Lost and Found - Grand Daughter

It all happened during the recent wedding of one of my nieces.


In my post ‘The Daughter-in-law’ dated 21.07.2013, i have narrated how our daughter-in-law entered our house. It was the daughter of this daughter-in-law. She had a baby, a little more than six months ago. She had stayed with us for about a month after she joined our family and then had left with her newly-acquired husband for his place of work. She came back to have her baby here, stayed with us for about a month after that and they had left for Bhopal again. She recently visited us again, with the infant, and stayed with us for about two months. The marriage of this niece of mine was solemnized during this period. 


The incident happened during the marriage-reception. When the wife, the daughter-in-law and i started for the venue of the reception, i was entrusted with the pleasant task of holding, taking care and being in charge of the baby’s safety. 


At the reception everything started off well. The baby was very comfortable with me. When the time for the photo-session came, the bride wished to hold the baby and be photographed with her. Then almost every member of my extended large family wished to be photographed holding her. Seemingly, the baby enjoyed the attention she received and indeed became the centre of attraction. She seems to be of very social nature and is very comfortable with everybody and even with perfect strangers to her.

After the family photo-session, the ladies started their talkathon sessions and the baby was returned to me. I moved around with her to meet the guests and acquaintances. They played with her and she responded warmly. 


Then the time for me to partake of feast came. I handed the baby to one of my nephews, telling him to continue holding her till i take her back and not to hand her to anybody else. Since it was a fairly large area with a large number of guests, i told him to be at that spot only and not move to some other spot, so that i could come and take her back after having dinner. 


When i came back to the spot, there was no trace of either the nephew or the baby! So i moved on in search of them and after quite some time, could locate the nephew but he was alone! When i asked him about the whereabouts of the baby he stared at me blankly and said that a relative had taken her from him. After further search, i could locate this relative but the baby was not with her! She told me that someone had taken the baby from her. She did not remember who had taken the baby! So, i started my wild-goose-chase again but without success. I became a little desperate. So i asked all our relatives whomsoever i could find, and enquired whether he/she had seen the baby. Some said “Yes” and some said “No”. I hoped that she would cry, or at least whimper so that i would know where she was but no baby-cry came from any corner.  I was losing my nerve.


I asked the baby’s mother, my wife and some relatives to join me in the Great Search.
The baby’s mother was hopeful that she would be somewhere there but my wife, the Great Worrier that she is, was restless. She heaped on me all the epithets about how careless and negligent i was. I started sharing her worry that someone might have removed the bracelets of gold and the anklets of silver that we had put on the baby. The wife started even worrying that some child-lifter must have entered the venue and would have kidnapped her. And she went on to wail that the kidnapper would ask for ransom!


I went on rebuking the nephew whom i had handed over the baby and he bore all my barking silently.

      
The army of searchers for the baby had spread over almost the whole area of the venue. Often we would run into each other during our Operation Baby-Search and ask each other the same question.


Then, at long last, i got a glimpse of the baby from a distance. I heaved a silent sigh of relief and ran like an Olympic athlete – a short distance runner – to the spot and almost snatched the baby from a perfect stranger. She cast a queer look at me. Of course, i recovered my composure immediately, apologized and explained how we had been desperately searching for the ‘lost’ baby. Thankfully, she understood and responded with a smile.


I looked at the wrists and the ankles of the baby. The bracelets and the anklets were sitting there, safe.  


The baby’s mother was happy at my success in retrieving her but the grandmother was still in her angry worst! She kept on raving and ranting about how undependable, negligent, careless, and untrustworthy and whatnot  i was! 


 The baby rewarded me with a smile which seemed to me as a little mischievous.

Real Men Cry II

Here is a story, a sequel to my post 'Real Men Cry' dated 12.08.2011:
(The story is quoted by Vithal C. Nadkarni in The Economic Times of 25.08.2014)

There I had quoted the saying:

A son is a son till he gets a wife; a daughter is a daughter for life.

Now this.

After marriage, a couple had vowed to keep their door closed to everyone. One day, the boy's parents rang the bell. The couple saw them and looked at each other. He desperately wished to welcome them but remembering the vow to his wife, refrained from doing it.

After some days, the girl's parents come. This time, despite the agreement with her husband, she opens the door with tears in her eyes. She tells her husband," I'm sorry, dear, but I can't do this to my own parents." He keeps quiet.

Years roll by. They are blessed with two sons. Then they have a baby girl. The father celebrates her birth with a grand party. The wife asks, "Why such extravagance? We did not have such a grand party when either of our sons was born!"

The husband replied calmly, "Because she is the one who will open her door for me."

TAIL PIECE:

Your little girl will hold your hand only for a little while but she will hold your heart for the whole life time!  

The First Born

If you utter a word before a baby, it imitates and parrot-like repeats the word. In the same way, when this morning, i received an overseas call to listen the words ‘Happy Birthday’, i repeated the two words.

It was a call from Daughter I, who lives in the U S of A, to wish me on my birthday. I repeated the two words to her as today is her birthday also. Yes, Daughter I and i share our birth day. It is a good coincidence. Both of us consider ourselves lucky for this.

First Born children have certain advantages over their later born siblings. Birth of the first child is a thrilling and exciting experience for a couple. The expectant mother dreams and plans about how she would welcome the family’s new member. The joys of the thought ‘I am going to have a baby.’ have few comparisons.

In Odisha, a special festival is earmarked for the first born child. It is called ‘Prathamastami’ which usually comes in November. On this day, the First Born gets new clothes. She/he takes bath early morning, wears new clothes and her face is decorated with chandan (sandalwood) paste.  The child’s maternal uncle provides these new clothes every year. Puja is performed and special ‘pitha’ (cakes) and other tasty dishes are prepared on this occasion. A special item called ‘Enduri Pitha’ is prepared. It is a steamed item made from rice, cheese, coconut, sugar and other ingredients. The dough along with the stuffing is placed in leaves of turmeric plants and then steamed. In the process of steaming, some juice of turmeric leaves enters the dough and gives enduri pitha its unique and distinct flavour and taste.

 Ou leaves also are used to prepare enduri pitha.‘Ou’ is a typical tree found in Odisha and some parts of West Bengal. It bears round fruits which are sour. The 5 petals of its flower evolve into a fruit. The fruit is added to some curries to give a sour taste. The fruit is also used to prepare a kind of mouth-watering pickles. Banana leaves also are used to prepare Enduri pitha. However, the unique flavour of enduri pitha can be had only by using turmeric leaves.

 The second and the other children are not given this special treatment.

When Daughter I was born, the wife was in her parental home in Odisha, India. I was in U P. The good news was conveyed to me by telegram. I have preserved this telegram (I have added a photo of this in my post ‘Mother Serious Stop Come Soon’ dated 26.06.2013. )

While in the school, she started learning Odissi dance.

  Later, she also started learning painting.

 It was a pleasant job to select a suitable match for her.


 

As in the case of all fathers, my eyes became moist when she went to her sasural.The mother's emotions were less controlled.

When this ‘baby’ of ours had her first baby (a girl), she told us proudly “I have made her.” I told her what i had seen in an advertisement for baby-food, ‘It feels like someone has taken out a part of you and yet has made you complete!’ 

Wish us a happy birthday!                  

The Daughter-in-law

God has given me two wonderful gifts in the form of two daughters; I do not have a son. Yet recently I got a still more wonderful gift: a brand new daughter-in-law!

My younger brother expired about 3 years ago; his wife had predeceased him. Their two sons are attached to us. I had constructed a house long back and had no opportunity of living in it till my retirement 4 years ago. The building has a separate, independent and self-contained room. This was like a family guest house. Whichever member of our family, including me, visited this State Capital for some work, would stay there and attend to the purpose of his/her visit. Years ago, the younger son of this brother of mine occupied this room when he came to Bhubaneswar for studies. His parents were alive then. The older boy was studying elsewhere and after taking up a job, now lives where his job takes him. Soon after my retirement and his father’s death, the younger boy got a non-transferable job at the place and so, continues to live in that room and with us. Now we are a four-some: the wife, me and these two nephews, who are like our two sons.

After the death of my younger brother, the pleasant job of getting the boys married fell on us.

There was this reed of pretty girl, who is very distantly related to us. She and the elder boy had several occasions to meet at social events. They developed a liking for each other. He let this known to us. Due to some reasons which are not relevant to mention here, a few members of our extended family did not like the match. However, in so many subtle and not-so-subtle words, he made it transparent to us that he would like only her - and no other girl- as his life-partner.  I spoke to them. Some were persuaded; others acquiesced in.

So the proposal was taken ahead. The wife and I took charge. The marriage took place 2 weeks ago. Everything went off almost as planned.

One thing that touched and moved me was the way the girl wept copiously when she finally left her parents’ house for her new home. It was really heart-rending and touched my emotions. In the car that she was brought to our house, I was sitting in the front; the newly-wedded youngsters were in the back-seat. The journey took three quarters of an hour. Weeping gave way to sobbing and her sobbing went on over half the way. She could not still regain control over her emotions and even after the sobbing slowed down, her convulsive catching of breath continued till we almost reached the door-steps of our house.

This took me back to my childhood days. The weeping of a young bride at the time of leaving for her husband’s house was a much more prolonged affair then. The bride would catch hold of her mother, father, brothers, sisters, sisters-in-law, uncles, aunts and most other members of her parental family one by one and would weep bitterly and really hard, so hard that she would often faint. Ahead of the departure-time, the family-members would be ready with all methods to revive her. Due to deep weeping, the brides’ teeth would sometimes get locked as she fainted. Her jaws would be separated with the help of keys.

There were a number of weeping-songs that the would-be bride would start learning and practicing with her friends much before the marriage. There is a rich literature of such lyrics in Odia. These were folk-songs in which the bride would entreat and beseech her parents and others about how difficult her life would be in her husband’s place. (I have a book of collection of these songs.)    

All these are past. In those days girls were always living in the protective environment of their parents’ houses. They would never have to leave their homes before marriage except of course for visits to relatives. With the spread of female-education, girls started going to schools away from home and to colleges far away. They started staying in college-hostels and women’s-hostels in cities. This way, girls, many of whom took jobs after education, started living away from parents and developed a sense of independence. Pangs of separation from parents got diluted and so leaving for her husband’s house after marriage became less and less painful for a girl. Weeping bitterly at the time of leaving the parental home after marriage, lost its strength and depth. This literature is now extinct and now can be accessed only at Research Centres.

This girl whom we brought to our as our niece-in-law, was just out of her Degree College. I gathered that she had always lived in the cocoon of parental care. She had studied in a college near her home and so, had never to stay in a hostel. She is the youngest daughter and as such her parents always fussed over and hovered around her taking care she would not face the slightest difficulty in anything or anywhere.

As I have said, I have no son. I have seen and have been told that in bringing up children, it is easier to handle girls than to manage boys, particularly adolescent boys. Yet, as luck would have it, we have been handed down two boys - without having to go through the task of bringing them up. Now, we have been gifted with a daughter-in-law; a second one would come in a couple of years hence.

My nephews address me as uncle – as they were doing before the death of their parents. This new addition to our family calls me ‘Bapa’ (father). Early morning everyday, after taking bath, she comes to me and touches my feet.   

We had got two ready-made sons; now we have got a daughter-in-law.

The couple will leave for his place of work in a few days. The pangs of separation are being transferred to the two of us.:(((((((((((((

Just before her entry to our house, she was weeping; now her smiles brighten up wherever she goes. Our life is becoming fuller:)))))))))))))))))) 

ADDENDUM:

 BRIDES OF INDIA - Postage Stamps:

 

Kashmiri Bride	Tamil Bride
Rajasthani Bride

The Female Srikrishna

It was a slightly different version of an episode in the Mahabharat. There was the incessant rain. The gushing waters of the Yamuna deterred all but the brave or the very desperate.

Our Vasudev was carrying his child across the gurgling water. And the two were protected from the torrential rain by the black multi-hooded Vasuki in the form of an umbrella. The only difference was that the child being carried was a girl.

It was early morning. The pouring rain showed no sign of letting up. The footpath had turned into a rivulet with water flowing down at tearing speed. The school-bus was expected any moment. And the child couldn’t possibly risk spoiling the mirror-polish of her shoes by wading through muddy water. Dirty shoes would invite stern action by her merciless class teacher Miss Spic-and-spanwala.

The scheduled arrival of the bus was drawing nearer and nearer. The restlessness of the girl was growing further and further. In this trying moment what could a loving father do? He tucked up his dhoti which he was wearing like a lungi and asked the child to hold aloft the umbrella. In one clear sweep he lifted up the child, plunged into the water, crossed it and swiftly deposited her on the other side of the stream!

There was an anti-climax. This modern-day Vasudev lost one of his slippers. When he put a foot in water and lifted it to take the next step, the foot was bare! He hurriedly looked around for a floating slipper but there was no sign of it anywhere. The school-bus was now approaching its appointed stop; the child was getting impatient. So, without bothering about the slipper, the half-shod father soldiered on to reach the daughter to the bus stop. She boarded it in the nick of time.

Having accomplished the task, the father resumed his mission of searching for the missing slipper. He followed the current, examining every object floating along, with a hawkish eye.

Aha! He spotted the truant object not far off.

But his happiness was short-lived. The slipper belonged to a different pair. :(((((((

The desperate fellow trudged further down the road-turned rivulet and finally reached the mouth of the big covered drain into which the water was flowing. No luck. He cast an accusing look at the drain and started the return journey, eyes fixed on all floating objects. Still no luck. He reached home, still a slipper short. Letting out a sigh over his recent loss, he opened the gate and threw away the other slipper to the stream. Before shutting the gate, he cast a half-hearted look at the spot where he had lost the slipper.

Lo and behold! The elusive slipper was propping its tip over the gushing water at the very same spot!!! It had got firmly embedded in the underlying mud, by the combined weight of father and daughter. His face brightened. His smile was perhaps as wide as that of Alexander, the Great, after one of his victories. Retrieving the slipper, he ran down the stream to collect the other one he had thrown away and returned home. He stepped into the house and breathlessly poured out the story of his triumph over the unsympathetic and cruel nature before the lady of the house. But the LOH was no Devaki. Instead of congratulating her lord and master, she broke into a derisive and uncontrolled laughter. :(((((((((((

More was in store for our hero. He went to his Bank as usual. When he came home for lunch, the daughter had already returned from school. As soon as he crossed the threshold of the house, she said in a hurt voice, “Papa, how could you?” Then she said with an air of finality, ”From now on, never accompany me to the school-bus.” In the morning, her friends had seen it all from the bus-window!

Could a 14-year girl accept the role of 4-hour old baby-boy Krishna, that too against the glare, stare and giggle of her friends and school-mates?

But this blogger had no choice; the role of Vasudev was thrust on him by circumstance.

But look at the upside! Imagine the great Vasudev of Mahabharat losing and searching for one of his wooden clogs in the waters of the Yamuna!!!

Note:

This experience of mine was published in the ‘Punchline’ feature of The Sunday Economic Times of 21.12.1997

ADDENDUM

I find a lot of similarities between the pranks played by Balakrishna (the Child Krishna) and the antics of Dennis in the cartoon strip Dennis, the Menace by Hank Ketcham. Often Krishna's foster mother Yashoda would punish Krishna for his naughty pranks and Dennis's mother would punish him by making him sit facing the wall in the corner. But neither of the mothers can imagine her life without the pranks of the child. In one strip, fed up by the antics and the constant chattering of Dennis, his mother sternly asks him to stop talking as she wants some "peace and quiet". Then Dennis completely becomes silent. After a while, she can take it no longer. She hogs him tightly and says, "There has been too much peace; it has been too quiet!"

A Letter From Daughter II

On completing her Intermediate (the so-called Plus Two) Course in a school in India, Daughter II won a scholarship by Singapore Airlines to study Engineering in Singapore. One of the terms of the scholarship was that after completing her studies, she would have to work for a Singapore-based company for 6 years. As I said in an earlier post, I had maintained 2 files titled ‘Letters From A Daughter to Her Father’ and ‘Letters From A Father to His Daughter’, respectively. Here is a letter preserved in the first file. It was an e-mail sent soon after she completed her studies, a month short of 10 years ago.

Monday, May 06, 2002, 7.49 pm

Dear Bapa and Mama,

I finally finished the last set of my exams and suddenly I am plunged into this new world which requires a higher degree of independence than was expected of me when I joined a University in another country. I can now easily distinguish the three phases in my life so far. One, when I was at home, and my only responsibilities were my studies, because I had home to run to if I faced any problem. I knew there was hot steaming food waiting for me when I came home from school. I scarcely bothered if I did anything to deserve the meal that was granted to me. Every aspect of life was taken care of by you and Mama, and I had no worries about what I was going to eat the next day or where I was going to sleep.

Then came Singapore, and abruptly the higher degree of independence and expectations struck me. Suddenly, I had to keep account of the money I had. I had to make sure I fulfilled all conditions of being a legal entity in a foreign country. I had to remember to eat my meal at times. I had to remember to wash my clothes and fold them neatly. I had to remember to run and take the clothes off the drying line if it rained! I had to remember to lock my room when I was going out. I had to remember to manage my bank account. I had to remember to fill up my bottle of drinking water. I had to remember that it was time to change the bed-sheets and pillow-covers. But one good thing was, we were all together, all my friends, and we reminded each other and did things together. I knew it was time for lunch because I saw others eating. There was this connection between us friends that made sure that we were all managing life o.k.

And now the third phase. I am going to graduate. I have a job now. I have to hunt for an apartment to stay in. I have to apply for Permanent Residence, I have to pack all my things and move them to my new place. I have to buy utensils and things to keep in fridge. I have to wrap up all graduation formalities with the Ministry of Education. I shall be working in a place where I will make a contribution, where the things I do will make difference. At University, I was responsible only for my activities; now I shall be responsible for my company. I am not just a student anymore. Suddenly, I feel so grown up. Two days back, it was my farewell function for my batch. I was voted the 'most creative person' in my batch, and also the 'girl with the best sense of humour'. I had juniors coming and telling me they will genuinely miss me. People wrote in my autograph book that I was the most amazing senior they had. Four years of life at NTU... it feels like long, long time, but I feel proud as I believe I have done good, I have managed my life quite well. I have been happy and I have been strong.

Today, I went to view a few houses. I shall be looking at a few more before deciding. I have a lot of plans about my home and how I shall decorate it. It is going to be different from my hostel-room. I won’t have rules telling me exactly what I can have and what I can’t. My home will be what I make it, it won’t be just another room that looks exactly like the room of a zillion other hostelites. I am excited about the responsibility.

I want you to plan and come here and see how I have settled. I want both of you to visit me soon.

***

I was struck by the capacity for introspection by a 22-year old.

TAIL PIECE

Whose property is a letter? The sender’s or the addressee’s?

In the Banking System, a Bank Draft remains a property of the purchaser as long as it is in the possession of its purchaser. The moment the purchaser dispatches it to the payee, it becomes legally the property of the payee and the purchaser loses the right of ownership over the amount! This is the position even if the Draft is lost in transit or the payee does not encash it:)))))))))))))))))

The Responsible Mother

I am surprised by the total transformation of Daughter II. From a fun-loving, carefree, tempestuous, whimsical, happy-go-lucky and globetrotting girl (once, she even went off to Pakistan for a book-promotion programme), she has suddenly donned a completely different robe, that of a very responsible, very patient, very caring mother who has created a new world, a very small world, a world centered around a gurgling and whimpering tiny creature keen on intermittently kicking the world with all her four limbs and with all the strength she can muster.

As a teenager, wherever my daughter would go, it would seem like a tornado had just ravished the area. Patience, calmness and responsibility were words I would have never associated with her. And look at her now! The catalyst for the change has been that my rebellious and self-willed girl now has a girl of her own, whom she says she has 'made'. The tiny 'bundle of joy' has bound my daughter's hand and feet!

I feel as if I am looking at a complete stranger. I am surprised by the numerous and unending stream of terms of endearment showered by her on her baby. She knows that the baby laughs when paper is torn in front of her or when her mother claps. She now knows that when the baby cries in a particular way, it is time to feed her and when the baby whimpers in another way, it indicates that she needs a nap. I asked her,"From where did you learn all these?" Smilingly, she replied, "From her." And her 'teacher' peeps out with bewitchingly blinking eyes from a bundle of well-set clothes.

Sometimes, when I go near the baby, my daughter seals her lips with her finger and shoos me away with a "Shhhh, she is sleeping." She keeps on reminding me that her baby has a very light sleep and that she wakes up even by the sound of rustling leaves.

Once hesitatingly, I asked her, "Don't you feel anything while changing the dirty diapers?" The reply, with a smile again, is, "It is a pleasure." !!! So are cleaning up when the baby throws up and also having to wake up at night for the baby's needs.

In myriad ways, she tries to make the baby comfortable and happy.

In myriad ways, she tries to find out what the baby needs at which time.

A line I saw in an advertisement for baby food runs, 'It feels like someone has taken out a part of you and yet has made you complete.' How true!

It happens to every new mother; yet it seems to be a new thing every time.

A question comes to my mind - why has God made human babies so helpless and entirely dependent, unlike the young ones of other living beings? A calf starts walking and frolicking within an hour of birth. It takes so long for a human baby even to turn, let alone sit up or take the first tentative steps!

The initial total dependence of the human baby is perhaps deliberately programmed for human bonding and formation of human society.

Tail Piece

I am reminded of a few lines from a poem by Byron:

And what am I?

A child crying in the night,

A child crying for light,

With no language but a cry.

Real Men Cry and The Best Man

Here is a sequel to my earlier post about moist eyes at the time of bidding farewell to the darling daughter after her wedding.

It is a reproduction of the matter from another newspaper-clipping which I have pasted, along with the other paper-cutting, on the inside cover of the wedding album of Daughter I.

Hidden inside the woman,

Is a little girl;

Your little girl.

You’ve watched her grow,

From pigtails to jeans, to sarees.

She’s made the last twenty-one years ,

Seem like twenty-one weeks.

And now,

Another man is laying claim,

To her attention.

You don’t know whether you are happy,

Or jealous.

This is the time,

To reinforce your position as,

The Best Man in her life.

!!! :)))))))) :((((((((((

Real Men Cry

A son is a son, till he gets a wife;

A daughter is a daughter for life.

I do not know when and where I had read these lines but my two daughters have proved this to me. Here I must hasten to add that I have not had the scope for personally experiencing whether the first line is true.

In olden days, when girls were not leaving their homes till marriage, they were weeping bitterly while leaving for their husbands’ homes after marriage. So much so that in Odia language, there is a rich stock of lyrics called kandana geet (weeping songs) containing how girls cry at the time of parting for their bridal homes. These were genuine expressions of sadness at having to leave the protected life and environment in parental homes and going to an unknown place, the husband’s home, full of strangers and an uncharted sea. They were not mentally-equipped to face unknown people. However now a days, more often than not, girls have to leave their parental homes in early teens for their education and later, have to live away to take up jobs. So, at the time of marriage, girls no longer weep or cry though they may be feeling a little sad and sobbing a little, at having to leave the loving parental family and having to loosen the umbilical chord. Hence kandana geet has become only a nostalgic part of the history of folk lore in Odia literature..

When the ceremonies accompanying Daughter I’s wedding were over and the time came for bidding her good bye, my eyes became moist.

Sometime after that, I came across an advertisement put up by a well-known Textile House manufacturing design-sarees. It contained a couple of beautiful pictures of a wedding scene and a few lines which are reproduced below:

Like a million

Fathers,

You knew

From the moment

She was born,

It was to happen.

Like a million

Fathers,

You thought,

You would be

Prepared

For it

.

It’s okay,

Real men cry.

My eyes became moist once again, reading it.

I went through the same experience at the wedding of Daughter II, although I had really thought that I was prepared for it.

Letters from a Daughter to Her Father

During my school days, I had read Jawaharlal Nehru’s book ‘Letters from a Father to His Daughter’.

In late nineties, my daughter, who had then just crossed the age of 18, flew off to a small but very prosperous country in the East, to do a 4-year Engineering Course on a scholarship from the Airlines of that country. After landing there, she did contact us over phone but her letter came about a month after she left India. The letter was perfect; all our queries – asked and unasked – had been answered. The letter had been neatly arranged; it had sub-headings like My Room, Money, Food, Address, Health, Market, Weather, Seniors and Friends etc. Except for the outpouring personal touch, the letter appeared like a composition written by a school student as a class work or home work assigned by the teacher.

Without due apologies to Pandit Nehru, I opened at home, a file titled ‘Letters from a Daughter to Her Father’. I carefully preserved all her letters in that file.

Six months after, she came to India and home on vacation bringing back, as I had advised, all my letters to her. Without bothering about copyright, I opened another file and named it ‘Letters from a Father to His Daughter’. Does naming files come under Copyright Laws?

But I am digressing.

Her letters came as a steady stream and the file became thicker and thicker. I relished going over her long hand-written letters several times, lifting a phrase from the poem 'Daffodils' by Wordsworth, wheneverI was in a ‘vacant or pensive mood’.

The file became my favourite resort. I read her letters over and over, again and again, savouring the familiar hand writing, noting a few, if any, mistakes and smiling to myself. While reading those letters I experienced her presence before me, as if she was personally narrating all that was written there. I imagined her sitting at her table, her head bent over the paper, her left hand clutching the paper and her right hand holding the pen and moving on the paper, leaving the calligraphy on sheets of paper. I also imagined her taking small breaks, leaning against the chair, eyes closed, thinking about us. On occasions, I would imagine her taking longer breaks, putting aside the half-written letter, going to her studies, canteen or library and then returning to the letter after a few hours or after a day or two. These imagined visuals added to the life and flavour of the letters.

All the letters were invariably long, narrating in detail almost all the happenings around her.

Then it all changed. Sometime after she went back after sending a vacation with us, there was a total transformation. The letters completely changed their form. I received two covers from her. The first contained a computer print out of an e-mail. Its first sentence was, “It is a test mail.” In the other cover, there was another print out, the first sentence of which read, “It works!” And thereafter flowed what was stated to be a letter from her. It explained that there is some ‘online site’ in India to which she could send e-mails and the people there would take its print out and send it to us.

The spirit was the same, the contents of the letters had the same flavour but the form was completely different and not so appealing. The message was the same but the medium was different. I really realized the meaning of the adage, ‘Medium is the message’. It was her letter and her message alright but it was not her handwriting. And the next thing that dawned on me was that the paper did not carry her touch.:)))))))))) Her fingers had played on the computer key board but not on the sheet of paper which was in my hands. Earlier, while reading her letters, I was moving my finger over them was feeling as if my finger was touching hers! She had explained that the system was fast and efficient and that it saved time. Of course, she had promised to “really write in the physical sense“ to us periodically.

Months passed. She visited us during vacations and went back and during this whole period, we received just one not very long (to be honest, a very short) hand written letter from her.

After this, she wrote (sorry e-mailed) to me almost daily but can one call these ‘letters’?

Now, she mails me regularly, but where is the flavour of receiving a hand-written letter. Is a ‘virtual’ letter same thing as a physical letter?

Years ago, when T V came to be widely used in Indian homes, it changed the social relations in India beyond recognition. I had then come across a small article written by a sad child. Its caption was ‘How T V Ate My Friend’.

Here is a similarly sad parent ruing how e-mail ate my daughter’s letters. :)))))))))))))))

TAIL PIECE

A recent episode in ‘Archie’ comic:

Archie to Dilton: The gang is going to Pop’s corner. Want to join us?

Dilton: I don’t like to spend too much time hanging out with friends.

Dilton, sitting before a computer (to himself): It cuts into my social networking.

Chicken Chulbuli

The wife has just left me. Again, for the nth time. This time, for being with Daughter II. At the time of leaving, she had cooked and kept a lot of food which sustained me for a full three and a half days. Now, that stock is exhausted and i am finding it very difficult to fend for myself.

I have always found that cooking is a very boring task very unlike eating which I find is a great and enjoyable job! I find that even re-heating the food prepared and kept for me by her, is a boring and tedious job, be it using the microwave oven or the gas stove. Cooking is a trying job which tests my patience. And i do not have adequate patience to go through the long and arduous process.

Cooking is basically considered a woman’s job. Almost all girls pick up some cooking skills soon after crossing their childhood. Yet all the great chefs of almost all Star Hotels are men!

I had read about 4 bachelors staying together who tried their hand at cooking, with the help of a cookbook. They selected a recipe which they thought was the easiest. They purchased the ingredients, read the cookbook carefully again and again, and started cooking. One of them appointed himself as the Master Chef, held the book and called out the steps one by one for others to follow and do the job. After finishing the process, they sat down to enjoy the fruits of their hard labour. They did not relish it; something was missing; and everything was hard to chew. They read the cookbook once again and tried and tried to find out what exactly went wrong. They failed. At this point, the maid servant came to clean the utensils. They sought her expert opinion to find out what was wrong with their cooking. One look at the table and she burst out laughing. Everything was raw! They had followed each step of the book meticulously but had not lighted the stove! That was because the book had not mentioned one small step: light the stove!!!

About 15 years ago, when the wife was to be away for an unavoidable reason, leaving me to take care of not only my poor soul, but also of our then small daughters, I had tried to cook a dish which, I told the children, was ‘Chicken Chulbuli’. I put the pieces of chicken, a little salt, some haldi (turmeric), spices, some oil and some water in the pressure cooker and put it on the lighted stove. When I opened it after the scheduled time, I discovered that the quantity of water was much more than required, the haldi powder put by me was a little more than needed and that I had not properly stirred the mix. So the haldi had stuck at some spots in a semi-solid state on the chicken pieces. In any case, I tried to save the situation (and save my face!) by pouring out the excess water and offering it to the children as chicken soup! What they did with the yellowish liquid is another matter. And here,discretion being the better of valour, i shall also refrain from telling you about what happened to the main dish!

My forays into cooking at that time inspired Daughter II to compose a poem which was published in the ‘Creative Corner’ of The Times of India, Patna.

The poem is reproduced below:

Dad in Kitchen

Our kitchen is a kitchen, when Mom is cooking food;
But Dad in the kitchen? That doesn’t sound too good.
Yet he is there … since Mom is away;
Why did I let him enter? I repent to this day.

He won’t even let me make a sandwich with bread and jam;
“Leave all this,” he exclaims, “Think of your Board Exam."
“I can make sandwiches; you let me do this, dear;
And go back to your books, for you don’t belong here.”

In spite of his terrible dishes, he thinks he is a great cook;
“An expert cook” , he says, “who doesn’t need a cookbook!”
And when he is in charge, nothing remains the same;
Each appliance starts working, contrary to its name!

For, every edible thing sticks, to the non-stick pan;
We are left exhausted, in spite of the exhaust fan.
The toaster doesn’t toast, it evenly chars the bread;
The pressure-cooker has no pressure, the rice is hard as lead.

“For growing children like you, omelettes are good.”, he says;
But never in one piece, his omelette stays.
“Look out Dad”, I groan, “The omelette’s is in shreds, oh, no!”
“Who’s making omelettes?” he grins, “It’s scrambled eggs, you know.”

He has set a new record, for breaking glasses, I bet;
Now six different glasses, in our house, make a set.
Since Mom has been away, the house is upside down;
And the worst part is – Dad smiles while I frown.

I tried to clean up one day, the mess that he had made;
“No, just leave everything as it is”, he said.
“When Mom returns, she should feel that she has been missed, deep and true;
Seeing all this, she'll know - we're saying ‘We love you’.”

Was he right? I stood silent for a moment or two;
Pondered over his words, and felt, indeed his words were true.
So now I too help him, in messing up everything;
And patiently we wait, to hear the door-bell ring.

Some might think that we
Have gone utterly mad;
But we’re just missing Mom,
Poor old me, and my dear Dad.

- - -

No one needs to award high grades to my culinary expertise but I am sure, nobody will disagree with my way of saying, ‘Dear Wife,I missed you.’ :)))))))))))))))

Letting Go

Why does the earth have gravity?

Because Mother Earth does not want her children to move too far away from her watchful eyes and get hurt!!!!!!

I am blessed with 2 wonderful children, both daughters. The younger one won a Scholarship from Singapore Airlines and left India to study in Singapore. The course was for 4 years and as per the terms of the Scholarship, after completing the course, she would have to serve in a Singapore-based organisation for 6 years. Thus, she would have to be away from us for at least 10 years. 10 years! One decade! My God!

I felt proud at her achievement but a big worry was gnawing at my heart. The thought of a girl who had just turned 18, leaving Indian shores, all alone, for a land completely unknown to her, leaving behind her parents, family, relatives, friends and acquaintances, kept bothering me. When she was leaving, our hearts were ridden with worries about how she would manage herself, far away from home, in an unknown country but in her eyes, i saw a glimpse of a resolve of steel, as she waved us 'bye, bye'.

She used to come to India once in about 6 months during her holidays. When she was going back after the holidays, i used to accompany her to Kolkata to see her off. In the airport, i used to linger in the Viewers' Gallery and look hard till her plane became a speck and then disappeared in the sky.

We kept comforting ourselves by the thought that even if she would continue to work in Singapore after those 10 years, the elder daughter would be near us in India. A few years later, the marriage of the elder daughter was solemnised, in India. And lo and behold, the son-in-law got a job in USA, about 4 months after the marriage. He took up that job and the daughter joined him after a couple of months.

Later, after taking up a job in Singapore, the younger daughter was married to a Singapore-based boy.

Thus, one daughter went to the East and the other daughter flew to the West, we being left in the middle, sometimes looking at one direction and at other times, in the opposite direction.

So, flourish, dear daughters, fly on and be world citizens! We have let you go.