memory

What Would It Take?

The champion on stage glides through choreographed music and synchronous applause. Some programmed tears that pop up for the camera do not take away the effort, dedication, talent and sacrifice of the winner. Being cognizant of what would it take to become a champion makes him more of a champion.

At other times, proximity numbs us from examining other lives. An uncle who waded through water to study. A neighbour who flew fighter planes. A good writer who has kept stubborn company of writing whilst  barely being able to pay his bills, ensconced in obscurity.  The list is limitless and has a promiscous stride across all walks of life. 

The spectacular ordinariness of everyday life can be cruel. What would it take to live an ordinary life that makes a difference to many, long after death.  Stellar lives with patently ordinary hues.  

For instance, what would it take to live like my great grandmother?

What would it take be like her?

What would it have taken to have a large heart, a loud mouth and a stellar soul?  The coop of grandkids and the farm of great grandkids will stand testimony to her dynamic presence and frame.  Some have her nose. Others have her presence. But none have it all. Which makes me wonder what would it have taken to be her?

Imagine 1950’s and 60’s.  Imagine being stopped at the gate of a large university in a big city, where you have travelled to. You are stopped at the gate, as you push for an admission for your grand daughter.  Imagine, you push your way across, stride through the portals of the University and go argue with a much heralded professor. Imagine winning the argument. Now imagine doing it all as a rural illiterate lady. That was her. Now tell me, what would it take to be like her?

To see a family splinter yet not lose hope. To see her wealth being usurped yet believing in abundance. To live through hatred and division with love. To believe in the girl child.  To walk tall. To love deep. To stay curious. Thats my memory of her. Enough for me to strive to learn what would it take to be like her.

I remember her free spirit and ready smile. Her worlds and her views. Her elegance and poise.  But most of all, I remember her stories. Those were vivid stories and there would be no ‘moral of the story’ at the end of it all. ‘Go figure’ she used to say. Her presience always stood alongside her presence. 

As I lit a lamp in her memory, I wondered if I should write about her. And then almost heard her sing Bharathiar‘s song to me. 

அச்சமில்லை யச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்ப தில்லையே
உச்சிமீது வானிடிந்து வீழுகின்ற பொதினும்
அச்சமில்லை யச்சமில்லை அச்சமென்ப தில்லையே

(Roughly translated to: No fear. No fear. Even when the skies implode no fear no fear)

“It doesn’t matter what others think of you or your work. Do what is right. And do it well”, she said. Even as she sank. That was many years ago.

I wish I knew what would it take to be like her.

An earlier piece about her is here

Roller Skates memories

She has got wheels to her feet now. She is learning to move forward with them. Roller Skates are something that I have never climbed on to. Other than the once that I did many years ago and thought I was falling in love with the sudden spurt speed that it seemed to give me. Even as I was falling in love with, I fell hard on my face. Literally. And in every other sense of the word. I had declared then that Roller Skates were for the crazy ones.  Retreating to the familiar wear and tear of the old cricket bat, a bunch of incorrigible friends and the unbearable Sun. Roller Skates memories make me squint my eye today.

For today, the little Miss walked with her Roller Skates. Her first class. The picture of calm that I wore on the surface was tearing at its seams inside me, as anxiety ridden memories ebbed. Oblivious to all this, she walked and waved, with a dozen missteps and two dozen ‘near misses’!

The little miss has this unique magic wand in her that brings my own memory alive. These are memories that are so dormant in me, that I never knew were there in the first place. Of my first fall. The words of my dad and mom. The caressing hand of my grandmother. Every now and then, when the little miss says something or does something, my mind wanders and wonders with an unfailing memory pop up.

Several parents I know vouch for this. Their memories stand rekindled by their kid’s action, they too say. As she uses new words, demonstrates new grasp and generally unpacks what is packed into her, the wonder that is creation, does a wild jig in my mind. Bringing up children, my mom tells me often, happens in a jiffy. ‘Savour every moment’, she often says. The touch of lament and a dash of memory of the good old times, I cannot miss.

Even so, I am reasonably sure that I will miss these times. Of walking the little miss to school and taking her to her first Roller Skates class. Time and its many wheels will speed the minutes away leaving us with memories of moments that have sped by. So today, as she makes takes her gentle trod on those wheels, I realise, it is a moment to savour. She does far better than me. She has had fun. She has her friends. And her new wheels.

She finishes, asks for water and asks me, ‘Appa, why don’t you try?’

I smile first. And then laugh. As my eyes unconsciously well up, I realise that’s exactly what my dad asked me. Another of those memories that was tucked away in an inner whorl of the brain popped out to say ‘hi’!

Back then, I remember having told Appa that I would much rather play cricket with the boys. I can’t tell that to the little miss. The boys have all gone their way to sport their BMWs and beer bellies with aplomb . Cricket is not the game it used to be. Even the Sun sports an angrier hue these days.

I laugh with her. I tell her, ‘Next week’.

She laughs.

As the wheels of time spin fast, next week too will also come and go.