Not Olympic material

Have you all seen the Proctor & Gamble advertisements where they thank the moms of famous athletes for their dedication, perseverance and sheer grit as they help their babies and toddlers become world-class athletes? I watch every single video with tears threatening to fall. My children are swimmers so I relate (rather want to relate) to that mom who wakes up at the crack of dawn, gently wakes her tiny little daughter, gets on a bus and takes her to swim practice. She sits there with love filled eyes and patient smile as her baby daughter learns to crawl in water (I either chat with other mothers or read a book or go to the gym when my children practice). Then she watches with pride and joy as her daughter, much older now, wins medals and makes her proud. In these advertisements, mothers of skaters and hockey players teach them how to skate, take them to innumerable practices, up on slopes, take care of their hurts, wipe their tears and eventually the proud moment comes – medal at Olympics. I love those ads. I feel part of a clan of mothers who dedicate their lives to the success of their children. Although I would LIKE to be one of them, in reality, I am not!

Sean wakes up at the crack of dawn to take Sahana to a 5:30 am swim practice. He, then, drives her to school, comes home, gets ready for work and then goes to work. While he does all that in the morning, I sip coffee in my comfy bathrobe, browse Facebook, look at the news and finally, lazily get ready for the day. Sean is an Olympic material dad. I am not. I have made it clear that when Sean travels, there will be no 5:30 am practices simply because I will not wake up at an ungodly hour to take anybody anywhere. But this past Sunday was different. I felt the children were not getting enough practice during the week due to my work schedule and Sean’s travel, so I had been readying myself and the children for at least four days that we will be going to 7:00 am practice on Sunday.

‘You guys make sure you sleep in on Saturday because I am taking you to practice on Sunday morning! Bright and early!’ I said on day one.

On day two, I said, ‘You know you are going to practice on Sunday morning, right? I don’t want to hear any grumblings!’

They WEREN’T grumbling. Although, I did hear a mumbled ‘That stinks’ from one of them.

I repeated something similar on day three as well – a dire declaration of ‘get your act together on Sunday morning cos we are going to practice’.

On Saturday evening, I made them get their swim bags ready by the front door. I warned them they better wake up as soon as I call them because WE ARE GOING TO THE MORNING PRACTICE ON SUNDAY MORNING!!

They casually said, ‘Yes, fine.’

I went to bed relatively early, sacrificing my reading time so I was bright and chirpy on Sunday morning. I was thinking of the mother who gently woke up her child for practice in the Proctor & Gamble advertisements. I finally felt I was contributing to their greatness in the sports arena. I wistfully smiled at the vision when they will attribute their success to their hardworking mother, who despite all, took them to practice at the crack of dawn and cheered them on as they trained.

My eyes opened the next morning, I looked at the clock – it was 7:30 am. Practice had started half an hour earlier!

My dream to be the sacrificing mother dashed to pieces as I got out of bed chuckling. Sahana woke up shortly, in a fluster. She came out of her room asking,

‘What happened?’

I said, magnanimously, ‘I decided to let you guys sleep in!’ Hey, why not make this faux pas into a generous act by a magnanimous mother? She was happy enough.

The serious swimmer, Ryan, woke up. My ploy of being magnanimous did not work with him though. That one is a work horse, he was unhappy that he did not get to go to practice.

‘I WANTED to go to practice! Why didn’t you wake meeeee?’ He whined.

I hate it when my ploys of being indulgent mother don’t work.

That same morning as I Skyped with the Olympic material father of my children, he wailed from far away land:

‘WHY ARE YOU IN YOUR BATHROBE??? Why are the children not at practice???’

I chuckled, ‘I overslept!’

And since I worked the weekend and he himself was in a far away land he was smart enough not to complain about it! I have written before, that dude is smart. He knows what’s good for him!

Long story short – if you do not see my children on the swimming block of an Olympic arena, it is not because of dearth of talent ( psssst….the older one reads my blogs, I had to write that), it is because their mama is not really the Olympic material. She does not have it what it takes 🙂 !

Love of books

I am not a scholar by any means but I do feel an inexplicable love towards books. I love holding books, I love smelling them, the rustle of pages makes me happy, I love talking about them, I love people who read! I do not know when this love affair started and why it started. I only know that my mother is responsible for it. It is a blessing and a curse. Books bring joy to me, they give me freedom to travel without moving an inch, they help me know the unknown through written words. Books help me dream of a better world, books unveil the layers in human psyche and books teach me empathy. Books are a blessing. The curse? My life relegates itself to an insignificant corner while I devour books. The other day at work, as I was helping an elderly customer we started chatting about the kinds of books we liked to read. After exchanging our mutual interests and cooing over authors we both enjoyed, she said to me in a conspiratorial whisper:

“You know my mother would be very displeased with me, but after I have finished my morning chores, I go up to my room, lay down on my bed and I read. My mother would not have liked to see me lie in my bedroom in the middle of the day with a book. But I tell myself, I have worked all my life, now I have earned these luxurious afternoons with just my books.”

I agreed with her wholeheartedly, and I told her so. My mother, on the other hand, showed me by example that afternoons are for reading books unless you are taking a nap. And what better way to nap than falling asleep while reading, snoozing off while a book rests on your chest?

Kolkata Book fair, since, I was a little girl was like carnival time for me and many of my book loving friends. As a child, I went with my mother, her hand held mine tightly as she ran with me from one stall to another buying books for herself and me with what little money she had. When I grew up and went to college, the annual book fair was a sacred pilgrimage for many of us. We waited for classes to end so we could get on a minibus and head towards Maidan, where the book fair was held every year. They have changed the venue, I hear. A few of us in our naiveté even pledged to come back every year to the Book fair for annual rendezvous no matter which part of the world we lived in. I smile when I think of that promise. How young we were, how innocent.

Sean asked me out on our first date with these words, and I quote verbatim, “So, when are you going to the book fair with me?” Dude was clever. He knew it would be hard for me turn down a trip to the book fair. “What! With you?? No, you are a foreigner, I can’t be seen with a foreigner. I am a good Indian woman, I don’t go out with little known white man! I like your attention and I like you but I don’t want to be alone with you. That is scary!! Wait, book fair you say? Gulp! Public place, what can you do? If you get nasty I will just call for help and have the mob beat you up.” While all those erratic thoughts fired in my head, I said, “Yes, I will go to the book fair with you!” Kolkata book fair saw our first date and the blossoming of our romance 🙂 !

Within a week of us moving to Baltimore after marriage, Sean woke up one morning and said he was going to take me to a special place. I will be very happy there. He would not tell me where.

“Do I need to get dressed up for it?” I asked bubbling with excitement at the uncertainty.
“No, just comb your hair and brush your teeth!”

We walked a couple of blocks from our apartment and came to a beautiful, historic building with arches and big windows. Enoch Pratt Free Public Library, I read with my head tilted way back. I walked in almost in a daze. The old smell and the expansive inner courtyard with natural lights flooding the inside from the skylights took my breath away. I wanted to move in there. Nobody checked my bag, nobody demanded money. All I had to do was mail myself a self addressed envelope for address check, bring it in the next time and got my library card, my gatepass to the land of unlimited books. The winter of USA was bitter for a woman from the land of warmth and sun. The library was my refuge. When I did not need to check out books, I simply roamed the huge building, stroking the antique banisters, smelling the scent of books, getting lost in the stacks. The library and I created memories. The library introduced me to American authors who I knew little of in India. I fell in love with some of them.

Then life happened. We moved. We created a family. We moved again back to the suburbs. I discovered the county library. From a very young age, I took my children to the library because I wanted them to grow up between books. And I secretly harbored a desire to work there – one day. As the children grew, I started questioning my reason for staying at home but I had lost the confidence. I had been out of the job market for 12 long years. I decided to start putting my foot in the threshold by volunteering. I accepted the role of library grandparent (in my thirties) and read books to children. Then I interfiled books and dvds. After volunteering for 3 years while Ryan was in pre-school and kindergarten, I gathered sufficient courage to look for openings. A friend messaged me that a position was available at the library I volunteered in and I applied. The interview went well, the interviewers laughed which I took to be a good sign. In the mean time, I was exploring the possibility of becoming involved in this wonderful initiative Project Literacy educating adult learners who are interested in getting their high school diploma. As I was driving back from one of the final meetings of Project Literacy, I got a call from the HR of the library.

“Thank you for interviewing. We would like to offer you the position….!”

Magical words, after 12 years of staying at home. Small dream for many, but it was MY dream and it came true. How can a job that requires me to read and read more not be a dream job? So when the cobwebs hang from the walls and the dinner, on occasion, is a hasty affair, I rationalize to the family – ‘Sorry, I was working!’ 🙂

I will most likely never be rich working at a library but strangely enough I feel richer every day as I finish the last page of a really good book, close it with a contented sigh and look at my untidy bedside table with books piled high. Life is good with books in it.

Gift of my Magi

I don’t often think of teleportation (word press is giving me red squiggly line underneath it. Is teleportation not a real word?) till I board a 13 hour flight to go to India or get in the car to go on an 8 hour trip up north to visit family during holiday times. I love to go places yet I dislike the modes of transportation. What is the point of having such smart people in the world if they can not figure out a way to get to places in the blink of an eye, I ask? Come on MIT, Harvard, Yale and other esteemed colleges, discover it already!!

Anyway, I got in the car like a grumpy cat, settled my ooh- so- comfortable blanket on my lap, buckled my seat belt and grunted at my chirpy husband “Let’s go.” We were going up to Boston to visit family for Christmas. Sean and the children were annoyingly chirpy and I looked out of the window to keep my annoyance at their chirpiness at bay. It almost did not work.

As we passed New York after 4 hours of driving, Sean pointed out:

“Look at the city. How lit up it is!!”

I have already mentioned I was grumpy at the beginning of the journey. I decided to turn it up a notch, I turned downright whiny (good thing my children take mostly after their dad)!

“I have lived in this country for over 10 years and I have never seen New York lights during holiday times. I have never seen the tree at the Rockefeller Center! Hmmmmph!”

“Alright, let’s do it. Let us drive into the city!” Sean enthusiastically exclaimed.

“No000, let’s just go up to Boston and be done with this ride!” I answered.

Then everything was quiet for a while except Veggie Tales singing about God being greater than the boogeyman in the car music system. I may have dozed off for a while when I fully woke up to honking. I looked out of the car window to find that we are entering the congested New York City!!

“You are going in the city???? We are going to arrive in Boston so late! Why did you not just drive on!!!!!!!!!!” I said, exasperated.

My husband’s spirit was indomitable.

“Oh, let us just see the lights!” He grinned.

After battling with traffic and being rejected by two garages in the city (they were full), we finally found parking in one garage. My dissatisfaction and grumpiness were giving away to mouth opening awe and excitement at the lights and spirit of the big apple as I tried to take in the crowd, style and of course, the honking and aggressive driving. After Sean parked, he gave a curt command:

“Take your bags out!”

“WHAT??? Why???” Sahana and I, both whipped our heads around. Ryan was oblivious of everything, as usual.

“Hurry up, get your bags out!” The man repeated. And started pulling our bags out himself.

Still stunned and unaware about what exactly was happening, we did as we were asked to do.

We rolled our bags, following Sean who entered a hotel about half a block away. Sahana and I looked at each other as he opened the door for us. Ryan finally asked, “Where are we going? Why aren’t we going to Boston?” I must mention at this point that we discovered as we unloaded our bags and wore our coats that Ryan had forgotten to bring his heavy winter coat on this trip. He had a sweat shirt on and was freezing at this point. Sean had his ratty, old winter coat in addition to his ‘nicer’ newer winter coat, which saved Ryan eventually. Also Boston turned out to be extremely mild this year.

“Reservation for two nights under …..”, he told the staff at front desk.

Sahana looked at me and mouthed, “Did he just say 2 nights???????”

Sean got the key to our room and looked at us triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear like a little boy. His Christmas gift to us. He planned a two night stay in NYC, couple of blocks away from Broadway, a block and a half away from Lincoln Center, en route to Boston. He planned this for a while and I DID NOT HAVE A CLUE.

And then? Then it was magic. Then it was a dream come true. Then it was the best surprise I have ever had in my life.

After cleaning up at the hotel, we went to have dinner at this busy pizza place not too far from Times Square. I had no idea, of course, that we were going to stop at New York. Hence I had no stylish apparel or shoes. I toured NYC in my stylish pink sneakers, ratty jeans and dirty coat. Oh well, little things! 🙂

After a typical NYC pizza and cheese cake dinner, we braved the cold to walk to Times Square and witness the night turned to day. Every one who has been to Times Square will perhaps agree with me when I say it is a sensory overload. It was Ryan’s first time. He had to go in and gawk at the Hershey store, the Toys r US, the M & M store. He had to gawk at the bill boards and the street performers. His mother and sister were not far behind in being mesmerized by all of it. Even Sahana, who reprimands us constantly when we go places as “acting like tourists” forgot to scold us as I clicked pictures.

Typical NYC quick pizza and cheese cake dinner.

The following day, we stood in line to get discounted tickets for a Broadway show and ended up with tickets of Mamma Mia. Sean froze in line at the ticket counter while Sahana, Ryan and I stood in line inside a Starbucks to get him (and us) hot chocolate. Then all four of us froze waiting in line for the ticket counter to open. But there was a certain camaraderie with the other excited tourists waiting with us in the serpentine line. We exchanged jokes, we learned how far people have come from, we stated the obvious about how cold it was and once the ticket counters opened the line moved quickly. We did not have much time before the show and we (me) absolutely had to see the New York Public library before the show started. But we also had to have lunch. Due to popular demand (read children’s) we had to find lunch first. After lunch we barely had time to run back to the theater. The library, I consoled myself, will have to wait till the next visit. The show was amazing. We came out singing, “Dancing queen” and “Don’t go wasting your emotion” along with the other theater goers. After meandering around a bit more, the children declared they were tired and can we please go back to the hotel.

Wait, what? Tired? In New York? But…we don’t have much time to take it all in!!! I was shouting in my head as I headed back glumly towards the hotel with the rest of the crew. As we entered our room, Sean whispered to me:

“What do you think of ditching the kids and going for a spin in the city? Just you and I? Are you up for it?”

Am I up for it???Baby, do you even know me? This is New York!! I am in New York. I leave tomorrow morning. I do not want to waste any time sitting in a hotel room watching tv! I want to make every moment count, I want to take it all back in my heart!

So we got McDonald meal for the children who were happy as a clam slurping on shakes and watching Christmas shows on television while their parents waved sayonara and hit the streets.

We walked among the cute shops in Central park, my arm in the crook of Sean’s elbow. We peeked in the luxurious windows of apartments along the park, richly decorated with Christmas extravaganza, we bought warm, roasted chestnuts and walked the crowded streets of the Fifth street, we walked all the way to the New York Public library (which was closed) and got to see the regal lions guarding the gorgeous building. We laughed and pointed at the elegantly decorated windows of the designer stores on Fifth avenue, we saw brilliantly lit tree in the Rockefeller center and happy people skating underneath it, we felt one with the crowd and I reminisced about the Durga Puja in Kolkata, we felt the heady sensation of being in New York during the holidays where everything glittered and everything looked happy. We held hands and I told Sean that this is the best Christmas gift he gave me. He smiled.

New York Public Library. I have to go in next time.

I read an article that most Americans, as the recession hit the country, are focusing on collecting experiences over material objects. Experiences do not need maintenance. I have always been that kind of person who preferred experiences over material gifts. While it was wonderful to open gifts of scarves and gloves and other things the family bought for me, the experience of laughing together in New York is something I will often turn to when I need some cheer. The memories of the joy at being together in a city that excites me, the thought of Sean planning the whole thing to surprise us, the touch of his hand as he peeled a chest nut for me, the expression of bewilderment in Ryan’s face as he looked up at the huge bill boards all around Times Square, the excited face of Sahana as we entered the theater to watch Mamma Mia will stay in a special treasure chest in my heart. In difficult times, they keep me sane, they keep me positive and they remind me the truth:

This too shall pass, we are here to see you through.

Bruce ‘The Spruce’

Two battles ensued. Battle field was our local Home Depot. The family made a pleasure trip to choose the perfect Christmas tree. This is America, there were choices – too many of them. For a woman who has extreme difficulty making choices, it was a nightmare. But I put on my best smile and marched on between rows of rows of fragrant Christmas trees. Then I spotted THE one. A little living Christmas tree standing in a corner. That was the one. I said, ‘Guys, look, what a beautiful little tree!’ And just like that, battle lines were drawn. Kids vs parents because Sean allied with his wife.

‘Nooooo! That is tiny! We want a big one! We can’t have a small Christmas tree!’ Both the little people showed a united front.

We went back and forth. But I won the battle by manipulating the sentiments of two sensitive souls. I was sure of my win from the start. I just had to emphasize on the ‘live’ tree as opposed to a dead tree.

The counter attacks slowly started dying down. They became whispers and quite inconsequential:

‘But how about all the ornaments? How about all the lights we have?’

‘But think! We can plant this one in our backyard once Christmas is over. We can watch it grow!’ Sean made the winning remark.

Bam! Boo yah! Ding, ding, ding we have a winner.

Sean hauled it up to pay.

As we walked behind Sean, the second battle started about naming the baby tree. We are a little weird like that. We name everything. Names were thrown up like juggling balls. Reginald, Nero, Luke and others that I forget. Of course, what Sahana proposed was immediately vetoed by Ryan and vice versa.

This battle was taking a serious turn. Egos were getting hurt. The united front against the parents was cracking and I could hear the cracks. I needed to intervene while keeping the Christmas spirit alive.

‘I got it, I got it. His name is Bruce. He is Bruce ‘the Spruce!’
(Get it? Spruce fir? Yes. I am clever like that 🙂 )

A moment of contemplation, little grumbling and then gradual acceptance. Nobody lost face, nobody had to give in. Mother named it. And it was an acceptable name, fun even.

So Bruce ‘The Spruce’ came home. He is a little guy. He will not be the big, gaudy Christmas tree that we have brought home every year. He will not, perhaps, bear the burden of all of Ryan and Sahana’s handmade ornaments or the glaring, unbreakable decorations and twinkly lights that we put on the big trees every year. But he will live and grow and stay ever green. He is even liked by Sage, who gives it a sniff and looks at us quizzically.

‘Humans, why are you bringing nature inside our home?’ He is questioning us with sagely wisdom.

Most importantly, Bruce ‘The Spruce’ is making me smile as I pass by his corner. It’s that time of the year, right? Ryan even caught me baby talking to the tree.

‘Why are you baby talking to Bruce ‘The Spruce’ mom?’

‘I was just telling him he is pretty. That is all! Don’t mind me. I am just happy!’

I gave thanks..

I spent Thanksgiving Day alone this year. It was by choice. I wanted a little separation so I could fully look at what I have. Being entwined always does not allow me to fully ‘see’ and value my treasures. I also needed to unclench the muscles at the back of my shoulder and put my feet up while I wrote this.

My family drove up to Sean’s hometown to give thanks for the wonderful people who nurtured him, loved me and then the little ones who came to us later. And I stayed behind to spend Thanksgiving day alone. Sean made it happen!

Everytime I thought of Thanksgiving day this year, between chores, I filled up with a sense of happy anticipation. I felt a little smile creep up on my face at the prospect of being alone. I asked friends what they would do if they were given a day to spend however they wished. The responses were delightful. How would I want to spend it, I wondered. I thought about what I would do on the day. I thought a lot. And finally came to a decision. I would own the day, I would take off my watch which generally dictates my life – for a day. I woke up on Thanksgiving Day and left my watch on my bureau.

Sage and I went for a long walk and talked of squirrels and dog pee along the way.
I wrote an actual email to a friend instead of quick messaging.
I Skyped with my parents and tried to solve an issue.
I folded a basket of laundry, not because I had to, but because that is what I wanted to do.
I actually sat on the couch and LISTENED to my favorite songs, focusing on the lyrics as the tune rained gently on my soul.
I played with Sage in the backyard. He thought mama had gone crazy.
I read on the couch under my brilliant red blanket.
I watched a movie.
I did a home facial and took care of myself.
I sat in the backyard with Sage for a while and luxuriated in the quietness surrounding me and my aloneness.
I drove over to an Indian take out to get both Chicken and Mutton biryani for lunch AND dinner.
I felt the love of a friend as I broke my fast with delicious soda bread that her husband had baked.
I wrote.
And I let my body and soul dictate me.
And I kept thoughts of next day FOR next day.

I gave thanks too for this gift of a day. The day became a gift only because I knew my family was happy and enjoying the company of loved ones. The day became a gift because I knew my aloneness was temporary and my family will be back soon bringing with it, all it’s chaos, confusion, need for me, and love. And because I had this gift of a day by myself, I would be better prepared to deal with that chaos, confusion and routine.

I thought about my husband and my two children with an overwhelming sense of love and sent up a prayer to the universe to keep them healthy and happy. I prayed for my parents and the work they are doing for the community. I thought about my sisters and brothers I found by marrying Sean and prayed for them and their family. I had the day to truly thank, wish and pray.

Sometimes one just needs to step away and love oneself. I did just that. As I try to keep up with the fast paced life we led, I put myself way below the totem pole. On Thanksgiving day, I realized I needed to love myself more. While saying thanks for others, I thanked the universe for myself too, for my life, my love, my opportunities and for who I am.

The sport that shall not be named.

I later found out Sahana’s high school friend is responsible for this. He suggested to Ryan that he should play football in high school. And Ryan, who had finally accepted that his mother will not support him playing football, and moved on, suddenly got inspired to try his luck again.

‘Mom, I want to play football.’

‘Sure, I will sign you up for flag football next session if you give up swimming or baseball!’ I responded right away.

‘No! I want to play tackle football!’

‘You know my answer to that! Why bother asking?’ I was calm, assertive channeling Cesar Milan energy.

”Whyyyyyy? I want to!’ And so it started. Back and forth, back and forth. I clung on to my calm assertive energy but felt it slipping away – fast.

Ryan tried tackle football when he was seven. He did not seem to be made for it physically or, more importantly mentally. Towards the end of the season, when he was not put in many plays, he started making excuses for his coaches.

‘They don’t put me in because I am not that good!’ He reasoned.

After that disastrous season, I gave him the option of continuing football or becoming a USA swimmer. And waited for his decision with bated breath. The choice was swimming, hallelujah!

Now after two years, the ghost of football returned with a vengeance.

As my calm, assertive energy completely evaporated, I used a threat.

‘If I hear you want to play football one more time, you will lose your iPad privilege! Your choice! I have had enough!’

He tried his luck with dad, who tends to remain quiet on these issues, playing the good cop. I certainly don’t mind being the bad one. My reputation is beyond redemption so why do I care? I heard him whispering ‘football’ with dad.

‘Do I hear the word football again?’ I shouted from the other room.

‘Noooooo!’ Came a slightly worried response.

The next morning, I woke him up with usual hugs and kisses. While cleaning up he said, ‘So mom, will you get me some books on rules and regulations?’

Football was the last thing on my mind, so I asked, ‘Rules and regulations for what buddy?’

‘You know?’ He said.

‘No, I don’t! How will I know?’ I was perplexed.

‘Well I can’t say the word. You will take away my iPad privilege!!’

And then he mouthed ‘FOOTBALL!’

Visitors

I sat in the doctor’s office and flicked through the pages of the book that I brought along. The rising panic at being examined intimately and the annoyance of having to sit takes away the pleasure of uninterrupted reading. The door opened and a heavily pregnant woman of Indian origin walked in, followed by her saree clad mother. From the youthful look of her, the woman was perhaps pregnant with her first child and I simply assumed her mother had flown all the way from India to provide her with care, support, love and nourishment at this hour of her need. Mine did 9 years ago. The memories made me smile. Yet there was something in the body language in the elderly woman that made my heart yearn to touch her shoulder in reassurance. An uncertainly, a certain diffidence in her every action that proclaimed ‘I am so out of my comfort zone’! The daughter guided her mother every step of the way, telling her where to sit and wait while she filled out her paperwork, the mother held on to the daughter’s coat and water bottle so she could have her hands free. Once the paperwork was done, she made sure the daughter’s back did not hurt, touched it and said something to her in a language I did not understand. I was called then, and as I followed the nurse into the doctor’s office, I tried to catch their eyes to smile, but they were busy among themselves.

These days, as this country gets richer with the advent of different cultures from all parts of the world, many seniors are making the long trip to come here to visit family. The sight of elderly couples in traditional outfits walking a few steps behind their immigrant family, with a look of wonder and bewilderment is quite familiar, especially in the cities and other touristy places. Since my loved ones live far away, I often watch these visitors with pleasure mingled with envy, and more often than not, give a big smile if I happen to catch their eye. And more often than not, my smile is either acknowledged a tad late and returned with a surprised smile, or I just get a surprised stare – I don’t know you, why are you smiling at me? And more often than not, I notice the diffidence in their body language. A feeling of uncertainty about being in a foreign land with a very different language and culture manifests itself in their steps, expression. That, and also a sense of amazement at the novelty of the place, at how different it is from their homeland. And when I see the uncertainty, I want to reach out and give them a hug. I, of course, am not crazy enough to do it but I want to 🙂 !

So I seek out the ones who look most vulnerable and in need of help at airports when I travel from India to the United States. I unashamedly eavesdrop – I am a Bengali after all, and when I feel there is enough confusion between an elderly couple at what the next step should be in this complicated process of immigration and security check, I take it upon myself to guide them through it. And trust me, the feeling of relief at having a guide who speaks their language is almost palpable.

Many visit to be with their loved ones for a few months and many, while doing so, try their best to be as helpful to their sons or daughters as they can. They sometimes come in an hour of need and try to alleviate the stress of child-birth or new job or any other crisis by being here and helping in any capacity. When I first came to this land of do-it-yourself from a land of abundant domestic help, my family back home just about cried at my condition. ‘The poor girl has to do everything by herself. She has no help!’ they lamented. At the beginning I wallowed in self-pity and lapped up the commiseration till it started getting old. Then I tried to convince them I am not doing anything out of the ordinary, majority in this country do everything without much help. The argument to that was, ‘they are used to it, you are not.’

My parents, when they come, take over certain chores to give me a break. My mother takes over the kitchen, and my father takes over the responsibility of the dog and the children. He often regrets the fact that he can not drive and hence, can not go to the grocery store and spare me that chore as well. Oh, and he switches the laundry, empties the dishwasher AND cleans their own bathroom. One incident stands out in my mind. It was a hot summer afternoon and I was mowing the lawn. My father came out with a bottle of water and waved at me. I was thirsty so I took a break and gulped down some water. He asked me if he could do part of the lawn while I rested. I refused to have him help me, I said, ‘Go inside, stay cool!’ He, however, sat out at the garden bench with my water bottle in his hand with a distressed expression on his face the entire time I mowed the lawn. Once I was done, he was equally impressed with my lawn mowing abilities and disturbed that I married a man who made me mow our lawn! He said a few times, he felt very helpless sitting there while I toiled in that heat. And when Sean came home from work, after an initial hello, he launched into how I mowed the entire lawn, how hot it was, how impressed he was at my strength and what not. Later, in the privacy of our bedroom Sean chuckled, ‘Your father certainly had an accusatory tone when he told me about your lawn mowing prowess! Did you feel there was a hidden message to me cloaked in your praise about ME making you mow the lawn?’
And I said, ‘Buddy, you better believe it. His princess married a pauper who MAKES her mow the lawn. His heart is breaking!’

😀

Checkmate.

Sahana intended to play with his head. One night I eavesdropped on a conversation between the two of them:

Sahana: ‘Ryan, do you realize that this life that you are living now is all a dream of your mentally unstable mind? In reality, you are a patient in a mental asylum and you are dreaming all this?

Ryan was brushing his teeth. The buzz of electric toothbrush stopped as an indignant brain registered this information and then processed it.

‘NO, THIS IS NOT A DREAM!!!’

Sahana: ‘Yes it is. Mom, dad, me you, Sage, none of us exist in your real life. You are dreaming. One day you will wake up and all this is going to be gone. This is an alternate universe which only exists in your dream.’

All of a sudden a loud, angry exclamation from Sahana:

‘WHY DID YOU KICK ME???’

Ryan: ‘I kicked you and you felt it. That proves it is not a dream, you are real.’

Sahana: ‘Nope! You kicked me in your dream. I yelled in your dream. This is all a dream. You are really a mental patient in an asylum!’

Poor Ryan takes after me in gullibility. He semi believed Sahana and pondered over the possibility of his life being an alternate universe existing only in his unstable mind generated dream. Sahana laughed evil laughter – for a while.

Yesterday, after a trip to the library as we were getting back in the car to drive home, Sahana said something that Ryan did not like. And this is what I heard:

‘Sahana, since this is MY universe, I control it, you better watch out. If I don’t like what you are doing in my universe, I will exterminate YOU from here!’

I was walking ahead. I stopped and turned around. Sahana, for once, had nothing to say.

She and I talked about it in the car today as I drove her to practice. She said, ‘That boy!!! He has now turned my theory to his benefit. He now believes he is a pro baseball player dreaming of this life. He will wake up to his real life, go out and play baseball! It is a win, win! I wanted him to believe he was in an asylum!’

I said, ‘You relinquished the power girlfriend. You gave him his universe. He struggled at the concept. Then he made it his own and found peace in it. Now you are redundant!’

She is thinking how to get the power back. For now, it is checkmate!

Never a dull moment 🙂 !

My first unknown Facebook friend.

I watched the movie You’ve Got Mail while snuggling with Ryan and Sahana. Ryan said, after, “I am never watching another romance movie EVER!!!” and Sahana said, “Awwwww, that was so sweeeeet!!!!” But this blog is not about the movie that I LOVE and have watched more than 6 times. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan’s chat reminded me of my fear and apprehensions of befriending the first unknown friend on Facebook.

“Join this thing called Facebook!! Now!!! There are many friends from our class there, I have reconnected with them, they are asking for you!” My girl friend from college wrote me an emphatic email. I still dragged my feet. What is this unknown cyber world that I have no idea of? AND I have a fear of technology! But memories of sweet youth and college compelled me to listen to her rantings. I tentatively opened an account and swore not to befriend anyone I didn’t know. I was there just to connect with people I have left behind as I moved on in life.

Another girlfriend from college opened a forum called Books and More. I got sucked in, of course – the magical word ‘book’ does that to me every time. But guess what? In that forum there were those feared creatures!!! Strangers!!! And they were talking to me, or trying to engage me in a conversation. Stranger danger! Red alert! And wait!! One of them was a pesky man!!! Or a boy, I could not be sure. He surely acted as a boy. He called my girl friend, the admin of the book group, Mashi (aunty) and when he discovered that I was her batch mate in college, he called me Mashi as well. Ah, a mere child, harmless, I thought. Then he sent me a friend request and I frowned at that.

Wait, no!! I don’t want to be friends with a stranger! They could rob me blind or send nasty propositions. Ummmm…well…yeah…my inflated self-worth was a bit at play. No, just kidding. I was simply wary of strangers in a virtual world. I still am! Anyway, back to my quandary! What does he want? Can he see that my profile picture has a man on it? I am very happily married, thank you very much! But he was funny and witty and childish. And he made me laugh just like college days! So with shaking hands and uncertain fingers I clicked on the ‘Accept Friend Request’ button. And asked him, “How old are you?” I had assumed him to be a teenager or a man in his early twenties, he turned out to be only a couple of years younger than me. Help!! A grown man! Oh, well, if he turns out to be a jerk, I can always send him into oblivion by the click of a button I thought. He became one of my dearest friends and continues to be so after 5 years. And he is one of the most well read, thoughtful, intelligent person I know.

The friendship would have met an untimely death right at the beginning had I not been Type A about checking and re checking my comments before I sent them. The first time I typed his name on the iPad, wrote a comment and was all set to hit ‘Enter’, I happened to notice that my Apple device did not have his Indian name in its dictionary so it conveniently changed his name to ‘Stinky’. I was about to address my first ‘unknown’ friend on my one and only social networking site as Stinky. The friendship would have had a sad demise, and an early one.

Through him, I met some others, men and women! One friend came to US for work and made the extra effort to come and just see me in my town although his work place was in a different State altogether. My family asked, “So, you know him only through Facebook?” I confidently said, “Yes.” He is now more of a family member than a friend. My whole family embraced him as one of our own.

I made friends over songs, poems, blogs and laughs. I made friends over world cup soccer and Game of Thrones. Some stayed on the periphery, some touched my heart and soul through their brilliance, kindness of heart and generosity. I rejoice at their victories and mourn their losses. They teach me new songs, new poetry, new thoughts. We debate over our beliefs, we laugh over jokes. We have shared stories, made our presence felt during difficult times. We have said those words to each other, ‘You matter.’ We have said, ‘This too shall pass.’ And we have said, ‘Fly, soar’. I have found many real friends in the virtual world. I met them in a reunion last year, some of them, for the first time. The meeting, however, was seamless. My husband, who tagged along, somewhat skeptical of virtual friendships, smiled wide as he met my friends. He laughed along, danced to Hindi songs, read my poet friend’s poetry with open-mouthed awe and came back with their love and friendship.

But I am still wary of strangers. Most friend requests don’t get accepted unless I have interacted and liked what the person had to say on threads of other friends. I do not indiscriminately make friends with unknown people and I would advise against it. Having said that, I value my ‘real’ friends who I found in’ virtual’ world. You know who you are.

Oh, and you can blame ‘You’ve got mail’ for the mush.

🙂

Hold on to dreams..

The change is very gradual, almost imperceptible, yet I notice it lately. The silent burst of the colorful bubble of dreams in the young mind of my son. The brush with reality is painful and the realization harsh. Even a year ago, being an Olympic swimmer was a possibility, beating Phelp’s record was not simply a pipe dream but an achievable aspiration. Playing pro baseball was not wishful thinking but a natural progression of life. What else would he do other than play professional baseball? Or win gold medals in Olympics? He has his mind set to two schools when he grows up – Harvard and MIT. But now questions and doubts are casting shadows on those innocent dreams. I am not good enough! Am I good enough?

Those dreams, at the age of nine, at the beginning of fourth grade, are slowly starting to look unrealistic. Although I know this is simply a part of growing up, yet it devastates me to think that he will not casually say anymore ‘I will win one more medal than Phelps in Olympics’ or, ‘Mom, when both Ravens and Orioles want to draft me, what should I do?’ I just want him to dream on – for as long as he can. And who knows, his dreams may well be his reality one day? He is a little bundle of endless possibilities like every other child.

Last night while brushing teeth before bed time he said to me:

‘Mom, the child born by mixing you and dad, (interesting choice of words) that is me, should be super athletic and very smart, right? Dad is super athletic and you are very smart?’

‘Well, you ARE super athletic and you ARE very smart!’ I said. Please note how I avoided answering the ‘you are very smart?’ question! 🙂

He thought about it quietly for a few minutes.

‘Being good at sports is not going to get me anywhere, is it?’ He then asked.

‘Being good at sports is an ability not everybody has. It is a gift. Accept at it as one. And you love playing, so play. We can see where it takes you later. But you want to be well-rounded. You want to do well in school and learn all that you can learn as well!’

‘I am finding fourth grade very challenging. This is the most challenging year of all I think. Can you help me?’ (He just started fourth grade)

The cry for help was so plaintive, so innocent and genuine that I stopped what I was doing and took him in my arms.

We had a talk and planned a plan till he felt confident that we are all in it together, mom, dad, sister too. We are team Ryan and we will help him learn, no matter what. It indeed is a big transition from previous years to fourth grade and his steps are faltering. But he knew enough to ask for help. I am grateful. We have a plan. Bring it on, fourth grade. We got this! 🙂 And we high-fived!

We will make sure those dreams return! We need those bright, colorful bubbles floating around childhood. My mommy heart wants to save all of them, none can burst! So there! 🙂

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