Food or Love

“Got it!!” she exclaimed, dropped everything in hand and rushed to clean the new possession that she dished out from the corner room store area. Mother had finally found the old casserole lunch box that Neela aunty had gifted her during dassera the year before. Her diwali cleaning was in full swing with the wife as the commander-in-chief, the maid as a foot soldier and I was left to replenish the resources (cleaners/scrubbers/soap/...) & run with the kids.

All these days, I thought she joked whenever she said that a casserole box, like the layered one mani takes, would be good for me. She did try to tell the wife to buy one but somehow I could reason and explain how people would stare at me wherever I carried it. The wife also feared that with my box streamlined, the mother would shift focus on her and get her one too, which she dreaded.

Focus of what was eaten and how well has always been a focus at home for the ladies. The granny, whenever met, would enquire about the previous meal and if it was rightly concluded with curd rice. She would also enquire if we were all eating primarily at home and not out all our meals. Granny was always worried that my 100 kilo cousin was not eat well and hence losing weight. She was food-food all the time and why not be, as the delicacies that she dished out were out of the world. Mom has inherited most of those features and the wifey is already showing streaks of the same.

The cleaning took a pause as she laid hands on the box & discussions soon began on what would be filled in each of the layers. The bottom was more of less decided for the veggies and curries. The maid added that now liquid form of curries/dal and so can also be packed easily without spilling now. Huh!! ... I and the wifey were silent, I was cornered and she feared she too would follow.

She was up early morning the next day and the maid came in before 8 too (she normally does not appear before 830 otherwise). Mother and wife had done most of the cooking by 8 and started packing. The maid wiped all the layers well with great care. They began packing as if it was for a huge army travelling from Tanjore to Kashmir.

Stacked in a big bag (to hide it) as I carried the box walking towards the car I tripped and fell. As I gathered sense my first thought was about the box. Eyes searching for it, saw it fallen in the mud; food strewn across; wind had taken the plastic cover to the other end of the compound.
My throat dried and I choked, there was a sudden grief. Guess I really wanted to savour the love packed and bundled as it lay strayed.

We want back our bunty ...

His moves were perfect and he was way ahead of us all in learning new moves and dance them for us. Break dance was the in thing those days and Bunty was the best. He would moonwalk for a crowd on the concrete floor and do a waltz with the same ease. Other than the dance moves he could make waves like movement using his stomach muscles and that was the star attraction for all school colleagues.

Bunty was the perfect entertainer and participated in most inter/intra school functions and enthral the crowd. Somehow he could never weave the same charm with the books. His grades were way below and in the initial years at school he was somehow pushed to upper classes. But then suddenly he reached a point beyond which the promotions stopped happening and he started to stagnate in one grade for years. Things went so bad that he never completed his basic schooling.

While the school performance never started to improve, his dancing skills started to wane. There was too much pressure to perform in school and he was not allowed to focus on anything else. Then came a state that everyone around realized that school/studies was not for him to be but by then his interests had moved from dance to other vices.

As years passed by, vices soon grew to be habits. Habits have now become a way of life.

Father tried all means and ways, since the vices took over, to explore alternatives and options which would interest and fit buntys’ nature...something that would make him stand on his own, create an identity and keep him busy.

Mother always was hopeful, never could imagine or accept the young son go obstinate. For her he still was the small chirpy, bubbly and energetic boy for whom she had made all those wonderful dreams. It was difficult to accept that fact of those dreams going haze, as he stayed on the couch watching the silver screen at times when he didn’t sleep, eat, or gaze.

Friends and mates have moved. They cannot relate to each other now when they meet. At times they meet to talk about the old childhood days and then are left to ponder, what did he miss to not be with them?

He is beyond those thoughts. The mind is a blank page now & its the habits that keep him going. All we hope is the spark get ignited again and he lives a life that we all, including him, had thought he shall live.

e Vijaya Dashmi

The four year old ran across the room to get all his books. “Eight, of them” he proclaimed and lapped it with his grandma. It was Navami (the day before Vijaya Dashami) which is when we follow a tradition to give ample rest to books/pen/pencil/paper/... (forms of Saraswati Devi).

The grandma called out for me and wifey, asking for our set of associated artefacts. The boy was still pushing the old lady to let him keep all the sketch pens and crayons. We were numbed ... numbed with a set of thoughts. Books/Paper/Pad ... We didn’t have any definite collection of them. Most were fiction novels or comics or some generic gyan books. But not something sacred and close to heart that we could think of.

Navami was always a great day when we were in school. Its one of those rare forced holiday from books, reading, writing, etc.... Most artefacts related to the profession, study, music would all be kept in front of the deity and venerated. After a small pooja in the morning they would be covered and left there to take rest and the kids free to freak out. They could do anything that day without the parents reminding them about studies/books/homework/exams and so.
The next day morning pooja ended with a session when everyone would sit quietly in front of the deity. Elders would unwrap the bundle sealed yesterday and everyone handed their set of books and pens as placed. Each of us would read through those difficult chapters and play those difficult notes praying that this would be the moment.

This time on, there was a sudden dearth of artefacts. Books were as PDFs or DOCs, mouse and keyboard had taken over pen & pencils of our life, activity sheets were electronic, appointment books were embedded inside the cell phone, mails were electronic too...
Absolute tautness and no solution yet. I mustered courage to pick up the bhagavad gita & wifey found a real old book to place, but the little boy insists that we have to match his numbers. And while we pondered he stood there and said “Why don’t you place the laptop here?” leaving us cogitate.