him and I. Only because it is considered secret and a code, the two remaining members of the household have also whiffed its scent and used it from time to time. Buts its only between the little guy and me, that it makes the most sense for. And it was born with a desperation on my part to try and tell him how much I loved him. I love you so much Sathya. I would say, and he would listen with a smile. And just to illustrate how much, I would add.... Lot lot.....much much!...splaying my hands that much wider, to get his attention to the entire magnitude of it. His eyes would grow wide as would his smile. And pretty soon, all I would have to say is... Lot lot, much much...and he would know what it meant. And then it condensed even more and became the secret code, where I would say the first part, and wait expectantly for him to complete it. And then he would repeat it back to me, while I completed his sentence. And there would be generous smiles and hugs peppering the entire love process.
And then there came this whole fashion episode with this long forgotten brown bead necklace from a Hawaiin theme party, which instantly adorned his neck, from the minute that it was discovered under the bed, along with his sunglasses from our recent Florida vacation. Together, the two would go on his persona, notwithstanding whether it was sunny or not, not even withstanding whether it was the outside or the indoors. And even if he was watching TV and even if he was reading a book. They thus became the twin facets to a very unique personality, and very soon, he took it a notch higher when he insisted that the best way of wearing it was to let the necklace dangle from the middle of the glasses, running down his nose, just so. And believe you me, we even went to the store and the library, looking like that, inviting the curious and highly amused stares of many a passerby, who all agreed...that he had a right to his tastes . Even his teacher in school did not have the heart to have him take it off while there. Instead, she admired his quirky style and had just one request of him. That he slide the glasses to the top of his head, while he did his reading, just so he could see better. If all the world, were as accepting of each one of us and our more harmless eccentricities, what a prized collection we would all be!?!
But a lot sooner than we would have liked or enjoyed,this phaset came to an end. So much so, that it is not me that begs him to wear it, and him that thoughtfully decides whether to comply with my request or not. And just when I think its all over, there comes the whole Buzz Lightyear phase. This time with a Mickey hat on his head, the same set of shades, and a mini bacpack slung over the shoulders. But this Buzz Lightyear, does not fight with lasers, he has a bow and arrow, thanks to his daily exposure to the Mahabharata. Talk about a true amalgam of cultures.
Buzz Lightyear or Hawaiin pilgrim, fantastic block builder or little lovebug, he remains true to his very name, and everyday with him is a fiery reminder of that!
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