Babysitting with BoJy

Awakening from sleep, the Infant lets out a warning cry to get the attention of a family member and whimpers till taken out to the balcony. Meanwhile keeps gently rubbing away the remnant of sleep from the eyes. Then, a brief smile appears on the face, probably assessing the worth of sparing a full blown smile.

When the other person responds positively, this brief smile changes to an acknowledging ‘Donald Duck’ brand smile; a wide grin accompanied by twinkling eyes.  A favourite babysitter has been chosen for the occasion. After enjoying the daylight and fresh breath of air, the Infant remains in contemplation for a while, all the while pouting. The babysitter is kept in the dark about the plans drawn up for execution.

The morning fresh air might have kindled the Infant’s botanical interest. Tiny flowers or buds from the garden get a special attention. With focused eyes, the hands stretch out slowly as if trying to catch a gadfly. The bud or flower receives an affectionate caress and then the fingers slowly close over it.

The next moment the flower or bud gets separated from the plant. As an afterthought, the Infant turns back to smile, mischievously at the babysitter as if thanking for the physical support rendered to lean and reach the plant. After a cursory inspection, the flower or bud either gets tasted or discarded.

This Infant’s playful mind and body is ever alive to curiosity; eyes constantly surveying for objects or obstacles, and vocal cords ready to render stirring background score. Thus an outlet, for converting the stored potential energy to dynamic energy, has been found. All these assessments are completed in the blink of an eye of the babysitter.

The act of learning to crawl is like swimming, no matter how hard the floor is. Arms fly forward and then by arching the back, pushes with the legs, to undertake a tour of inspection. If you have never seen a caterpillar learning to swim, don’t miss your chance to watch this live demonstration! Like champion swimmers, looks back with a cackle (laughter) as if expecting a thunderous applause for the effort.

Exhibiting an acute sense of taste, the Infant gets drawn to any object of interest lying in the path - a toy or a feeding spoon or a piece of paper. They are left behind, only after giving them a affectionate ‘saliva wash’ as if to stamp ‘OK, passes taste’. If nothing else is available within easy reach, a printed bill or the fingers holding the bill enjoy the same treatment.

A bean bag, a sofa, a bookcase, a coffee table or a rocker is an object to be scaled and conquered. The whole affair of climbing reminds the babysitter of a caterpillar trying to swim on a vertical/sloping plane. Hands gripping at a vantage point, manoeuvring to place the legs somehow on the object being climbed, bend at the knees and then try to hop like a worm. Loosing hold or repeated falling is simply forgotten after a brief cry. Finally the assault to reach the summit succeeds and with a mere 70cm of height, the Infant tries to stand as tall as possible.

Spoon feeding, at meal time, is the ultimate endurance test for patience and perseverance. The Infant demands for a spare spoon and shows annoyance when unable to scoop up food or deliver the scoopful into the mouth. Undaunted by these failures, tries to use the spoon as a mouthorgan. If bored with this activity, takes on a new avatar as spray painter- mixing saliva with food and dispatching it at the same rate as being fed.  Is it not enough to keep the babysitter on toes?

Once on the road (sightseeing?!), the head and torso of the Infant twists and turns like a periscope, not to miss out on anything that is of interest. Being automobile-crazy, the tail lights get maximum attention and are watched till they disappear from sight. The blinding head light beams receive a cursory glance and are dismissed like flicking dust from the shirt sleeves.

On these road-walks, the Infant becomes a human CCTV camera with pan, tilt and zoom facilities. To get a clear view or wanting to react to a particular type of engine sound uses body language to convey the message to the babysitter – grunts combined with twist and turns of the body. If in excited state, forcefully nudges with the legs, like a jockey urging the horse, to demand immediate compliance with the conveyed message.

The Infant’s sleeping time is a different story, altogether. The babysitter has to perform a variety entertainment programme involving crooning, dancing, fencing, swinging and may be a walk in the park, even if it is midnight!

Occasionally the Infant likes to play hide and seek before calling it a day.  Yet to go verbal, the Infant’s body language throws up a question:  where am I?  The snuggling up implies the answer: In your heart! - as if  granting  a good night’s rest for the babysitter.

Are these not a heady mixture of high octane activities to keep any babysitter busy? Bones ready to fall apart, muscles strained in all the 360° possible. The aching body is left reminded about the long forgotten lessons on ‘parts of body’. This anatomy class, for the babysitter, is free and conducted without the help of external aids such as X-ray and scans.

Having said all the above, Babysitting BoJy isn't something that I'd forfeit.

Incessant rains

Bystander literally swam through the rushing water on the arterial highway.  As far as his eyes could see there was nothing but flood water. For the last two days, he has been forced to live like a man marooned in an ocean. He was shivering with cold and seething with anger. The second reason for his anger was, he did not know swimming and felt pathetic when he had to “hang-paddle” along with a neighbour, whom he never knew existed till now.

The third important reason happened to be that the neighbour appeared more courageous though not a swimmer. The fourth one was the sight of a stray dog lunging through the flowing water, driven by fear or courage to safeguard its life. The cumulated anger became so intense; the flood water swirling around him started feeling the heat.

Somehow he managed to reach a high ground, in this case that happened to be the stump of a felled tree. Even in his distressed state, he admired the stump which in its heydays might have supported a very big tree.

He chose the weather and rains to vent his anger, in copious measure, standing at the border of illogical reasoning. “Why the rains which usually visit in meager millimeters should suddenly decide to up the ante to centimeters? Why should it graduate from millimeters to centimeters, in a hurry,   within 8 to 12 hrs?” On realizing his futility in shouting at the rain, he directed that unqualified anger at himself.

The first shot went aiming at this impulsive decision to meet Muser living about half a kilometer away, from the tree stump where he was now. The second one was for taking that decision expecting nothing but a deluge of words to greet him on arrival, at Muser’s house. Cursing weathermen, who continued to bless the city more days of more rains, and intuitively avoiding potholes and manholes, he reached his destination without any mishap.As he had anticipated, the reception was worse than the rain.

“Are you mad and a fool to come in this sort of a weather, instead you could have called me?”

“Cell phone battery is down; the land line is dead. How could I have called you?”

This answer sounded kindergartenesque reply to Muser. Bystander felt like a frog happily croaking away, inviting the snake to complete the kill.

“The weather was worsening and had you been alert, at least cell phone would have worked till the towers shut down and electricity was cut”.

“I did not expect the weather to become so bad and serious like this”.

“So, you still don’t believe in these weather predictions! Even, after experiencing the the last month’s heavy rains?”

“You know my nature very well. I have not taken them seriously and so far had been getting away with predicted heavy to very heavy rains, lightly!”

“How are you managing for water? Did you arrange to install a hand pump as I suggested last time?”

“Not yet. But somehow we are managing with the water from the underground sump and water cans”.

“From all these preparedness of yours, I guess you have no stock of provision, milk, drinking water, candles why even a spare match box. You will buy milk at Rs 100, a candle at Rs 20 and a match box for Rs 10 or what. My dear friend when you will learn to take care of such elementary things, after another spell of bad weather?”

Getting no reply, an exasperated Muser said, “Come over with your family and stay for as long as this weather conditions last. This is the best I can do right now. Let them not suffer on account of your foolhardiness. About correcting that, we will see later. By the by, did you hear anything from Tom?”

At that moment Bystander felt “the incessant rain was better, it was not pointing out his mistakes but straight away meeting out punishments”.  Mentally appreciating Muser’s thoughtful planning for a rainy day; he started his wet walk back home.He chided himself for not even procuring a portable generator which Muser had. “Then again what is the use; he would have certainly not stocked the fuel for it!”

The realisation that the commissions and omissions committed by him have only brought him to this hapless state now, struck like a bolt of lightning. What sickened him most was, the list itself could have drowned him on a sunny day!

He was perplexed too. Why Muser came down harder at him, of all the people. Why to enquire about Tom as if it was his look out?

The incessant rain, having exhausted its resources, started abating, feeling weak. To further debilitate its weakness, the noon sun broke out through the anaemic clouds as if it had waited too long to venture out. The siege on the city has been lifted and nature in all its unpredictability suddenly decided enough is enough.

Ignoring Bystander’s habitual grumblings, the city decided to move on.With the ray of sunlight, the marooned humanity trooped out, like ants in search of food, to take a stroll, a ride or hurried out to get on with their life.The domestic & international carriers have started flight operations. Air passengers with disrupted travel plans received the news as a marooned population would greet the air dropping of relief materials, in their midst.

More than nobody else Bystander felt relieved “no more swimming in water or words, for the present”.If Bystander happens to be an acquaintance, the last phrase will be understood  as: “no more swimming in water or words, till next rains”.

If Bystander happens to be an acquaintance, the last phrase will be read as: “no more swimming in water or words, after next rains”.

The frozen heart and Insectanimosity

The Heart in deep freezer:

Truth is a statement and is as unique as darkness. Delve deep into darkness to know whether it has absorbed all the lights and colours (or) had renounced them all? When this understanding dawns, truth is born.   Till such time truth remains merely as a statement. 

Shadows cannot manifest in pitch darkness. Thoughts in human minds can cast shadows, lacking illumination of a different kind and not the one from a light source. The predominant human emotions such as hate, pride, sadness, anger, defeat, disappointment, guilt, subjugation etc only act in the pitch darkness to cast those shadows. There is a puppet master to these shadows – fear.

Fear, the chief architect employs mistrust, ill-will, thanklessness and lack of self confidence to design and cast these shadows in the minds. If life is a tree, then the stem & branches become the lineage. The hidden roots not only nourish   the tree but water and germinate seeds of traits in any individual .We call this as genetic manifestation.

A confused mind develops the habit of using different yardstick for different persons & times. This confusion is not because of lack of analytical skills but due to the tendency to fudge reality with perceived hurts or deemed hurts some might experience. Such persons do forget that even this sort of selective gradation might be hurting someone else. This predilection to take off at a tangent, hyperbola or parabola leads to nowhere but distancing away from close contacts. The essence is to understand that ‘some’ and ‘someone else’ together constitute a family.

This analogy might help a little. What happens when a prism is used to view an image? It gets split, coloured and distorted. For the mind seeing only shadows, distorted images offer non-existent comfort and safety. They don’t stop with this. The highly attuned ones develop the habit of using a microscope instead of a telescope. Microscope magnifies and terrifies; telescope shrinks as a point of light. Which will be better – the magnification or an insignificant point of light?

Life is all about riding the learning curve. However deeply mired the person might be, there are remedies. But the difficult part is to shed the darkness willingly without expecting an overnight miracle. It starts with opening up of the eyes to take a fresh look at the world without the prism or the microscope. Use the selective amnesia technique, wantonly to shelve preset notions from the mind.

                                          

The Insect-animosity:

Insects abound around us like the countless bacteria. In both, useful and harmful types are present. Other than these classifications, we may need one more – nuisance type. Cockroach, house fly and mosquito are harmful as well as a nuisance.

The harmful part of the above mentioned insects is related to health – they remain healthy and pass on the diseases to us. The harmful part is tackled on a war footing using insecticides.

The nuisance part begs description, as each one of them has a differing style of attack. The fly and mosquito swatting is the simple standard practice in all the households. But the swatting of cockroaches need a broom and invariably beaten to death!

To live up to the name, the mosquitoes drone around our ears, searching for suitable landing site. After hearing the music you feel a sting or it gets crushed depending up on whoever has the quickest reflex action.

This heat-seeking guided missile goes about the war on human beings on 24 X 7 basis. The ‘tortoise’, being proverbially slow is of no avail. The ‘bottled’ magic has not done much to diminish its enthusiasm. Still the mosquito stings with a contaminated needle and gets ready to sing for another victim. A tennis elbow results if you resort to combat the menace with an ‘electronic bat’!

Though not similarly nicknamed, the flies copy-cat the humming of mosquitoes. Its main hobby is to land and merely irritate on any exposed part of the human anatomy.

Its colour and the compound eyes start the ball of annoyance rolling in us. To sweeten our welling anger, it mockingly wipes its antennae on its forelegs. Like migratory birds they descend in a group and take turn in carrying on with these antics. In the end, we get our leg and arm muscles brought to shape from incessant wielding of the fly swat. For a swarm of flies, the pest-o-mat is of no match.

When serious, it tastes edible items left uncovered and while partaking the a la carte meal leaves a host of germs as if to settle the bill!

The odd insect out of this group is the cockroach which has its own unique style to irritate and intimidate.

Its colour sets fire to our nervous system which reacts by raising the hate level. Its ungainly flight and landing, on or in front of the person is the last act that uncorks the bottled up anger. To make the matters worse, it emerges from sink holes and drain holes with disdain.

Whatever be the state of agitation in the mind, one cannot hide admiration for its ability to contort, compact and burst in to freedom from the hell hole of a sewerage drain.

Then it finds its way in to cupboards or stowed carton boxes as a fugitive from law. The drain hole or a dinner plate means the same thing to it – an invitation for food.

The bolder ones mock at us by waving their feelers, throwing a challenge for a sword fight. Their challenge always dies at the end of a fat broomstick.

So far we have seen the reactions of a normal person, who has dislike to these insects having harmful intent and nuisance values. Now let us get the views of people with different mindset:

A philosophically oriented person will ignore or accept their presence saying, “live and let them also live”.

An entomologist will spend time watching every move they make, to study their life and leave them alive for another scientist to gain knowledge – so no harm done.

One in the Public Health Division will look for ways to annihilate the menace so that he can also sleep peacefully.

The one carrying out R & D in a Health Products Division will come up with new medicines to kill them all!

The counter attack:

Oblivious to my surroundings, I was immersed in solving a problem of my own making. In the midst, I heard the impatient knock on the door, which sounded like heavy hammer blows. Who else has the temerity, except the Little Typhoon, to disturb my tranquility or thinking in such a fashion?

I gave her a cold welcome with minimal words. She quietly came and sat on the sofa, strewn with books and papers. Silently she started riffling through the pages of a picture book. This perked up my annoyance a little as she had already brought that book to a dilapidated condition – hard covers amputated, pages soiled and the binding stitches ready to hang their threads.

In not so a kind voice, I accused her of mutilating a good book and going a step farther, called it an act of sin. I indicated to her, my intention to tell her mother for appropriate action. 

She did not take the ‘sin’ part kindly and immediately retorted saying, “you might have also torn books and have disobeyed your mother in your childhood”. She asked, with slightly flared nostrils, “If those were not sins, what else they could have been?”.

With this angry outburst, she had deftly deflected my intention of informing her mother about Little Typhoon’s handiwork. For.For awhile, I kept a little low profile mainly waiting for her imaginative listing to continue or commence.

May be she mistook d this silence as a sign of weakness and confidently said, “I can cite ten sins you have committed, are you ready to listen to them?”

She had decided to wave the red rag to the bull! The conversation was getting more and more interesting. To goad her further, I said “yes, I am ready to hear them”. Holding my breath, I waited for her to commence.

She gave a recap of the ‘tit for tat’ statements and declared, “Add these two also to whatever now I am going to list”. 

“You speak louder than usual, whenever you don’t like my coming to talk or play with”. Immediately I made a mental note to moderate the decibel level, in future.

“I rarely see you smiling and always appear serious or worried”. This was a bull’s eye hit! Probably it was way above her age to know that a serious or worried person has no time for calibrated smiles.

“Saturdays and Sundays, you go to office and your clothes appear dirty when you come back home”. 

“When I am in need of a little help, you are unwilling and say I have to go to office, right now”

There cannot be any other understatement like this. Helping her is like fighting in a war. Missiles, shells and landmines are liberally used by her, albeit playfully! The reader will now understand why going to office is safer!

“How many times I have reminded about this? You are still closing the door with a bang” .A second bull’s eye has been scored. I agree but I do have an intensive, hard touch.

“You always find time to uproot and replant new types of plants or look at the leaves and branches of trees”. A keen observer indeed! Will she appreciate that by doing so, I am munching on a technical issue or training my mind to remain focused.

“When I ask a little doubt, you end up giving me a lengthy lecture”. A sniper shot. Less said about this is better for my image!

At this point, she seemed to have run out of steam and paused a little. I gently mocked at her saying, “For all your boasting, you are not even able to complete the list”

She responded haughtily saying, “Is it not a sin to tease a little girl like this. Can I add this to the list?”

This quick repartee sat well with me and I let out a broad smile at her ingenuity in somehow completing the list. She knew that I knew the count has come to exactly ten. After a few moments of silence she left as gently as possible.

Reminiscing I saluted her keen observation of my personality and agreed with her innocent, honest assessment. Is she going to be a psychoanalyst? Is she planning to excel in competitive exams? What will her future goals be?

Disturbance or not, I liked her company for the sheer joy of hearing her concocted logic and the ever present never-say-die attitude.

Lazy Afternoons

A lazy afternoon and listless mind made me to visually survey the room from where I was trying to unsuccessfully fight a war with ennui. The first glance fell on the roof, as it required minimal body movement. I did not want to sacrifice the comfort of a well cushioned sofa.

The inventory came to  cobwebs in assorted shapes, dust coated light bulbs and fan blades. The ceiling fan had four blades and cursed myself for selecting that in the first place.

Not liking the reminder on pending works from the roof, I shifted my gaze to the two corners of the wall, just in front of me which again required little effort. Surprisingly the corner on the right hand side had no reminder to send and somehow had managed to be free of cobwebs at least.

Feeling a bit elated, I ventured to have a look at the second corner but it chose to deflate my happiness balloons I had just floated. A confused mass of wires meant for telephone and DTH, each of them sporting a noose as if ready to hang in shame for my laziness greeted me derisively.The wires had a point: I had let them to dangle and act as aerial dust bins.

Continuing with my least energy expenditure policy, I gave a once over at the left and right side walls of the room. The roof and the left side corner of the front wall have already signed a pact with the walls being looked at by me. The visuals I got from the side walls were depressing.

Like an extremely stressed person drawing on the last ounce of energy and courage, I stood in front of the fourth wall, so far hidden behind my back, to complete the inspection whatever may be the outcome.

An oily halo, wherever I have rested my head, wire running to my makeshift reading lamp and the usual gathering of dust were all there to greet me (or mock at me?). 

Suddenly I remembered this line: ‘every day starts with a ‘now’ and ends with a ‘then’!

A new fountain head of energy coursed through my mind and body, sweeping away the laziness. I found a pen and started to capture the thoughts at that moment. Though the attempt needed a thorough revision, I was satisfied with my outpouring.

Any one suffering with boredom on a lazy afternoon, like what I endured, is welcome to help me with the revision. Who knows it might help you to chase away the boredom of a lazy afternoon!

Another lazy afternoon:

I have found out to my dismay that these lazy afternoons have no holidays. This was a rude awakening as I had been consigning them to only Sundays and national holidays.

Confronted with the task of passing the intervening hours from lunch to sunset, my mind went into a tizzy as it was like a genie out of the magic lamp, demanding work. This left me in a fix since I had no plans for such an eventuality.None of the pending works, begging for completion, interested me thus compounding the misery on this lazy afternoon.

All of a sudden, a spider dangling from the roof caught my eyes. The Sherlock Holmes in me wiped the palms together in glee. What will be a better bargain than the mysterious appearance of a spider in the room?

The solution to the mystery lay in the answers I set out to find:  “where from it came, why and when? How come it escaped my attention, so far?

I set to unravel the mystery where it could have come from? It took the best part of half an hour to inspect for openings through which the spider could have ambled in to the room. There were no opened windows or doors, thanks to my habit of locking down everything when thy air conditioner is on. Further efforts produced a viable clue – DTH cable entry! I spent some more time to confirm the possibility of that insect slipping through this tiny opening. May be was the conclusion.

Not to be left behind, the ‘why’ and ‘when’ were impatiently waiting for resolution, which I promptly complied with.I suspected that the roof must be an important link in this affair and accordingly looked for hidden clues to solve this ‘why’ mystery.  The roof must have been kindly remembering my act of personally painting it to give a fresh look. In that process all its old scars have vanished as if a cosmetic surgery has been carried out. It blurted out the story of mosquitoes residing there, without valid permission. The ‘why’ has been answered!

The ‘when’ stumped me like a ‘nicked’ ball sticking itself to the wicket-keeper's glove, refusing to get spilled, to end a batsman’s tenure at the crease!

This is when I recollected my act of omission committed during the last week: I had left the doors open for awhile (a good part of the day) to allow fresh air and sunlight to come in and forgot to close them later. Alas!The mystery was dissolving like a bank of summer cloud – threatening to develop in to a thunderstorm and ending up in a whimper!

Engrossed in solving the case of the errant spider, I did not notice the passage of time. A look at the clock startled me;I could not even see the hands on its face and from the angry growling of my stomach, I could easily guess it was dinner time.

Along with the evaporated mystery of the spider, my lazy afternoon had also vanished. I trudged along to the dining table, feeling happy to have made Mr. Sherlock Holmes a little proud, of course posthumously. 

In my reminiscence, I almost heard him whisper “plug the hole you have made for the cable entry or you will have another spider in the room”.

Defaults and not my faults

Assignment by default:

Human mind has innumerable mechanisms to prevent ‘hanging’ of the system. One such is the ‘default assignment’. This works on associative principle, whereby unrelated events are woven into a fabric of satisfying reality!

This mechanism operates even in the case of persons with staunch disbelief in superstitions, idiosyncrasies such as astrology, numerology etc; these external posturing by such persons is the gen 2 version of the ‘default mechanism’. This mechanism  has universal reach, sparing none.

The success or failure could be in any endeavour or profession perused by an individual. As long as a yardstick for failure or success exists, no one can escape the unabating attention of this mechanism. The mind takes it upon itself to assemble probable causes for a failure or success. In this process, the ‘default mechanism’ plays the role of a king pin. Theory and practice go hand in hand in the mind ,so bent upon , as opposed to practice after theory regimen we generally follow.

To begin with the mind invokes the "Law of Consequences" to shift the blame, in case of a failed attempt. Lame excuses such as ‘Had this not happened ‘or ‘had he not intervened’ or ‘had it been yesterday’ wear the mantle of deemed responsibility. Thus men, events and time have been brought under its ambit, in one sweep of biased reasoning.

Next in line is the application of the " Law of Preservation" . Here the mind attempts to paint a rosy picture to lessen the burden on the conscience: “the setbacks have not resulted from acts of commission or omission on its thinking part.It says loud and clear "I never failed to attempt but attempts only failed me!”

Now the "Law of association" takes over. Who sneezed when setting out to start a work? What was the day, auspicious or inauspicious? At the start of the work was there a power failure? The mind automatically catalogues these non-incidents in support of its theories and keeps them for immediate or later day usage.

Even in a normally forgetful person, these associative actions never fail to take place at lightning speeds!

If these laws become overwhelmed by the gravity of failures, the mind then plays its ultimate trump card: the "Law of karma & retribution!"

Unlike failures, success has many parents, it exits with this poignant one liner: the "Law of because.."

Pretenses – Not My Fault:

I never imagined that my harmless pastimes will slowly catch up and put me on a pedestal. To be honest, I did not do the climbing, as there were no stairs leading up to the pedestal. But be assured the transportation upwards was a step by step affair.

On hindsight, I believe the root cause could have been my varied interests I chose to pursue as hobbies – the armchair variety! But creation of a false image of me was definitely not one of them, not even to pass the time!

The green foliage, flowers of varied hues kindled my curiosity and to satisfy that, I used to observe them, not even knowing to what kingdom or branch of species these flora varieties belonged to.

My only act of sin was in attempting to grow a kitchen garden and tend to bought out flowering plants.

Guests, who had a darshan of these plants, when these were alive, took it up on themselves to spread the word that I had ‘green fingers’. My raw fingers only knew the pain of sifting, turning and preparing the soil bed for these plants. If these guests had been careful in their observations, they could have also noticed blood stains on the leaves from my bloodied fingers!

Mostly, I encountered an agrarian crisis of the horticultural variety – my dear plants died on me, leaving me low and shrunk in enthusiasm. Before all these things could happen, I had been labeled as a “botanist”!

Little did I realise at that time this kind of shop talk had the tendency to start a ripple and other similar minded friends would also join.

 The next shot came from an astronomical amateur club. Here is what they did.

Library books, other than college course books, sucked me up in to the realms of stars, nebulae and black holes. The pull was so intense; I catapulted in to Astronomy without recourse to a telescope or binocular. I spent countless hours in the nights, gazing at the heaven and admiring them through my eyes-scope.

Armed with bookish knowledge, I gained experience in spotting stars, constellations faintly visible far away nebulae and planets. Whenever a comet came by, I could point it out to others and taxed them with sundry details about it.

But my course lecturers did not share with this enthusiasm; they failed me in many class tests, probably to make me stay focused on the right kind of light! Starting an amateur astronomy club alone could not have been the reason. May be I might have rubbed some of the lecturers with the wrong kind of an asteroid rock!

Friends and relatives, who marveled at my madness to spend time watching the heaven and reeling out astronomical statistics, chose to do a favour to me. The word spread fast, though not at the speed of light, about my acumen. I ended up with the label “a guy who knows his stars”!

Whoever has not heard of the adage “gate crashers don’t come on invitation”. The friends who had no inclination to read or appreciate my built-up vocabulary came together to do me this favour without knowing the secret “ I am  as good as them without a dictionary".

During a long reading life, I had picked up the knack to assemble words, right out of the countless novelists’ style, without worrying about grammatical or syntax errors. Like a backseat driver I could navigate imaginatively through whatever I had to write down. In my jump start narrative style - which had a liberal dose of unacceptable form of presentation, paragraphs leapt out from the

pen or keyboard, literally? Thanks largely to the sci-fi writers.

Only the reviewer had a horrid time in précis writing to correct my so called drafts. Those who knew of this real picture avoided me even to share their thoughts, fearing I might volunteer to write it for them!  Yet, out of generosity they called me a “writer” and attached it to me like a limpet mine!

Spending childhood among cousins and counter cousins, I had developed the art of handling & babysitting to such an extent, newborn babies were left in my care now and then.This turned the tables on me.

Those who had been nurturing a grouse had decided to come together and have the last laugh, that too a lusty one . They bided for the right time – till all of them had brats for kids. Then they descended on me to build this edifice. They did it in style and in installments probably to be little courteous, for old times sake!

I was forced to 'mind them' - singing lullabies, reciting rhymes or regaling with made up stories to children in the kindergarten age group. For that moment, visiting parents gladly left them in my custody , to enjoy a little free time. I too had a hidden agenda.

I kept the children engaged to derive a little pleasure in playing with them and at the same time to keep their inquisitive hands away from my children’s toy collection, proudly displayed in a show case. These toys had sentimental as well as monetary value. In this guise I could extend the damage control assurance to other utility items such as TV remote and smart phones.

The children, above the KG level, had to bear the brunt of my gathered encyclopedic knowledge, woven into thrilling scientific fiction of the home grown variety.

 

They remained disturbingly quiet and parents left home wondering about the magic wand I had used to quell their chaotic behavior.

Thus I became “a Teacher”.

The pretenses created by people around me must be giving them some pleasure. Who am I to stop their fun?

These sessions served me well as a refresher course on memory recall. Why they remained quiet? Why they avoided my company during subsequent encounters? It is another story for another time.

The connections - part 2

The Lost ‘hair’

A visit of an aunty or a grandma, from the neighbourhood, is all it takes to stir a hornet’s nest- in this case a balding man’s nightmare! Instead of confining themselves to any other harmless topics, the small talk veers off course and lands unerringly on bald heads, like a guided missile.

The speed and passion with which the matter is discussed depends on personal likes and dislikes. If the host’s son is showing signs of early balding, sympathy and remedies are dished out, when he is on the right page.  If he is on the wrong page, the same sympathy is extended without  forgetting to slip in loaded comments like ‘my sons have such a beautiful curly hair’ or ‘my son-in-law’s hair looks  like a ram’s wool’ etc; These talk do  not end even if the concerned gentleman walks in.

Pushed into the realm of baldness, he has no other choice except consulting the App - Lost ‘hair’, to search for  hidden biological clues in the genetic jungle. The App has an added advantage too; it can help in settling the family dispute arising out of baldness – whether this genetic misbehaviour is an endowment from father’s or mother’s lineage?

   

This App is driven by grandparents & great grandparents, who assiduously climb their respective ancestral family trees to find the root causes. The search results in throwing up an occasional exception of a bald head in the family tree. Thus the person going or gone ‘bald’ has no other recourse than accepting their grand wisdom: It has been running in the lineage and be proud to be an exception!

Apart from the psychological bearing, the baldness has seeded the growth of ‘hair rising’ solutions – traditional and modern medicines and techniques. Doctors turn agriculturists to transplant hair patches, like a gardener manicuring the lawns.. Cosmetics and pharmaceutical companies churn out coloured lotions in exquisitely designed containers.

Having set aside the dispute and the disillusionment, the affected individual can now indulge in the task of identifying the different types of headgears (baldies & wig walahs) walking around; surreptitiously and without any intent to hurt anyone’s feeling. As a guarantee, he could proclaim a statement that the observer himself falls in one of the categories about to be described, just to take the sting out of the operation!

The first thing that comes striking in the mind is the skating rink type. The pate rivals the smooth ice surface of the rink and even under a microscope it reveals no such signs of hairs or their roots ever having been there. This type of bald men might feel a little happy to know that a phrase ‘as bald as a coot’ is also in usage, even if one does not know what it exactly means. Another way to look at the bald pate will be from a religious angle, the custom of ‘tonsuring’ one’s hair at the altar of a favourite deity as an offering! Alas! The tonsured hair grows back to get ready for another offering whereas no such miracle is possible in the case of baldness.

  

Horse shoe or Niagara Falls type has the baldness spread over almost the entire cranium except the lower head portion, spanning  the temple to back of the neck with a sideburns beside each ear. Since this meagre crop cannot be swept back to cover the baldness, the hairs usually hang strait and short. The top view, if the person permits, will resemble exactly the sight you get when flying over the horse shoe falls of Niagara. If this type of baldy has snow white hair, then it will resemble a frozen Niagara.

Lagoon type baldness occurs, when a patch of hair runs like a bund, from ear to ear, on a person who is yet to fully acquire the Niagara type baldness.

The solar eclipse type has the present and counting hairs covering the total head except in the central circular region on the rear part of the cranium. That shiny bald pate surrounded by the healthy hairs resembles the disc of the sun with the visible corona, during a total eclipse. The size and location on the head of the baldy might vary adding variety to this type balding process.

The swept-over type baldness occurs when shiny bald spots comes into being among a forest of healthy hair. A clever ploy by the sufferer is to sweep over the available stock of hairs, from front to back or sideways, to camouflage the exposed cranium as much as possible. Being a self conscious person, for whom the appearance of hair matters, this ritual of combing is as an involuntary action as breathing. This makes one to stand in front of a mirror and constantly worry about strands of hair.

By quirk of genetic confusion, a partial solar eclipse type and the swept-over type occur together leaving that unfortunate male more miserable.

In Caricature type baldness, the hairline recedes beyond the crown leaving the crop of hair to appear like a 2D cartoon character, in case the person has casuarinas type of needle like hairs.

Any person who accepts that going bald is natural and learns to sport the signature of the family tree gracefully will be the happiest man as far as the fallen hairs are concerned.

The desperate ones can still compile a list of yoga gurus and religious pontiffs to get a clue as to how to grow and keep a pate full of hairs! They can pass on this knowledge to the next generation, for full benefit, and in the meanwhile try to save their own standing crop from further loss.

Anyone who believes and attempts to go against the earlier grand wisdom feels disillusioned at the end – losing money as well as hairs.  For all the bald men, there is this consolation: there is no chance for the feet and palms going bald – thank god, hairs don’t grow there!

The scratching of one's  bald head is a unique feeling and a person with thick hairs cannot even dream to experience that ecstasy! Instead of splitting the remaining hairs on your head, find a reason to be happy, however small that may be. 

For all the bald men, there is this consolation: there is no chance for the feet and palms going bald – thank god, hairs don’t grow there! More often than not, healthy growth is assured in the side burns, beard and moustache – twirl the hairs and forget the bald head!

Cinema, is thy name paradox?
The edifice of cinema is built on the success at box office. If the hero fails to pull in the crowd, the film sinks without a trace yet nothing touches the macho hype surrounding the hero. He rises like the Phoenix from the dead. After all, in the first place ,he only attracted the financiers like a magnet to fund the project.

The first glance of the chopping knife falls on the glam-heroine, forgetting that she delivered the ‘bare minimum’ performance required, spoke in borrowed voice, , flew to foreign locations and danced on snow in flimsy attire, while the hero stood by heavily swathed in thermals as if he had just been discharged from the hospital with a multiple fracture.

If this is not performance what else she could have done? The glam-babe wonders after getting the axe for the next film proposed with the same hero. The grapevine in the industry picks up this weak signal and amplifies it – the heroine gets tagged as an ‘unlucky number’.

Next in line stands the screen play writer, for no fault of his. He came up with a good screen play write up. The macho hero, the director and producer, under duress, took turns to maul the script word by word – introducing punch dialogues, (which stood like a sore thumb even while writing it) killing the narrative to include a few foreign locales, operating upon the script to provide opening for exotic stunts in a story portraying a  loving personality.

By that time the shooting is completed, he somehow senses getting another chance will be a million dollar question. He wondered how an over cooked plot like this could hit the cinemas hoping to reach the box office?

He got his answer and the axe together, after the film did a Houdini in the theatres! He only felt guilty for not allowing the character of the heroine to over shadow the hero’s – which he and the heroine could have paired and performed better. 

The part played by the Music director is slightly different. The music director and the song writer work on the situations explained at the composing sessions. The gifted musician builds upon the mood and the words, plans the harmony of instruments to dovetail with the voice that will render the songs. In this effort, every one collectively nursed the song along, as a brain child of the team.

Along the path to success he also had to resist the pressure to engage a particular singer whether that voice suited the tune and genre or not. May be these are the reasons, sometimes the movie did well at the box office to become a musical hit, even if the on-screen presentation was pure murder.

One formula for success has been put in place. Filmywood latches on to it and producers make a beeline to the office of the music director and sign him up to work in their proposed films. Half a dozen films release with music scored by this ‘hit’ music director and team.

After one or two flops, the soul stirring music of the composer suddenly finds ways to fall only on deaf ears. The producers of the dud films have no time to analyze the cause – yesterday hero paired with tomorrow’s heroine, a story shorter than a ‘haiku’ poem or out of sync animated scenes. The ‘hit’ team gets axed, as if music alone sank the film. The composer and his team are on notice in Filmywood. 

Fortunately for this talented team, a long forgotten movie makes it to the theatres, after coming out of an extended hibernation due to schedule and financial constraints. The delay puts the story of the film back by a few years, turning out to be a blessing in disguise; a neat story with a fresh outlook, good acting, and lilting music etc working in its favour. The music director and his team begin a second innings.

For the discerning, the quality of the music was one and the same – in the first innings or the second. One thing that escapes axing is the penchant for astrology and numerology in Filmywood. Mainstream cinema is yet to learn to do without the ‘pundits’ of these sciences. Yes, cinema is stranger than the fiction it dishes out!

The connections - part 1

The Umbilical :  
Birth of a child and the lift-off of a rocket vehicle cannot do without an umbilical appendage. The growth cycle of a foetus depends on this highway for the supply of blood, nutrients and the efficient removal of bio-waste. Likewise, the essential supply such as fuel for a rocket motor flows through a set of umbilical attachment; the natural and the man made functioning in inimitable, unique style.

The foetus gets a peek into the external world through the emotional signals transmitted by the mother via the umbilical cord; whereas the inanimate brain and heart of the launch vehicle keep in touch with the ground reality using its umbilical.

The child continues to grow under the care of parents (tutored by the alignment of the DNA helix) opting to toe the line or experiment with slight variants or totally deviate from the guided path. Likewise, the pre-programmed on board computer oversees and commands the critical functions of a launch vehicle carrying payload. Yet, like the growing child, it continues to travel in the chosen trajectory or deviates slightly or goes totally out of control due to internal snags or external causes.

If the growing child is a cynosure of the family, keeping the parents in a joyous state, the delivery of a satellite, in the correct orbit and in good health is an ecstasy experienced after every successful launch, by the nation.

The separation of the foetus or the launch vehicle from the umbilical is an eagerly awaited event, marking a perfect delivery, on earth or into space, respectively. The function of the umbilical ceases at this very moment.

After the childbirth, the umbilical cord leaves its signature belly button as memorabilia, on the anatomy of the baby. No such birth mark is left on the body of the launch vehicle by the umbilical, unless the receptacle for it on the rocket casing is deemed as its belly button. The umbilical for a rocket motor stays on ground whereas the baby and the umbilical get detached from the womb.

The umbilical of the foetus is specific and gets only one chance to perform. The umbilical on the launch pad gets refurbished to await another launch. This is the uniqueness of this appendage.

The Open Heart surgery:

If the title made you to imagine the unimaginable, of a patient with acute heart problem getting ready to undergo an open heart surgery, it is time you curbed your predilection to take off at a tangent. This topic is about a mundane subject on estrangement.

The chief editor of this subject matter could be one’s ego, chauvinism, outright thanklessness, haughtiness or psychological upheavals. The underlying root causes are the mindset of the subject person to ‘hold back’, not knowing to how relax and take things with equanimity without chewing on the ‘cuds’ from the  past. In such a mind, regret or guilt generates a perpetual storm, becoming a glitch in personality development.

Inadequacies in balancing reality juxtaposed with imaginary causes, failure to distinguish between peace and principle get buried under a mask of an introvert. Expression of inner feelings takes the form of a morose ‘Morse’ code type conversation, letting out inappropriate or out of sync responses.

Any topic reviewed by different editors turns out looking different, reflecting the persona of the reviewer. Likewise the stressed subject person may find a place in the spongy, thorny or rocky category.

Any individual who keeps on soaking up emotional conflicts, not daring to open up to express feelings or opinions becomes the spongy type. This individual continues to dwell in stoic silence until the time this silence is mistaken as a sign of weakness or when unbearable emotional squeezing is applied. Then the sponge spews out, only to soak up another load of self inflicted miseries. Unlike the natural sponge, this person absorbs to squirt and regret within.

When a person starts hiding each melancholy in a separate cell, cloaked in sweet memories and cocooned with tenuous attachments, that person qualifies to become a jack fruit or thorny type ; outwardly rough and inwardly yearning and soft to the point of flowing out. Nevertheless, affection without perfect understanding still resides in this mind, suffering the pulls and pressures of everyday life.

The rocky version is really a tough nut to crack as we are looking at a person who has totally withdrawn into a self-exile. The gaunt face and faraway look are the characteristics of this personality. Cataclysmic impacts of self doubt, lack of mental courage, sensitive over trivial matters and tendency to brood over past glories or failures have hardened the psyche to such an extent, no feeling escapes from this mind - a walking, human black hole. Even in this extreme frigid person, positive feelings do reside – like the toad living inside a granite block.

However contrite the person might be, the remedy is simple but difficult to implement – open up the heart and eyes, laugh with the world, play with time and wow to have a good day, every day! The holder of the blocks and keys is the sole agent of change, who is none other than the afflicted person.

boJy

I have this uncanny knack – of getting into tight corners but somehow get the needed support to wriggle out like an eel. Though till date , none of them had me grinning sheepishly.

However, before the curtain comes down, there is this high drama wherein I go through the grinding mill of anxiety, fright, etc. starting a  biological war in me - in the form of  sugar & blood pressure, both enjoying the nail biting and nerve racking suspense that I am being subjected to.

By now, whatever is the predicament, I have become an expert in predicting its likely course;  it starts with an advancement, accompanied by a delay, fuelled with loads of anxiety, followed by a train of self-doubts, and getting dumped at the allotted tight corner. Despite my experiences one thing I could not guess was ‘who or how I  will be saved on that day?’

Getting into ‘the tight corner’ is not always by chance but turns out to be my own making. Keeping counsel to myself  is obviously not a component in my blood and as a result, people around me, waited for a chance to push me into that corner - may be for the sheer joy of it, or to get even with me. Unfortunately, these people are endowed with elephantine memory - vividly recall  my pretentious nature to be a writer, editor, publisher, investigator, or political, legal, economical & medical consultant (read opinion - dispenser), finally a handyman in the house.

This time around, the tight corner materialised in the form of blood pressure on a roller-coaster (diastolic competing with systolic) and my daughter in law was forced to ride along on it. In this instance, I failed miserably to read the pitch and was totally unprepared to take any evasive measures, so to say 'landed in a tight spot wearing a blindfold'. The last straw on the camel's back was my self proclaimed ability as a caretaker -in-residence.Yes, my acclaimed skill set was to be utilised at my son's residence!

It all started with  a wait , for about 6 hours , at the airport for the take off. Meanwhile I tried to  engage an airline staff  in a verbal duel . After loosing considerable patience, I challenged him to show the actual aircraft that would fly to the destination. That poor staffer was afraid to even  blurt out that  he was only manning the check-in counters.

This he managed to say only after being bombarded with another of my sarcastic question: “Is the flight being scheduled at least before the end of the day?” Unable to bear the agony any longer, he vanished through one of those innumerable doors the airport has thoughtfully provided, may be for such occasions.

What went according to plan on that day was the journey from the destination airport to the place of my duty. The family welcomed me, tried to put me at ease and let me alone for awhile, to find my bearings (light switches, coffee powder, shops etc.). The first two days were like the beginning of a long summer vacation, of a school kid, and went off  quickly.

The co-opted consultant doctor (my saviour with a stethoscope?) declared that the health symptoms of the roller-coaster rider is becoming a little complicated. The medicines administered proving ineffective,  the doctor decided to try and control it  under better medical care – hospitalisation. This pronouncement left  me to keep company with dozens of  tenterhooks and pace in the hospital corridor. 

The in-patient  too must have been climbing mountains of  tension & anxiety in the solitude of the observation room. We, the attending staff  (My son and I) waited in the lounge – anxiously looking at each passing nurse or doctor expecting a better turn in the inpatient's condition. Our faces, competing with each other, mirroring psychedelic emotions of concern, anxiety, fright and a host of threatening feelings. An occasional ‘sinking feeling’  in the stomach complemented the emotions in exercising the facial muscles.

Unmindful of all these happenings, another person was in an eager hurry to join us, almost  2 months in advance.

Did I not tell you in the beginning itself, though caught in a tight spot, angels weave their magic to get me away safely! Somehow the consulting doctor too might have seen the angel coming ; decided to intervene and facilitate that event as smoothly and safely as possible. Before,we the attendants-in-wait could say something, a team of doctors took it upon themselves to go for a finite resolution and just informed us – we need to act fast !

If you think that, I had an easy time keeping my own BP, fright, tension and suspense under check – you are far wrong. A new cycle with all these seasoned ingredients engulfed me once again. I could only guess the feelings of my son standing besides me. In fact ,I could see my own worried face standing next to me. Each one of us could hear the other’s thudding heart beats and silent prayers ! To doubly make sure that our prayers reached the correct destination, mental journeys were made in secret to those places, without letting the other person know it.

Upon the arrival of the much awaited person, I expected to meet with and get a hand shake. It was not to be so, as I was wait-listed, for the day at least. A pinch of salt was all that I could fall upon as a remedy for my disappointment. At least,  I wished to say hello to my daughter-in-law , who had taken all the precautions and endured the troubles to bring home the person. 

This important family member, who had the charge of the VIP member, took about 3 hours, to put in an appearance, like a weary international traveller coming out of airport, after a long wait at the Customs counter. The moment I saw her settling down, heaved a sigh of relief and felt the over stretched nerves beginning to relax.

The memory of those 180 minutes will never go away from my mind. My partner-in–waiting might have felt like spending 360 minutes in the lounge area. May be he was experiencing the effect of a generation gap!

The VIP arrived, swathed in a wrapper - tight as a bundle. May be a little tired, feeling for all the troubles his mother had endured, yet happy that he too could contribute his little might to the issue. Now, under the care of his mother, he had no other concern to worry about. His face was mirroring all the serenity in the world and was sleeping blissfully. 

Three days later my tenure as caretaker ended, when I could say hello to the very important person of the family. I never imagined that such a nondescript job title will put me through a juicer and end in boJy – bundle of Joy!

Yes, a grandson has arrived into our family, giving a new meaning to the phrase ‘bundle of joy’.

The surgical divide

Introduction:

We take many things in our life,  as available at our will or pleasure.This card house requires variety of glues to stay intact. This need will be felt only when an emergency comes calling to make us start counting our fortunes & friends. For both it might turn out to be an enlightenment! Can this experience be called pickling of nerves?

 Extreme experiences in life might give rise to the feeling that one is near or on edge of a precipice. This experience of being on edge differs from person to person and hence unforgettable and unique, as far as that individual is concerned. 

That over the hill experience can be described   like this: It is similar to an ace mountaineer, reaching the peak only to find the foothold slippery and getting scared of falling either over the peak or sliding back to the valley and yet determined to regain at least a toehold. 

The intervening period between the slip and the grip, and the experience of an emotional flux– is the state being on edge.

One such state of being scared and unsure is going under a surgeon’s scalpel, literally up to one’s neck, deep on a diet of anaesthesia, routed through the spinal column. Chest to cranium you are present and chest to toes you are immobilized like a stone.

Sensing a travel through unknown corridors, the demons of doubts and fears take control of the neurons. The brain, under seize, joins hands with these villains to generate nightmare after nightmare, struggling to take back its commanding role. 

Bathed in anaesthesia up to the chest, the patient starts experimenting with different version of fear psychosis. This process starts with a procession of gods, semi-gods and angels. The only doubt that remains unanswered is  "will I regain consciousness or slip into  coma?"

Now, the patient on the surgery table begins to see all the dark matters in the universe. Fear is such a powerful force and endows the patient   with special vision, to see even the dark matters, a feat impossible as per the laws of science! The patient has now become a full fledged citizen in the state of fright.

When all these things are happening on the surgical bed, another branch of science dealing with pure human emotions generates morbid thoughts, in the mind of an attending relative. The severity or intensity depends on whether one is a close relative or just a relative.

The sluice gates of the fluid bank get opened by moist palms, moistened lips with a racing heart ably assisting the process. The hospital floor suffers wear and tear; the flush in the wash room becomes tired.

The life threatening or severely inconveniencing malady gets corrected. The after effect of a surgery lingers on, not of anaesthesia, bothering the patient. Some get over it quickly and others carry it as a ghost from the past for a long time. May be these types can only forget things in instalments.

To describe the traumatic feelings, pre and post surgery, the best suited person is the person reliving the surgical trauma – words straight from the horse’s mouth.

The patient starts convalescing, testing the patience of dear and near with tales, liberally mixing them with horror, warnings and lectures in medical sciences. The negative impact these repeat recaps are capable of creating in others’ psyche, is simply forgotten.

Fearing a lesser stellar rating for the surgical experience, these recaps ,invariably tend to,  omit to mention the supporting role played by the one who stood by anxiously, outside the operation theatre!

This leaves the relative/attendant to recite the other side of the story; to whoever is willing to lend an ear needing a break from the previous one - less dramatically of course!

The attendant’s mind, under notice to churn out alternate scenarios, tries hard to cope up with a flood of improbable ideas as far fetched as the screenplay of a blockbuster. 

The attendant discovers that fear is a dipole and the lines of patient’s nightmares pass through his/her mind. The mere thought of the patient undergoing a surgical procedure is enough to reproduce the very same feelings and anxieties, strictly obeying the laws of magnetism!

Taking a small diversion, the procession of different set of gods, semi-gods and angels take to the streets of prayer, though the doubt – ‘will the operation end in success or cross the border into the no-man’s land – coma remains glued to the mind.

The attendant opens a register of friends & relatives who would come forward to donate a pint of blood, or chip in with a bundle of currency notes or a towel to cry into.

At the end the attendant feels whether the experience was worth the trauma?