Part of my days end up in thinking about what's life going to be like? After all the ups and downs that I've faced, frankly my childhood was perfect, can't point a finger at anything wrong from that phase and then comes the adulthood, pretty much everything from 16 to 20. Ever since I hit 16, all I've encountered was confusion. This new introduction to bewilderedness and unpleasant situations never made sense. Why would I always want things I could never handle? Even as a child, I'd prefer drinking water from glass tumblers than normal stainless steel ones, just to have a different take at drinking water, different from others. Glass tumblers were slippery in my hands, I'd end up dropping them (pretty much all the time) or once I almost bit the top of the tumbler, for what joy I can't remember, but I'm sure I was annoyed or something. So I bit the top chunk and it was shaped like a broadened U. Fifteen minutes later my mother started panicking about the missing piece of the tumbler. They searched the sink, the utensils, the kitchen, my room, my dress, everything that made them think it would be lying there. My father probably joked about how they should hold me upside down and it would pop out of my mouth or maybe tomorrow morning it would be in the pot by itself. My mom for sure didn't appear to adore his sense of humor at that moment. While I watched everyone panic, not comprehending the situation, I was keeping busy.
It didn't bother me till somebody suggested that they must take me to the doctor immediately. Mother must have panicked worse after that, imagine a sharp glass piece in my tiny stomach. Imagine the number of cuts my intestines would have to endure, the internal bleeding, the unconscious damage my body will go through and slowly, mind you, slowly kill me and choke me. Or maybe bleed me to death till morning and if I weren't operated upon, I'd just live 5 years on the planet. Imagine what my parents must have gone through. Those moments when somebody suggested that it's high time I was rushed to the hospital, mother could have been worried, sweating drops of fat sweat and praying that nothing damages my throat-oesophagus-stomach etc. My father was the man who'd control his nerve in situations like these. I guess, that's where I get the 'I don't lose my cool so easily' from.
While all this chaos was taking shape, I was still unsure what's the hullabaloo was about. I'm still sipping on my green apple soda and wondering what I would give to go back into that moment and remember what I was thinking. Was I scared? Was I enjoying the sudden shower of attention? Was I anyway interested? Did I understand why my mother was panicking? Did I want my father to lift me up and hold me in his arms? Did I want to sit and watch tv letting the chaos settle on its own? I don't know. But I do remember it was this guy who used to help mom with the household work, this guy called Rangavalli, who came running with the glass showing the chomped off area. I wonder what he is doing now. I wonder if he has naughty children and a nice wife who cooks and takes care of him and the kids. I wonder if he's making any money, enough to send his kids to school and give them a good education. Making sure they would be a hundred steps ahead of him, he was after all a bungalow peon. He wouldn't want his children to grow up and be him. Every man who has worked for us, probably secretly wished that his children grow up and be somewhere like Dad. With the designation, the respect, the confidence, etc. Why won't they?
So back to the missing glass chip that everybody assumed was inside me, already cutting my young cells and internal organs that will not like the bleeding one bit. Mom tried to get me to puke my guts out, well really, puke my guts out, hoping that the part would fall off with the dinner I just had with water from the almost famous glass tumbler. When would I jump up and cry? When would I scream and run around the house in pain? Would I cry loud that the neighbors would curse and come running too? Would I choke? What if it's too big to go through the throat? Would I gasp and cut my throat further? What would I do?
What did I do.
A good 45 minutes later, when everybody was ready to leave the house and rush to the doctor, Rangavalli was asked to take care of the house. He went back to his zone, the minding his business around the house zone, the zone which gives him the liberty to breathe easy, boosts confidence where he knows what he was doing, oh frankly, mom always thought he was a little cuckoo. Like if she asked him to get two litres of milk and a dozen bananas, he'd bring two bananas and a dozen packets of milk. Know what I mean? He was the typical Suppandi character from the Tinkles that I used to read as a child. This zone was more than just work. It would let him dream about a future that he would want to have, a future that lets his self respect grow by day. A day without anybody cussing him or his ignorance. He must have left his village with a local uncle who must have promised a job, he must have jumped onto a train with him without paying for the ticket and landed where we were and as luck would have it, mom needed a person to help her with the house and cleaning. (I somehow find servant very derogatory, also, mom didn't trust him with everything. Not the actual "trust" trust, she didn't trust that he understood what she wanted him to do around the house. So it was indeed "helping" my mother.)
Was I being carried downstairs? We lived in a big apartment of sorts called 602/J. It had two houses on either sides with a staircase going the usual straight way. We were on one of the top floors without a lift so we had to climb down. A minute before leaving the house, when daddy was probably checking his wallet and checking for the bike keys, mom was quickly pulling her purse and me, I was unusually curious about the events.
Rangavalli suddenly comes dashing to the living room where my parents are and with a bout of overflowing happiness holds the glass piece up. The world suddenly didn't have hungry children, dying animals, old dying people, terror attacks and crime, the world didn't have any of these for those couple of moments. Perhaps they celebrated a little, perhaps they laughed it off and all of this is my exaggerated version of what really happened or they were relieved and fell asleep holding me really close in the big bed the three of us slept in.
Perhaps.
But here's the thing. When your childhood was so well taken care of and crafted, you will possibly be unknown with the fearsome and trouble waiting to jump onto you as you grow older and realize that life is not just about being a happy kid, surprising people in trains with precocious conversations that would lead to truck loads of compliments to my parents about how they're bringing me up and how I would one day grow up and make them proud, how I would grow up to be a sharp human being.
How I would grow up to be a very very smart human being.
I still don't know what everybody meant by that. It's not funny when everybody you talk to end up saying that, not boasting but it gets creepy. After creepy it gets crazy, you would actually want to sit and ask them what exactly do they mean by I would be smart and grow up outshining? What is this smartness that I already don't know about? What's with the need to outshine and make the world notice me? Why the need to compliment my parents about how I was brought up. Why the urge to always judge kids based on how they make conversations or how they act grown up when the rest are still immature and ignorant?
No, really. Sometimes, the values and judgements of people are so baseless that you'd not find faith in anything to believe in. There will be a time in your life where you wouldn't believe anymore. The word belief would be reckoned as acknowledgment of the existence of a subject or idea. Until I find the right meaning and explanation to what goes on around me, I would cease to believe in anything people say about it. From crushes to people you've never met, if everyone ended up saying the same thing while the world is crumbling and falling apart with the never ending stress added on top of an already stressful schedule without any promise of fruits being produced by the plant called future and the roots called attitude.
I shall sip my never ending green apple soda and say loudly, "This too shall pass" while a couple sit across my table try really hard to order something to eat and not sound lame while ordering the right food, incase the other person judges them on their choices, oh no, wouldn't that be so sad? Imagine, somebody wouldn't have a second date with you because you didn't know what Bolognese Cheese it or why a particular sandwich has been named "Manet" in a coffee shop that is partly an art gallery.
My world with it's never ending problems and beautiful music shall run its course and keep me on my toes from time to time, someone's always coming around and I'll be collecting a million pictures of them, a million sketches of things that made me feel something more than just normal everyday feelings, something that will redefine the history that Ive carried over my back since I was born. Something will come my way, that will slowly, very slowly blow me away, although I'm actually that person who would jump and burst in excitement immediately instead of letting nature take it's sweet time with the course of events that it wants to shape in my life.
But I've got to creep down the alley way,
It didn't bother me till somebody suggested that they must take me to the doctor immediately. Mother must have panicked worse after that, imagine a sharp glass piece in my tiny stomach. Imagine the number of cuts my intestines would have to endure, the internal bleeding, the unconscious damage my body will go through and slowly, mind you, slowly kill me and choke me. Or maybe bleed me to death till morning and if I weren't operated upon, I'd just live 5 years on the planet. Imagine what my parents must have gone through. Those moments when somebody suggested that it's high time I was rushed to the hospital, mother could have been worried, sweating drops of fat sweat and praying that nothing damages my throat-oesophagus-stomach etc. My father was the man who'd control his nerve in situations like these. I guess, that's where I get the 'I don't lose my cool so easily' from.
While all this chaos was taking shape, I was still unsure what's the hullabaloo was about. I'm still sipping on my green apple soda and wondering what I would give to go back into that moment and remember what I was thinking. Was I scared? Was I enjoying the sudden shower of attention? Was I anyway interested? Did I understand why my mother was panicking? Did I want my father to lift me up and hold me in his arms? Did I want to sit and watch tv letting the chaos settle on its own? I don't know. But I do remember it was this guy who used to help mom with the household work, this guy called Rangavalli, who came running with the glass showing the chomped off area. I wonder what he is doing now. I wonder if he has naughty children and a nice wife who cooks and takes care of him and the kids. I wonder if he's making any money, enough to send his kids to school and give them a good education. Making sure they would be a hundred steps ahead of him, he was after all a bungalow peon. He wouldn't want his children to grow up and be him. Every man who has worked for us, probably secretly wished that his children grow up and be somewhere like Dad. With the designation, the respect, the confidence, etc. Why won't they?
So back to the missing glass chip that everybody assumed was inside me, already cutting my young cells and internal organs that will not like the bleeding one bit. Mom tried to get me to puke my guts out, well really, puke my guts out, hoping that the part would fall off with the dinner I just had with water from the almost famous glass tumbler. When would I jump up and cry? When would I scream and run around the house in pain? Would I cry loud that the neighbors would curse and come running too? Would I choke? What if it's too big to go through the throat? Would I gasp and cut my throat further? What would I do?
What did I do.
A good 45 minutes later, when everybody was ready to leave the house and rush to the doctor, Rangavalli was asked to take care of the house. He went back to his zone, the minding his business around the house zone, the zone which gives him the liberty to breathe easy, boosts confidence where he knows what he was doing, oh frankly, mom always thought he was a little cuckoo. Like if she asked him to get two litres of milk and a dozen bananas, he'd bring two bananas and a dozen packets of milk. Know what I mean? He was the typical Suppandi character from the Tinkles that I used to read as a child. This zone was more than just work. It would let him dream about a future that he would want to have, a future that lets his self respect grow by day. A day without anybody cussing him or his ignorance. He must have left his village with a local uncle who must have promised a job, he must have jumped onto a train with him without paying for the ticket and landed where we were and as luck would have it, mom needed a person to help her with the house and cleaning. (I somehow find servant very derogatory, also, mom didn't trust him with everything. Not the actual "trust" trust, she didn't trust that he understood what she wanted him to do around the house. So it was indeed "helping" my mother.)
Was I being carried downstairs? We lived in a big apartment of sorts called 602/J. It had two houses on either sides with a staircase going the usual straight way. We were on one of the top floors without a lift so we had to climb down. A minute before leaving the house, when daddy was probably checking his wallet and checking for the bike keys, mom was quickly pulling her purse and me, I was unusually curious about the events.
Rangavalli suddenly comes dashing to the living room where my parents are and with a bout of overflowing happiness holds the glass piece up. The world suddenly didn't have hungry children, dying animals, old dying people, terror attacks and crime, the world didn't have any of these for those couple of moments. Perhaps they celebrated a little, perhaps they laughed it off and all of this is my exaggerated version of what really happened or they were relieved and fell asleep holding me really close in the big bed the three of us slept in.
Perhaps.
But here's the thing. When your childhood was so well taken care of and crafted, you will possibly be unknown with the fearsome and trouble waiting to jump onto you as you grow older and realize that life is not just about being a happy kid, surprising people in trains with precocious conversations that would lead to truck loads of compliments to my parents about how they're bringing me up and how I would one day grow up and make them proud, how I would grow up to be a sharp human being.
How I would grow up to be a very very smart human being.
I still don't know what everybody meant by that. It's not funny when everybody you talk to end up saying that, not boasting but it gets creepy. After creepy it gets crazy, you would actually want to sit and ask them what exactly do they mean by I would be smart and grow up outshining? What is this smartness that I already don't know about? What's with the need to outshine and make the world notice me? Why the need to compliment my parents about how I was brought up. Why the urge to always judge kids based on how they make conversations or how they act grown up when the rest are still immature and ignorant?
No, really. Sometimes, the values and judgements of people are so baseless that you'd not find faith in anything to believe in. There will be a time in your life where you wouldn't believe anymore. The word belief would be reckoned as acknowledgment of the existence of a subject or idea. Until I find the right meaning and explanation to what goes on around me, I would cease to believe in anything people say about it. From crushes to people you've never met, if everyone ended up saying the same thing while the world is crumbling and falling apart with the never ending stress added on top of an already stressful schedule without any promise of fruits being produced by the plant called future and the roots called attitude.
I shall sip my never ending green apple soda and say loudly, "This too shall pass" while a couple sit across my table try really hard to order something to eat and not sound lame while ordering the right food, incase the other person judges them on their choices, oh no, wouldn't that be so sad? Imagine, somebody wouldn't have a second date with you because you didn't know what Bolognese Cheese it or why a particular sandwich has been named "Manet" in a coffee shop that is partly an art gallery.
My world with it's never ending problems and beautiful music shall run its course and keep me on my toes from time to time, someone's always coming around and I'll be collecting a million pictures of them, a million sketches of things that made me feel something more than just normal everyday feelings, something that will redefine the history that Ive carried over my back since I was born. Something will come my way, that will slowly, very slowly blow me away, although I'm actually that person who would jump and burst in excitement immediately instead of letting nature take it's sweet time with the course of events that it wants to shape in my life.
But I've got to creep down the alley way,
Fly down the highway,
Before they come to catch me I'll be gone.
Somewhere they can't find me.
