Moonwalk

My elder son has been given a science project which requires him to record the phases of the moon for a whole month. He needs to observe and draw the moon every night and note the changes. I was fairly happy with the project, it seemed simple, fun to do and informative.

What I did not realise, was that the project was going to turn into one of discovery and wonder. As we walk hand in hand each night staring up at the sky, trying to spot the moon ( which has been playing peek a boo for the last one week). We have discovered not just stars, planets and constellations, but also the fact that we love talking to each other and sharing thoughts. I have discovered that he is but a replia of me in his thoughts and emotions. I am filled with wonder at the miracle of genetics which has produced such a perfect young chap who is so much like me yet so different.

Thanks to this project, today I know that he no longer idolises Malinga, his new hero being Brett lee. I know now that he is regularly tormented by a headless monster in his dreams. I know that his favourite dog is a dachshund. I wonder if it was not for this project would I have ever spent so much time gazing up at the skies with my son everyday and discussing his life's trivia. Maybe not.

I am eternally grateful to the teacher who thought of this moongazing. It has helped me understand my little boy who is slowly inching towards adolescence and who may never again in my life time spend so much time walking hand in hand with me.

Let it go.

I was teaching photosynthesis to tenth graders a few days back and wanted to prove that chlorophyll is necessary for photosynthesis. True to my habit of using theatrical opening lines, I began with " In science, whenever you need to prove that some component is essential, you have to simply remove it from the system to realise its sigificance"
Forty pairs of amused eyes looked back at me. Someone whispered ," Isn't that true for life as well ?"
I was taken aback for a moment and then carried on bravely by agreeing to the speaker, and mentioning the age old ," if you love something, let it go. If it loves you it will surely come back."
It led me to wonder, what if I did not know whether I loved someone or not?

In India, as arranged marriages go, I too met my husband (then a stranger) ten years back. Since I could put tick marks on all my checklists, I agreed to getting married. A few months of courtship led to getting bonded for life.
All was mishy mushy, and ritualistically we whispered "I love you" to each other, ever so often. But there was always that burning question in my mind, "How do I verify that I love him?" Blame the scientist in me, but I needed conclusive evidence and not abstract nouns to define love.

My experimental proof came in one day while visiting a shopping mall in Delhi. As we sat down for lunch with our kids, suddenly police arrived and announced that the mall needed to be vacated due to a bomb scare. We immediately rushed out, as sniffer dogs and bomb squads started combing the area.
Our car was parked in the basement of the building and we were stuck without it. We waited for a while for a green signal from the police, but none came. Slowly a few people started trickling down to the car park to retrieve their cars and leave the premises. My husband decided to do the same and ran into the basement.

Those five minutes while I waited outside holding the hands of my two young sons, were the longest in my life. The air of uncertainty, not knowing what was about to happen, the possibility of a freak bomb blast, the realisation that my kids were staring at my stony face, is difficult to put into words.

Somehow the time passed and I was relieved to see him emerging with the car unharmed. As I sat in the car, suddenly my mind filled with inexplicable happiness. I had got what I wanted. Now I knew conclusively that I was Iin love. Nothing else could explain the agony of the past five minutes. I was sad that we had to go though this traumatic experience, but then again, how else would the diamond sparkle if it is not cut ?

Gulmohar

Being a teacher and a mother of two young kids, my mornings are crazy. Packing tiffins, planning lunch, uniforms, school bags, forgotten homework all eat into my morning hours. My usual lament is, that I rarely get any time for myself in the mornings.

I wait desperately for the dull thud of the newspaper falling near the front door. Its a miracle that I manage to snatch a few minutes to read the headlines just before rushing out to work.

Those five minutes, in which I skim through the newsprint and juggle a sandwich and a cup of tea, are truly, "my own" time.

For the past few days my routine has been disturbed by the arrival of some new guests. The Gulmohar tree which is just outside my balcony has flowered. The bright red flowers have captivated my mind and heart completely. I sit at the corner of the table from where the tree is visible and stare endlessly at the bright red blooms fluttering in the morning breeze. They have completely taken over the tree, and very few leaves are visible. It is a vermilion colored delight. The delicate yellow spots dance when the tree sways in the wind.

When we were growing up, Gulmohar was a very common roadside tree. We used to play sword fights with the stamen, used to make elephants out of unopened buds and present the blooms to our moms and teachers.

But over the years the number of Gulmohar trees have decreased considerably as have bougainvillea  and Silk cotton trees. Spring time used to see the roads splattered with red and yellow blossoms. It was so common that I did not realise how much I loved them till they started disappearing from my life.

I treasure the happiness this lone Gulmohar has brought into my life. I do not know for how long the blossoms will last, but for the time being I welcome them with open arms and hold on tightly to the picture of them fluttering in the wind.

Mr. Chewing Gum

There is this chap who stays near my place. Shabby tees, floaters worn such that the heel stubs the back of the shoe, shorts which defy laws of physics and don't slip off, lurid coloured underpants which peek out every time he bends. He has mastered the art of chewing gum and yapping on his phone simultaneously.
We pass a look of contempt everytime our eyes meet. He sniggering at my dupatta and I shuddering at his apple green shorts. 

I fail to identify with him though I am not exactly dinosaur generation. But somehow the insolence in his eyes and the silly smirk on his lips are a put off.

Today I found him leaning on his bike, fingers flying as he text-ed the whole world. I passed him thrice on my evening stroll.

Suddenly a car stopped nearby . A frail old lady was trying to get down. It seemed that she had difficulty walking. Her even older and almost bent double husband tried to help her get down and hold her stick.
Quite a few people were walking by and none came forward to help. I rushed to their side only to find Mr. chewing gum already there, gently helping the woman out of the car and helping her walk.

This time when our eyes met, mine were full of respect and his sheepish.
I guess I have made a friend :)

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Beautiful Words

I came rushing back from the market to find the AC service fellow waiting for me at my doorstep.
Scruffy shoes, dirty shirt and dusty faced, he followed me inside to clean up the ACs. He went about cleaning and dusting away and became more and more dirty in the process.



Job done, he sat down to write out the bill and job card.



I could not believe my eyes as I saw his writing. Each letter was a sculpture carved in ink, each word a masterpiece worth framing. The letter formation was worthy of Victorian era scribes.



On appreciation, he shrugged and said he had copied the style of writing from a maths teacher that he had.

He packed his stuff and left. An unknown artist of an unappreciated art.....