He, she and old me!

A two-minute short story

A partially opened window (thank God), stubborn body attached to a bed (eyes bright nevertheless) and a mind still fresh and romantic despite the wrinkled skin. What more to shoo off boredom?

Today is Tuesday. It’s a sunny day. The gate next door is half open.  It’s a courier agency centre. Now I'm enjoying live footage..and live..mind you, not on some tiny screen. Its 10D! 

Will she, won't she? He looks distraught, plus sheepish. He is talking to her. Wish I could lipread. Darn....there goes the bloody scooter....what a time to screech in.....the momentum is disrupted.

Huh? A handkerchief? Now why? I thought girls don't cry these days, they only fool gullible guys who think they are smart. Ah…her face is turning this side…stupid curtain, what a time to sway in the breeze.

“Preetha….Preetha, where are you? I want some air, open the window a little wider will you?........Ah…that’s better.” 

 Is it tears? Or plain, unromantic sweat? Why did she fish out the hanky? Don’t they have any emotion called love any more? Well, there goes the hanky into her bag. Material misses, all. A hint of a smile crosses her face and he…yes, yes..he is actually blushing….thank God..the world is still a nice place to live in….there’s love, there’s compassion…empathy..

At peace with the world once more and the window opened wider, I try to look at the expression on their faces. Enveloped by straightened hair that fell on either side of her face, it worked like a dupatta. Cheap, light blue printed (can’t see what the print is) synthetic top and a pair of jeans,  frayed at the ankles. A certain steely look that betrayed no emotion.  He seems all flustered. Did he finally tell her? His cream shirt is bathed in sweat.

Both rush into the building, as a car stops at the gate. Looks like their boss is coming. Dog in the manger! “Preetha…is my orange juice ready?  I want it sweet. I said I want it SWEEEET.”

The next morning is rainy. “Preetha..open the window, both sides..wide open, please.”

Now where are they? He should have been here by 9.30 and she by 10. It’s already 11.  Maybe they are working inside today and will clear the parcels lying outside later. Hmm wonder what happened yesterday..

The morning next is here….Time: 11.30 am. Window open…but no sign of her or him. A pile of parcels lie untended. The boss makes an appearance. With him are two guys and they are shown the parcels. Where is she? Where is he? Did he propose?

“Preetha?”

“Here’s your orange juice.”

“What’s happening next door?”

“New staff. The old ones were caught red handed with the money they stole from the locker two days ago.”

The blushes…. the hanky…. she caught him and he had to part with half the moolah.  And both got caught. So it wasn’t love?

“Preetha..close the window!”

        

Case against Mommies

By Prema Manmadhan, published in The Hindu metroplus in 2004 on Mother's day

When it can be `Papa don't preach' it can be a case against pushy Ammas too. On Mother's Day, which falls on May 9, Mommies, think hard, think rationally!


WHEN IS it NOT Mother's Day, pray? Only when emotional blackmail fails to move family members. Otherwise Ammas all have their way and queen it over the family, only they won't admit it. The word `mother' evokes all that is honey-dewy in literature and the puranas. One mother used to get her children round by chanting, `Mata pita guru deivam' at every given opportunity. Her logic was that the mother came first even before the Almighty, from puranic days!

True, there's nothing like maternal instincts. `Sacrifice', some of them call the things they do so that their children get better opportunities than they did, in their childhood. But could it be selfishness, by any means? To show people that their children did better than others'? Or as psychologists say, to see their dreams fulfilled in their children? Bad analysis, mothers may think, when all mothers bend backwards to give their children the very best.

But there are other instincts inherent in many mothers that are not very flattering, that sets a bad example to the child. Only, nobody wants to talk about the bad mother. It's something like this: In an obituary, people skip all those instances when the guy really made a pest of himself. On Mother's Day, too, people do the same. They say and write all that's positive and sweep the negative aspects under the carpet. Look at these new age pushy mamas who will not give their two-and-a-half year old peace till she/he parrots what her/his age, name and colour of her dress, all in preparation for the interview to enter the Kindergarten class. Once that is through, it would be tortuous motivation techniques to surpass every other child in the class; Packing into tiny minds what they cannot take till the tears take over.

"But that is because I love my child very much. It must not be seen in that light. True, psychologists do say it is bad to push a child, but one cannot risk not doing it. If she does not study hard enough now, she will continue in the same vein and what will we do when she reaches Class 10," asks Preetha Vinod, whose daughter Bhadra, is entering Std I.

Elizabeth Tony, a bank officer, on the other hand, says she took leave when her son had his Class 10 exams. He would lounge on the sofa and listen while she read out the portions. Of course, she had the added responsibility of checking, every now and then to see if he was nodding. If this was not maternal love, what is, she thought. Later, in college, she would check his every move to see that he went in the right direction and did not fall into bad company. This so irritated the boy that he considered his mother to be his arch enemy, and even stopped talking to her.

It took prayers, reasoning, counselling and luck to bring the mother and son back together again.

Till the other day, it was studies, studies all the way, but today, the extra curricular activities matter when it comes to professional courses too. The poor mother tries hard to detect the slightest extra curricular interest in her darling and sends the child to sundry tuitions during vacation. And at the youth festivals she feels it is love that drives her to near fisticuffs to ensure her son's or daughter's victory. That another child might have done better than hers, is a possibility she cannot consider. Blinded by love, perhaps, but again, a bad example.

Alas, in that mad scramble to see that Sonny reaches first, she makes painful comparisons too. "Look at Ramu next door. He has never got less than 100 in his Maths papers. Why can't you be like him?" Mothers, beware, this is a sure ticket to get into the bad books of your precious progeny.

And when they turn into young men and women, and will not bend down to have their bottoms spanked, comes the threat, "You will do it (whatever) over my dead body". Nowadays, few take these protestations seriously. They do it, and mostly not over their dead bodies!!

But, take heart. Mothers almost always have their way. Long faces, `moun vriths' and mutterings are the modus operandi. Hap... hap... Happy Mother's Day.

Miss you, Mum

On Mother's day, 2010, published in the Hindu Metroplus
By Prema Manmadhan

Mother, did I ever tell you I loved you more than anyone? No? Then, it's because our culture is so different from the West.

We hardly ever say, ‘I love you' or ‘I missed you' like Westerners. We think it's funny because we say that in so many ways, in our deeds, in our thoughts and in the way we try to pass on the values that you taught us.

When something drastic happens or when we are dead scared, don't we always turn to you, even though you are not here?

We scream, ‘Mother' in our mother tongue. Now, isn't that proof that you live as long as we do too?

All those teen years, when the word ‘REBEL' flowed through our very veins, we may have said very bad things to you. Like the time we back answered you in front of all those relatives and friends and when you felt you had not brought us up right, maybe. But no, you were always a gem, it was our age that spoke, not us, Mom. Believe me!

But though we felt sad and sorry about it later, there was no way to let you know about it, for in the Indian context, ‘sorry' just didn't figure in our scheme of things. Maybe you sensed it. Of course we did that extra bit of chores so that you would guess that we were really sorry, maybe you saw that and maybe you knew that all along, and forgave us.

We always took you for granted, didn't we? But then that was because we never ever thought there would be a time when you would not be there. That is the reason. But we do so wish we had pampered you more.

When we had our own families, we were too engrossed in that nuclear set up and our jobs and friends. Again you were taken for granted, on looking back. That you were getting older and not as healthy as you might have been never struck us. For us, you were always that sprightly woman, able to deal with anything, the supermom who did not need looking after.

But every day, we think of you, because so much of you is in each of us, so much of what you taught us we practise every day, so much of what you left us, we use, and today, in us, we see you, in our children, we see ourselves. And isn't that what tradition is all about? On this Mother's Day, we open out our hearts to you and say, ‘I miss you so much, Mother'.

Did someone say, ‘I miss you too?'