Through
a child's lens!
P.S. This write up is written in a light vein to add humor to real
life anecdotes as perceived by me as a child. If one is true to oneself, you
will echo the same feelings.
Who
is a rebel? There are various ways to define this depending upon the sphere of
activity. I define myself as a born rebel, giving my Momsie a real hard time. I
challenged her ways of expression of showing mother's love by pouring extra
ghee in meals or filling (almost overflowing) cup of milk, adding grated bottle
gourd in yogurt, chopping vegetables so fine and tiny, that they cannot be picked separately by spoon or fork. And one ends up eating them.
This conduct seems like a heinous crime to a small child. In spite of asking what
to cook for lunch, my mother prepares some entirely different meal, also accounts to
breach of trust. To a child (here I refer to myself) mother seems no different
than a Jai Chand, many a times.
As
my journey around the sun increased, so did the rebel in me started raising it's fang. At times I feel, I was instrumental
in premature wisdom highlights in my mother. It must have been a very difficult for my creator to handle such a child who challenged her nearly every belief. I
remember distinctly, I was very vocal about a board outside Dilwara temple,
Mount Abu, Rajasthan ,India. It clearly mentioned, "Women, who were having
periods were prohibited from entering the temple." Believe me! my Momsie
could not make me understand the logic behind this statement.
As a child, I have locked myself in
the washroom on some miniscule thing. Then, cried my heart out, when I could
not open the latch. My Momsie had to make our house help (luckily he was of
small frame) squeeze through the bathroom window to help me get out. I didn't
get any scolding (though I know now, I deserved to be spanked). Rather my mom
was concerned about her child's well being.
Once,
my mother cut off few labels off my favorite frock while I was attending
school. She must have never imagined, this action by her scissors would yield
an unpleasant noon and evening. When I returned from school, I felt hurt and
betrayed. I slipped under the double bed and wailed my heart out. Out of all
the dresses, why did she chose my favorite dress to be sacrificed. I cried for
nearly two hours. I vividly remember, my mother bent down on her knees and
trying to spread her arm under the bed to reach for me. I kept moving away from
her. My elder brother and sisters got irritated to the core by my monotonous,
sharp wail. They kept telling my mom to leave me alone. But my mom said,
"She's hungry, how can I leave her?"
Exchanging school tiffin with my Malayali friend was a routine.
Parantha/ poori / pickle were exchanged for idli chutney. Then I learnt “Barter
system”. My mom would pack extra paranth/ poori's as she believed idli were not fulfilling.
Although
a rebel at heart, I could always feel her unconditional love and support all
the time. One incident which is very vivid in my memory is of a train
journey to my maternal grand -parents. I was given the impression that Popsie
was accompanying us (I am very close to him). My siblings knew that Popsie had
come to just drop us at the station. When the train started, my heart beat
skipped, my dad was on the platform. I thought he had missed the train. I
screamed for help, requested mom to pull the chain, but to no avail. She kept
telling me, that Dad had boarded the next coach. At every station, I waited to
catch a glimpse of him. I cried for full six hours, throughout the duration of
journey. On reaching our destination, I felt betrayed and back stabbed. I made
a pledge with myself, never to believe my mother and siblings. Suddenly they
seemed alien. How could they do this to a seven year old child? I wept myself
to sleep that ill fated night.
To
make things more difficult, my siblings tried their level best to make me feel
like an adopted child. The story they always told me, goes like this. All of
them had gone to a pilgrimage place. My parents spotted a very fair, cute child
in arms of a beggar seeking alms. On threatening the beggar with dire
consequences, the beggar gave the child.
The child was adorable and my parents didn’t feel like leaving the child.
This way, I made an entry into my family. Can you believe it? My mother literally
had to show the hospital records where I was born. There are so many other
tormenting incidents (Really ? no way) which are now a part of my treasured memories.
Fast-forward
many years, these incidents became cherished memories which we would joke
about. Often my mother recalls, “Raju! what a tough time you gave to all of us. Only
if God blessed you with a child like yourself, then only you would realise that
parenting is an art!"
Through
a child's lens, all these incidents were life altering as it had elements of breach
of trust and dishonesty (Ha ! Ha!). Looking back I feel, I deserved a little more strict upbringing. My parents and family’s unconditional love and support
helped me in shaping up the way I am. I pray to God, when my children are in their forties and they look back, they say,"
Mom dad, you have done a wonderful job. You are awesome."
Like
I want to convey to my Momsie- Popsie, “You are wonderful parents and have
taught us ways of life, both in our personal and professional front. Pray that
we can become like you or somewhere near ”.
Keep reading # keep sharing # Keep inspiring# keep shining.
Love
Juju.