SALT MANGO TREE

Exam fever has stuck the Hari household too. Each day brings a fresh challenge to put a reluctant 7-year-old through the paces.

The latest directive from the school was ‘Learn and recite four lines about your favourite food.' “Phew, this one should be much easier than getting Appu to write it”-thought two exhausted-at-the-end-of-the-day parents.

At 7 pm, interrupting Appu in the middle of his favourite cartoon show, I ask, “Appu, what is your favourite food?” “You better learn what you will talk about tomorrow.”

“Only four lines right?” asked Appu. “I’ll say, I’ll say!!

“Good morning” (Line 1). “Today I will talk about my favourite food”. (Line 2). “It is Poori” (Line 3). “I can eat Poori with everything”.(Line 4)

“Appu, that effort might just let you scrape through or even get you a fail grade.”

"Okay, Good morning. Today I will talk about my favourite food.. It is rice. Rice has protein. I like to eat rice with Sambar. I also like to eat rice with everything else."

“Appu, rice has more carbohydrates than protein.” Apparently, Appu decided “carbohydrates” was harder to pronounce as well as remember so he decided to try again.

"Good morning. Today I will tell you about my favourite food.. It is “chapatti”. Chapatti is made of wheat (clap! clap!!). I like to eat chapatti with Sambar. I also like to eat chapatti with everything else. I love to eat chapatti with the past tense of salt!!"

“WHAT?” two parents who were being lulled into complacency, were startled into complete attention.

“What is the past tense of salt?” Is it pickle?

"No, Acha, the past tense of salt, it comes on the backside of salt."

Thoroughly mystified, two helpless parents looked at each other. We had to solve this mystery right away. A grade was at stake!!

We decided to do some digging. We began to probe. “Appu, what does it look like-this past tense of salt?” “Square,Square” was the reply. “And what color is it?” “White”, came the prompt reply.

Realisation dawned. “Oh you mean sugar?” “Yes, Amma, that’s what I said, the past tense of salt!”

Bedtime Stories

Bed time at our home is a mixed bag; what with us parents trying to get Appu to go to sleep and him trying to put off falling asleep till the very last minute.

Bed time is also the time that Appu’s reflections on life and philosophy come to the fore. And we poor flummoxed parents are left scrambling to find answers to questions that are more profound than, “What is life?”

Sample this:
A discussion on grammar: “Accha, is there a word called “broke?”? “Why does Chinnu (his bosom buddy) say, broke”? Accha, grabbing at the chance to ram some grammar down sonny’s throat says, of course there is a word called “broke”. “It’s the past tense of the word “break”. "For example, I could say, “Appu, did you break the window?” “How would you respond to that?”
Pat came the reply from Appu, “ I’d say, yes Accha I did break the window.” “I am sorry, and you can beat(punish) me if you like.” !!! The utter silence from Accha’s side of the bed was broken by muffled giggles from my end of the bed. However, I did walk around the next morning checking all the windows, just to be sure…..

Here’s another: This time on metaphysical matters-“Accha, Chinnu says, when we die we all come back, is that true?” And Accha says, “Yes, we Hindus believe that we come back, maybe as humans or maybe as some other living thing once we die.” There was silence from Appu for about 5 seconds, and then came the zinger, “So if I came back as something else, would I still be able to ride my cycle?”

PICTURE PURRRRRRFECT

My arms hurt!! Why? As is the case with me, it’s a long story…….

8:30 PM yesterday, and I am at the local departmental store, trying to get some of my grocery shopping done (so the weekend can be dedicated to much more important things-like lazing around) when I get a garbled phone call from my mom. “ You have to cut up pictures of cricketers and stick it in Appu’s scrapbook.” WHAAAAAAAAT? The first question that pops into my head is “Why is the school encouraging cricket above all else?”

After hastily concluding my shopping, I rush home to check his diary (fashionably called Almanac!!)-Nothing there, a quick look at a page in the scrap book and there is a page bearing the legend-“Streck Pieteers of players”. This was well beyond my powers of translation, hence a frantic yell to hubby dear working upstairs. “Could you please log into his school website and see if there is anything there on Appu’s homework for today?” Nada…

A few deep breaths later, I realize I do not have a choice. I have to decipher my son’s hieroglyphics come what may. Further scrutiny revealed what looked like pictures of a snooker table, boxing gloves, a tennis racket, a gun and the ever present cricket bat!! Aha, now I get what the “Streck Pieteers “ part of the heading means!! -“Stick Pictures”!

I rushed to my parents’ home to pick up all the newspapers they had-some three months’ worth. (and this is where the hurting arms part comes in). Why, oh why, mom do you insist on getting rid of newspapers as soon as the newspaper tower threatens to topple over and engulf all of us?

Soon we were all settled on the floor of our living room, scissors in hand, busy looking through newspapers, when I realized something. All those raves and rants about cricket being the only game encouraged in this country are so very true. I could find pictures of even obscure cricketers-past, present and future involved in all kinds of activities-from walking their dogs to cuddling their girlfriends-but no sight or sign of sports persons from other disciplines.

After about an hour of searching we found pictures of Leander Paes and Mahesh Bhupathi, but no, hubby dear persisted until he had found ones of Sharapova and Kournikova. An argument ensured with me asking why we needed foreign players when we had ones of our own that would fit the bill. Appu, for once was on my side, asking for pictures of “Shani” which I took to mean Sania Mirza. Disaster was averted as we found one of Sania’s pictures and it duly went into the scrapbook.

As for pictures of Abhinav Bhindra, Vijendar Singh and Pankaj Advani…there was no sign. That was when I saw a picture of Dhoni in a clothing ad and had a brainwave. We had better be looking at ads too…what if one of them had featured in one? Additionally, we should also be looking at Page 3 photos-our sportsmen are the partying kinds aren’t they?

Peace reigned until hubby exploded looking at a sheet in my hand. “There’s a picture of Vijendar Singh, cant you see?” Well I did see, but the caption beneath said “Virendar Sehwag”-so not my fault right? “Ever heard of the printers devil?”-asked hubby dear(sore at having lost the Sharapova, Kournikova war), grabbing the paper from my hand and cutting out the sought after picture.

Another hour of this and hubby dear and his illustrious scion went to bed, while the stubborn lady that I am, kept at it. Eureka!!! I soon found a tiny picture of Abhinav, squashed between ads for growing hair on bald pates, and one for a herbal supplement for Viagra. Interestingly, the picture accompanied a tiny blurb where he was talking about his favorite cricketer!!

One last picture-that of Pankaj-and I could go join the snore fest upstairs. I searched and searched, to no avail. I had gone through them all: ads, page three photo shoots, sports pages, even ones where celebrities were talking about their favorite recipes-I had left no stone unturned. I was at my wits end and had almost admitted defeat when I saw it-a tiny but recognizable picture of Pankaj- handing out an award for the best restaurant in a Times of India contest!!!

Thank you God!!

POETRY ON CELLULOID

“You are going to go watch Guzaarish?” “You will be watching another very boring blue film.” Comments like these are what I heard when I announced my intention of going to watch Guzaarish-Sanjay Leela Bansali’s latest offering.

Seated in a nearly empty Cauvery theatre a few minutes early (surprise, surprise!!), last Friday, I was beginning to think my friends were right and that this was an exercise in futility and sheer stubbornness on my part. Thankfully, a few minutes into the ads, the theatre slowly started filling up. So much so that a large family in front of us managed to block our view for a whole 10 minutes before they all found seats to their mutual satisfaction.

Sometimes being mulish and sticking to your guns pays, and pays handsomely. Guzaarish is literally a poem on celluloid. The movie is simply beautiful-so much so that the sets and the costumes reminded me of the other magic movies that I have loved; of the likes of “The Prestige” and “The Illusionist”.

Dealing with an emotionally charged subject like euthanasia is fraught with danger-literally walking an emotional minefield. It is easy to go to extremes of pity or haranguing the public about its callousness. But SLB manages a fine balancing act and how!!! Each frame is beautifully crafted and the sets are a visual delight.

And surprisingly, Aishwarya manages to get into the skin of the character . I have always felt she never quite manages to let go of her artificiality, but her enactment of this character should prove all her detractors wrong(me included!!). Be it her free-spirited performance at the restaurant or her drive through the Goan countryside; or even the simple act of drawing the curtains; her sheer joy of life and love shine through.

Ditto for Hritik-the Greek god with his drop dead looks manages to tug at your heart strings-not only for his rendition of a quadriplegic’s predicaments, but for his sheer love of life and all that it has to offer. Interestingly, pity is the furthermost emotion on your mind. In fact, one feels sorry for oneself in missing out on life’s little pleasures.

Supported by a cast of believable characters-this is one movie that delivers its message, all the while ensuring that it never loses its entertainment value. Hats off SLB!!!

Aakashaparavagal-Birds of the Air

Imagine going out on an outing with your family, getting lost, and not being able to get back home because your memory has shut down and you simply cant remember where you live? Think it only happens to children? The 80-odd members of “Aakashaparavagal”- a home for the mentally disturbed bear ample testimony to the fact that it can happen to adults too.

Picked up from the streets; hungry, hurt, uncared for, more often than not bearing marks of their ill-treatment at the hands of the so called “normal” people, these children of a lesser god are transformed into child-like beings at the hands of the volunteers at this center near Jalahalli.

A few snapshots of the home:

A bright red children’s cycle-interesting in its sheer incongruity in its surroundings. It belongs to a little boy; the only child amongst adults. Will he grow up with scars on his psyche from being in the middle of the inmates who are recovering from illnesses of the mind? Or, will he grow up full of love, compassion and understanding for people who are different from him?

The 100-watt smile of Shaju Chettan: The smile never wavers. His can’t be an easy life. What is it that makes him so strong and willing to serve mankind-taking care of the truly lost ones? Bringing people off the streets and trying, sometimes to no avail, to bring them back to some semblance of normalcy using every avenue available to him. Being able to live the doctrine “As God provides for the birds of the air, he will provide for this home and its inmates” (hence the name!!). Living with his family (a wife and the little boy-proud owner of the red bicycle) in the midst of the inmates who can turn dangerous at any point, it takes courage of a rare kind to continue to do what he does so well.

A neat dining hall: At one point, full of inmates who sat at tables patiently awaiting their lunch. Surprisingly calm and quiet. Except for squabbles that arose when one stole some chicken from another’s plate. And also a sudden cry from a lonely man crying out his anguish and wanting to be back with his family and familiar faces.

A dwarf-completely normal and belonging to the Gemini circus. Left behind at a hospital in K.R Puram due to his lung problems-all his money gone in its treatment. Uncaring relatives and having nowhere to go, he has found his way to this center too.

Leaving the center one image lingers. That of the inmates-all freshly bathed and spruced up to face the day-sitting in the warm sunlight on the fenced in terrace-happy with the simple things in life!!

ANIMAL BITES

Another beautiful, chilly morning. The kind Bangalore is famous for and the kind I can stand for about a week before I start feeling depressed. Instead of putting his feet up and enjoying a cup of tea with the newspaper as I was doing, Hubby Dear decided to tackle a long pending chore-that of getting his car back to looking like a car.

The said chore is taken care of in the summer holidays by hordes of neighborhood kids-all wanting to wash “uncle’s” car-for a tidy sum- no doubt-but hubby dear believes in rewarding industriousness and will willingly shell out anything for the privilege.

Two full buckets and an old t-shirt in hand, he marched off to the car, with the air of a gladiator all ready to engage in combat with an unseen adversary. Two minutes into a most vigorous scrubbing, it happened-two decorated oxen-(the kind that stop at houses and are led about by perfectly healthy men preying on religious sentiments of gullible folk), decided to make a pit stop. They dipped their heads into the brimming buckets of water and sipped and sipped till it was all gone!! The incredulous look on hubby dear’s face was one that sent me off the sofa rolling with laughter.

Dignity in tatters, hubby dear marched back into the house declaring-did you know that those oxen only stop at some houses? Some additional questioning revealed that the said oxen (bearing religious pictures more often than not) would stop only at a few houses (ok, now what technique do those men use?) and the people in those houses were compelled to give cash to the men leading the oxen. Which brought me to my next question, “Well , they did stop in front of our house, how did they let you get away scot free?” To which Hubby Dear indignantly replied, “Well I gave them water didn’t I?”

Needless to say, the car remains unwashed….and I am curiouser than ever-is that tale really true???

CAST OFF

I went home last Thursday, really glad a very long and hectic day was finally over. I was daydreaming of the day off the next day, which I would spend on a train chugging my way to Palakkad.
My daydreams were rudely interrupted the minute I stepped over the threshold. Appu, who till the had been lounging on the bean bag watching TV, came running to me at breakneck speed, trying to show me his swollen thumb at the same time giving me a garbled explanation of some skirmish with Acha panther.
A while later, when id heard explanations from both sides, I managed to piece together what had transpired. Appu and Achan had gotten into a skirmish over him having soiled his underpants yet again. I figured the swelling would be down the next morning, and since I had to leave really early to make the early morning ‘Intercity’ to Palakkad, didn’t think too much of it.
Later, I heard, Acha, plagued by guilt and remorse, had taken Appu for an x-ray. ..And the doctor, finding nothing particularly wrong but not wanting to take any chances with the likes of Appu and his hyperactive ways, put him in a cast for a week. Appu had then gone to school amidst protests over “How am I going to turn a page if you send me to school?” (The cast is on his left hand!!) But the bomb dropped that evening. Appu tells his dad “The teacher wants to meet you on Monday”. Visions of being accused of child abuse and being tagged cruel, heartless parents plagued me the entire weekend.
Cut to Palakkad: Appu, thrilled at being the center of attraction, thanks to his cast:
Scene 1: Appu: “Amma, will you listen to everything I say for the next 10 days?”
Me: “Why?”
Appu: (with his most doleful expression) Coz my hand is broken no???
Scene 2: At the wedding pandal where we went to greet the newlyweds: “Ajay uncle, see what my dad did to my hand.” Several sympathetic exclamations later, Appu ends up getting himself photographed as a part of several other family units(except his own of course!!)..as he refused to budge before everyone had properly given him his due, in spite of all kinds of tricks tried by the photographers and videographers to budge him from his spot.
Cut to Bangalore: Appupan and Ammuma are now his willing slaves. Acha, now thoroughly harried, refuses to meet the eyes of any visitor to the home (especially the ones who have heard Appu’s version of the events). The neighboring kids are all green with envy over Appu’s latest acquisition. Appu has taken to biking (still at top speed) with one hand.
Monday morning. Acha asks Appu, “So what time do I need to come in to meet the teacher?” To which pat comes the reply, “My teacher never asked me to call you to school.” I simply, simply told you that.”

My son, the braveheart

Moving into an independent house after having lived in a flat for a while is certainly a novel if not an exciting experience. But along with the freedom, also comes a niggling fear-“Is it safe enough?” I hadn’t realized how much our little boy had been absorbing (his satellite dish ears do have a function!!) until last night.

Hubby dear had left for a ‘night out’ with the boys and it was just me and Appu at home. Appu, having been brushed and bathed to within an inch of his life, was safely tucked up in bed with only his little head peeking out of the quilt (in this weather!! Just seeing him wrapped up in it made me sweat some more!!).
Bedtime is when Appu shares his deepest thoughts, dreams and stories. So I wasn’t surprised when a little voice piped up, “Amma, you know something?” “What?” I asked. “If someone knocks at our door, call me ok?” My heart swelled with motherly pride. What a brave little lad we had raised!! “Why, what will you do?” yours truly had to ask.

“I will jump on my cycle and you run, and we will both go very fast to Ammuma’s house!”