My Lockdown Angst

Days just kept getting longer, the chores interminable. Seventies in 2020. Missing conveniences I was so used to. Driving down to the grocery store has become a treat. Seeing real people other than family members a rare occurrence. Did we ever imagine that life was so fragile. One particular day, I was in this massive event, meeting hundreds of people, shaking hands with them, hugging them, making small talks with them, connecting with them and then two days later, there was complete lockdown. All public gatherings banned. The corona virus siege on the humankind.

It is the 2020. Today people can easily live a life without setting a foot into the outside world. In-fact some people have even experimented with this and gone on for months on end. Age of the Agoraphobics. You can google the meaning of the word without moving from where you are seated... remember those bulky dictionaries? They are things of the past. On my sofa there is a whole world. At my door step the whole world bows to me. With the press of a few buttons, I can have the furnitures, the electronics, the books, the files the parcels, the groceries, the fresh cooked food, whatever I need. The world is like a video game today.

I took the outside world so for granted, I had no idea that it meant anything to me. I mean I can always blog away my angst against the outside world and gain many cyber sympathies and hope that the targeted person would get the message. We lock our emotions in the digital space. Others, are just playthings. They are hot gossip, ridiculous, inspiring, unbelievable and outrageous on Facebook, WhatsApp, twitter and Instagram. And they are faceless if they are not on the Facebook. If they don't follow us on these they are not our friends,  unless they have a fancy title to go with their names in Linked-in. To this world of strangers, COVID19 did not wreck much havoc. In-fact some of us are so relieved, we don't have to go out everyday to do the same work, which we now do more effectively from the comfort of our homes.

To children, we describe strangers like this: don't rely on them, don't talk to them, stay away from them; don't go near them, don't take chocolates and biscuits for them and don't go anywhere with them, Nothing wrong with it. But then we also need to give them an environment of familiar faces. Youngsters of today feel very secure chatting with their friends on phone and WhatsApp. It is a lot less challenging and a lot easier to break off from the game, in case of dispute.

I feared strangers too. Not just a little, I would break down every time I went out and returned home. Every day. Yet back then, I did not have a choice. As I grew I became comfortable with people and made friends. Even without the fear of strangers, people are still many things, competitors, followers, appreciaters, look downers, haters, conspirers and secret admirers. The risk of being caught in a huff is always there. No one is perfect, not even in their respective roles towards you. They keep switching their position towards you, like shrewd stock market traders. Best solution is to keep a distance. But it was always figurative, never literal. And therefore it is now quite a thing to know that the distance has to be literal.

I am not sure when this will end, but next time when I see strangers, I am going to bless them.

Deja-vu

The scene was all set, the killer would come from behind the stage in a huff, shoot the poisoned needle and disappear. By the time the audience realised it, there would be a corpse on the stage (staged of course) and before they knew it, the show would have captured them in the plot.
The show was a runaway success. Rarely do people get everything so right. The troupe was elated and bonded many times over through the international tours for months together. They began with dating each other within the troupe and then a couple even married during one of their tours to Switzerland.

Slowly the troupe began to look more like a nomadic tribe. They developed their own unique jargons and slangs. A pecking order developed, the director was the tribe priest; everyone listened to him. The male protagonist of the play, was like the tribe chief and the female protagonist had become the troupes muse. The side actors were playing their part without any resistance, Just like it happens in a tribe.

The troupe took one day in the week off and went about completing their personal chores on that day. Usually a weekday, because they performed over the weekends.

Parag the male protagonist drove the troupe's rented car to the market place. Kamal had chosen to remain in the hotel. He parked the car on the street near a shopping complex. The ritual was always the same, Parag and the others would step out of the car and then talk to each other for a while, in clear view of the market, if people recognised them and came to take autographs, even better.

Parag's phone had been ringing as he drove, so he got down first and picked the phone. The troupe was still getting down from the car when Parag dropped dead. The cause of death was determined to be poison. No one had any idea what had happened. This was real. They stood there helpless. The police came and took over the proceedings. Every one said, this was like deja-vu.

Kamal was thoroughly investigated, but there was no evidence that she had played any part in the murder. You don't get finger prints on pins, She maintained that she had no part to play in the killing. She even had strong alibi.

The troupe disbanded after the mishap and the actors went back to their respective lives.

Since there were no evidences, the case of the killing of Parag was closed. Kamal kept mourning Parag's death for years. I wish I was beside him then this happened, I would take the blow on myself she said in press conferences.

 But what business did he have cheating on me? I was his wife and he was unfaithful. I did not have to do much. I had a perfect plan. I had inserted a pin on the hatch of his cellphone flip cover. If he tried to open the hatch, his thumb would come in contact with the poison. And he did fall for it. A play can be enacted in real life.... 

You Win Some and You Win Yet Again

I have Chiku all sorted out, as long as I catch her in the right time. Rana Pratap the famous Chittor King, had about the same sentiments about Akbar’s army, when he planned his guerrilla wars against Akbar’s platoons. Guerrilla wars are warlets, catch them in their weakest moment and vanquish them just for a while. I am one of them, the vanquisher of a moment.

Timing is extremely critical. Here is how:

“Chiku, why are your socks on the stairs? You left your shoes outside the shoe rack (one face down to the north and one face up to the south). Why is your school uniform strewn on the floor? Why haven’t you kept your school bag in your room yet?” The quintessential remonstrance of a mom, thrilled at the return of her kid from school. Some days these war cries are enthusiastic. Other days they are in-effective. On yet other days the warrior in me is stoic and submissive. But Chiku remains the apple of my eyes, regardless of who clears up the mess.

The joy of seeing her run in after school and hug Penny, our dog, and kiss her a hundred times. Even though we have warned her a thousand times, not to kiss the dog. Oh how she plays on the floor with the dog, lying flat, petting her and getting licked by her. Her two lanky ponies, unkempt and dangling, her face dark and sweaty from being in sun, her pinafore slipping off one shoulder; she is cuteness defined. I want to scoop her up and carry her around once again. But I have to settle for dragging her to my lap and planting a few kisses while she squirms, before she tears herself off and rushes off to her room.

Though her room appears to be a perennial battle field, her belongings engaged in constant Armageddon on her desk, on the floor and over the bed. But that is just a disguise. In truth this is her sanctum sanctorum, her favourite place in the world. Chiku is at home only once she enters this room. 

And soon the afternoon rituals begin.

“I want the iPad!” Chiku explodes.

“No iPad today!” I counter explode.

“Just Half an hour.” Chiku entreats.

“No,” I retort sharply.

“Please!” she pleads.

“No,” Sharper now yet I am melting inside.

“Okay then your phone.” She changes track, to my relief.

“I am using it!” I respond flatly.

“Please!” Chiku entreats yet again.

“No,” I howl, between whatever it is, she is disturbing. “Don’t snatch it from meeeee,”

“Please, please, please!” She plays her trump card, the cute begging look and all.

“No.” I harp and go back to work.

“I don’t want rice and dal today,” She is now at the table and making annoyed protests.

“But you did not have it yesterday either,” I reason.

“No,” She declares with the build-up for a skirmishy cry. “How about rice and curd and jiggery?” She suggests in between the pitter-patter of sniffs.

“No! You can’t have sweet stuff now,” I counter.

“Uuuuunnnnn,” whining aimlessly, fretting and not listening.

Not that whining again. I am quite melted already with all that No, No and No of the afternoon. “Okay have your way, but only today.” I finally surrender.

A bright smile is followed by a, “thank you.” Chiku effortlessly morphs into her cute avatar. Till the next demand, disagreement or discomfort or whatever triggers the next tantrum.

I was caught unawares. When I undertook this journey as a mother no one told me much. No one suggested to exercise my vocal cord to become a mother, Lamaze is all they ever talked about: puff, puff, puff, take deep breaths and push the head out! And then what that head does after emerging was kept a secret! No one suggested regular yoga and meditation to hold peace through the battlefield of mothering, oh no. No one told me you had to be good negotiator to be a mom. No one told me you had to be a social scientist to be a cool mom. No one told me to be a warrior to become an effective mom. I just discovered these things on my own! And I dare say I am barely managing.

Oh how I'd love to leave my daughter alone to live as she pleases! But she is a kid and this is not how it works. If kids were left alone to deal with life, this is how they would live probably- Wake up play, play some more, don't eat, play, play, play and play and then don’t sleep just play. At least this is what mothers think their respective kids would do, myself included. Though the kids have surprised us often, but surprises are called so because they are scarce.

In the ten years that I have been a mother, I think I have chosen my battles well. I have made the choice to speak or not to speak, to whack or not to whack, to punish or not to punish, to protect or to let her fight her fights, to reprimand or to ignore her faults, to lie or not to lie to her. And I have been quite content with the outcome.

And truly, the war is not over, it is never over. Later in the evening, no lessons learned from the afternoon, I begin all over again:

“Chiku have your dinner,” I insist, “it is getting late.”

No answer.

“Chiku quick I am losing my temper.” I fume.

“But I will finish what I am doing before I go.” Chiku finally answers nonchalantly.

I try the tough tone repeating myself all over again.

Nothing! Just silent denial.

“Chiku I am really happy you are doing this interesting thing,” I change tracks, “but food needs to be eaten on time.”

Bingo! I have her attention. Or so it appears. But I can’t hide the whole truth from the readers. Sorry no, there is no real victory in parenting! Chiku still completes her work before she eats.

She seems to know exactly how I can win the war without really winning any of the battles. She just displayed her grit, determination, focus and fearless pursuit of her goal, all over again. Didn't I truly wish for that! 

You win some and you lose some. But in the parent kid battle you win even when you lose. Keeping up the fight is more important than winning the fights! Hush listen carefully! Did I hear the great Rana Pratap, the great proponent of Guerrilla warfare, cheer for me?

No Regrets

A sapling had just pushed out of the ground. It takes enormous effort to push through the earth. It is the same effort as it takes a chicken to hatch from the egg. It takes all of that effort, but if truth be told it is one effort that I willingly made, to push through the earth and to see the world above. I stood there at awe. 

Not that I had not seen it before. I came from the same soil, the same earth, but this was a new life and new lives are exciting. I looked around, I was mostly alone in a barren piece of land. I was what they call a weed, but I did not know that. The terrain was rocky and crumbly and tilting to one side. Stones just rolled freely down the slope now and then. Some would hit me and change it's course. Others just  stayed back within my little branches. Some were big enough to hurt me and if I was lucky enough, none would be big enough to injure me fatally, till I grew old enough to not be bothered by them. 

The other weeds near me were just as content as I was. After all there was hardly anything for us other than warning each other of a possible threat, through our root system, bask in sun and enjoy the view, whatever it be. The choice to enjoy or complain was ours, the view was offered to us. One night it rained heavily, all my branches twisted and broke. I was left with one tiny leaf on my side. I was sure I would die, how would a plant my size breathe and eat with just one leaf? But I pulled off. I saw that whole season. Since it kept raining, the leaves had no problem shooting out and pulling me up. But we plants don't fear dying. We only avoid it. We avoid it when we can. But we don't mourn death. It is how we are made. 

Soon I discovered I would not really have flowers. I was a barren plant, I was disappointed, but not sad. I would have loved to have flowers, but it did not matter to me to not have any, I was there that is all. 

Once a man came trudging up the slope. A heavy bag on his back; listless, restless like the stones which roll down the slope. He just kept walking up, up and up, as if he had a purpose. We weeds were really inspired by him. He was so sure, so certain of what he wanted. He was not exactly going like the stones, nothing would change his course. We saw him falling, hurting, tired and hungry, but he did not stray from his chosen path. In plant kingdom, we live care free, not for a purpose but just because it is a gift to live with. This was new for us, so the plants right from the foot of the slope, were relaying news about him. 

Weeds up the slope were eagerly awaiting to see the saint. He appeared to be a saint to us. He came and sat right next to me on a rock. One of those which kept rolling down the slope. He sat on it to rest. But at that moment there was a mild tremor and the rock moved. It was big enough to disempower the saint. The rock rolled and dropped the saint down the slope. It then rolled over me and killed most of me and then kept rolling and fell on the saint. The rock became red. 

We waited for one or two of the saint's leaves to come out to save him. But he remained silent. We waited for his roots to ask for help, so we could send nutrition, but he remained silent. No one came for him. He remained under the rock and decayed. That is when we learned that, this man had no-one and he was going nowhere. We understood he was not a saint, he was in search of something he did not have.

I pulled out of the rock injuries. The next summer however brought dryness which I could not take and I dried up, I died. I was with my family and I was never going anywhere or seeking anything. So my death completed a cycle I had come to live. I happily left the world. 

Do what you wish for! #FireUpYourPassion lady #AmWriting

I stand at the edge of the metro platform, reading the warning down on the track, '750 volts, keep away'. I imagine myself standing on top of the track, hair standing, eyes popping, blackened face, steam blowing out the ears. Nah, I say, not a good idea.

I look at the speed limit on the hilly road, 30 KM Per Hour, I imagine stamping on the pedal and wrrrroom! Hopping right into the valley, many 1000 feet down, stuck in a tree branch, a perfect cinemascope moment. I wonder if the branches are placed appropriately down there, Tch! Tch! I say, not a good idea.

Peeping into the lion's cage in the zoo, I want to jump right in, to run my fingers through its mane. I picture myself fighting the offended lion, with my bare hands and I say, not a good idea. A little further in the zoo, I imagine my hand inside the crocodile's mouth or getting bitten by the vicious viper and I most certainly and emphatically say, not a good idea.

I stand near the door of the aircraft flying at 30,000 Ft, sipping mineral water in a paper cup. I stand right next to the liver which invites: 'Lift up to open'. I tell myself, enough now go back to the seat and I comply. But my mind does not know when to stop. So I just let it fantasize. But I know when it’s not a good idea.

And then I wonder why! Why does the mind play with me wickedly? I am all blood and mangle at the end of its adventures, at-least in my thought. And an answer pops! No wonder it does! I say NO so often. What if I did something I really wanted to? What if I did something really dangerous, exhilarating and adventurous? Like planning a holiday alone? No. Writing a book? No. Eating out all by myself at a fine dine restaurant? No. Cooking a special meal for myself? No. Laughing out loud for no reason at all? No. Singing on the streets? No. Going bungee jumping, para gliding or sky diving? No. Fighting my greatest fears like the fear of cockroaches and lizards? No. What if I did all this, would my mind still play the gruesome games? They say idle mind is the devils workshop or playground or outhouse or palace or whatever. I am the devil when it comes to myself!

"Think about the risks of doing the doable," says the mind craftily. "Better not conjure these fantasies," it says. "Let me show you how to work around it," it offers. Voila! The gruesome pictures emerge in our minds. The headline on the local daily pops up, 'Girl dies doing what she wished for!' And then it is safe not to attempt those absurdities, ever!

We are like the patty in our favourite burger. It’s awesome, the patty I mean. It has a possibility of its own, even without the bun on its both sides. It is just too shy to come by itself, so it hides between the sliced up bun. The bun, which by the way tastes flat, dry and unsavoury by itself! Yet the patty thinks it is the bread which sells the awesome burger! Huh! And double Huh! And you know what I do? I buy the patty with no bun!

An acquaintance screamed at me the other day, I am very scared of dogs! And I wondered why. I am scared of people more. Hopeless me! I often meet these Martian kinds, who think they are entitled to fear of the endangered. For, which specie is not endangered in the hands of '(WO)-MAN'?

Okay so let’s do this exercise, think of your smart phone, that lovely devise with captivating screen, google, facebook, whatsapp and all. Now think of a flood and the smart phone gone! Who are you now? Tuche! Touche! I hope you know what to do, now that the fishes swim in your home, where you hid from the deadly dogs, lizards, bugs, flies and more. What now?

There is no fear which is not feared by all. Yet some rise over it. Do this and that and do whatever you like. Just remember every fear is worth standing up to. For in flood, in rain, in earthquake, fire or hurricane, you are no more or less than you are now. Go out and do what you wish for, so what if you think you can't. 

The Joker

Face painted white with large red circles on the cheeks, a thick red outline to the mouth. one eye painted with a red circle and the other with black, a long Santa clause hat on the head, the joker looked perfect for the act. "I got black eye'" he said, pointing to the black circle around his eye. "And I painted the wrong eye red!" Crowd giggling at his jokes.

"You know what is a joker without dress sense? ...A stand up comedian." The crowd clapped at this one with loud guffaws. "Truth be told the jokers are out of business. These are days of standup comedians. They and their double meaning jokes. Look at me, I am a joker and even if I don't speak you will laugh at me..." He just stood there looking from side to side, acting serious and the crowd roared with laughter. "You laugh at me because you know I am here to make you laugh and not to make people laugh at your expense." The clapping of the crowd showed that the crowd was in agreement with this funny man.

"Did you know I used to be a stand up comedian, the last guy I made fun of, is still running behind me with a dagger. But now he can't find me. I am safe behind the painted face!" Another applause.

"And I don't need to sound at all intellectual to make you laugh! Whatever I do is funny, look at me," he waved his hand towards the crowd, his frilly red gloves, many sizes bigger than his hand, kids roared with laughter. "Just look at me. Get a standup comedian to stand next to me. Who would make you laugh more?"

Now there was silence and from somewhere behind a thin wiry man came hopping over the feet of spectators and stumbling on the auditorium stairs and up on to the stage. "I am a stand-up comedian." Said the wiry man. "Well you will find it hard to stand, but anyway come stand next to me." Said the Joker. And there they were, a joker in all his trappings and the thin wiry man in a t-shirt and Jeans. The past meeting the present. "Who do you want to laugh at? The crowd was doubling up with laughter."

"Hey joker, called out the wiry man," joining in his act, "what have you against me?"

"I don't. look at me, I am healthy well fed, he said pointing to his fat belly," part of his joker costume, "and you are the one emaciated for food. Here I will offer you my jacket and you will become well fed too." He began taking off the jacket with the potbelly.

"You are fat," said the wiry man.

"Says who? The man who did not eat for years?" Retorted the joker

"No the man whose food you have been eating all these years," said the wiry man.

Now the joker was feeling the pinch. The wiry man was getting the trick and was getting at him.

"Okay man, here I found your long lost brother please hug him. He offered a wire to the man." The wiry man took it and hugged it and began crying, continuing the act. While spectators laughed on.

The crowd's roaring laughter suggested that the situation was getting precarious for the joker.

"You and your brother can take your seats," he announced. "Just make sure not to leave any lose ends on the stage." And he had the crowd back clapping for him. The wiry man was back in his seat. Social distancing is the best way to avoid this catch 22 situation in the future, thought the joker to himself. What a lesson!

You Win

"I win, I win. I am going to win for sure." Rhea jumped up and down on the sofa.

Ila didn't bat her eyelid before saying, "whats is all this fuss about winning or losing Rhea, I thought we were having fun,"

But Rhea had geared up for defence. "Oh well, that is what they say when they are losing, loser...loserrrr!"

This was how Rhea and Ila fought, played, laughed, joked and fought again, got tired and slept. Rhea had no other friends to play with, so her mother had to be her friend. Ila had no other adult to talk to so her daughter had to be her confidant. They were not far from civilisation... they were not even far from the next door neighbour. They were in an apartment complex, living the social distancing, locked up within the four walls of their own flat.

The streets empty and desolate. the virus invisible but rampant. Was the world coming apart? Ila was jerked out of her revere when Rhea came running with her latest art work. Rhea loved to draw. At 8 she was bubbling with energy all day which Ila had hard time channelising. Her artwork time was the relaxation time for Ila.

Chill ran through Ila's spine, as she looked at this new art work from Rhea. One girl, just her back in a city, with tall buildings and parks and shut down shops and dogs and cats. Just one girl in the entire city, faceless, alone and lonely, walking aimlessly. She ran to Rheas room to check her earlier drawings, one tree in a desolate land, one sapling on a white sheet of paper, one pencil, one leaf... Rhea was taking this lockdown into her psyche. She was creating a lonely girl in all her drawings.

Tears ran down her cheeks as Ila hugged Rhea, "It is not going to be always like this Rhea. You will play with your friends again soon." Ila was not sure she was consoling Rhea or herself.

"Mamma why are you crying? I am scared." Rhea's little form trembled within Ila's arms. She just held her, comforting her, as Rhea began wriggling out of her arms.

"Catch me if you can." Rhea squealed and ran. Back to being the child that she was.

"You win Rhea." Ila said, running towards her little girl to catch her and tickle her up in loads.