Useless Confessions - II

This post is the second of a three-part series I'm doing on Confessions from my past. The thing about them is that they're utterly useless. It feels good to write about them, though! Check out Part I here.

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I was about 8 or 9 years old. We hadn’t gone on our usual trip to India during summer break, we had stayed behind. After dad went to work, mum and I went to a local health club for a few hours every day. A summer kids camp was on that year at the club, so we kids were packed away while the ladies splashed around in the pool and did their aerobics.

It was a fun camp for the most part. The organizers were mostly American housewives who were pretty good at engaging children in various activities. The kids at the camp came from various backgrounds – there were British, American, Arab, Indian (of course) and even a few African kids I think. We all mixed well for the most part, although I do remember a few curious stares and strange questions from the white kids. Some of them were polite and well behaved, while others were downright rotten.

I remember visiting an Ice Cream factory that summer as a part of the camp. There was also a trip to an Insect Zoo. The American kids had brought jars to take pet insects home. The very idea seemed repulsive to me then. We had games in the pool and the gymnasium and several other activities. I played baseball for the first time in my life. I just couldn’t get the hang of it. J

We had a couple of art classes that summer. One of them is where the story of my confession unfolds.

All the kids had assembled in a conference room at the club. The ladies took out several art kits and opened them, explaining to us what each item was meant for. Metal wires were to be twisted into loops and dipped in paint to look like petals. Several petals would be put together to make a flower. The flower then had to be stuck onto a board that made the base. That was the project.

The ladies began distributing the material. Turns out they were a few boards short, and some of the kids didn’t get any, me being one of them. I was pretty pissed. I thought the lady deliberately hadn’t given me a board so the white kids could have enough. I’m not sure why I felt that way. Maybe I had witnessed something of that sort earlier. Or maybe it was just my imagination at work. I can’t remember now.

Anyway, I was pretty mad. I glanced around the table, and then I spotted it. There was a board left unattended. It was just lying there, with no one around to claim it. I couldn’t believe my eyes at first, but I slowly began inching towards it. When I finally reached it, my hands itched. I knew it belonged to someone, I knew it was wrong to take. But I so badly didn’t want to be left out. I didn’t want to be the one to show my mom a half-baked art piece at the end of the day when all my friends had good ones. So I gave in to the temptation. I grabbed it and ran.

Back in my seat, I glanced around the room again. My little act had gone unnoticed! Thereafter I kept very quiet, silently working away at the instructions. Only for a while, though. Soon, somebody had started bawling in the room. I looked up to see a girl standing at the very spot of my crime. It was evidently her board I had taken. She cried and cried and cried some more. People consoled her but she refused to be consoled. She actually threw a tantrum, stomping away in fury. A part of me wanted to give it back, but then I had gotten stared already and I didn’t really fancy approaching someone throwing such a hissy fit. So I let it go.

Eventually they found her a makeshift board made of thermocol. She was silent the rest of the day, sullen and moody. I remember feeling guilty about it, I’m not the sort who likes to make people cry. The art had lost all its joy for me. It was the last time I’d ever taken anything that wasn’t mine.

So there you have it, yet another useless confession off my chest. Nope, no one knew about this until now. One less thing to take to the grave!

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Do you have useless confessions to make too? I'd love to hear about them. Stay tuned for part III, coming up same day, next week.

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Life || The Practices of the Highly Imaginative Indian Parent

I read somewhere that Indian parents of the 80s and 90s were an unimaginative breed of people. I politely beg to differ. I don’t know about you folks, but my parents were indeed, highly imaginative members of the human race. So much so, that they constantly indulged in the practices of the greatest minds of all time.

Photo Credit: Harlequeen (Creative Commons)

Writers, artists, leaders, great thinkers, I saw a glimpse of all such figures within my own home, in the very people who brought me into this world. I’ll share with you some of the performances that were commonly staged in my family, me being the victim, er… audience of them all.

Note: Translations to Italicized words are provided at the bottom of the post, in order of appearance.

Analogies

Long before I took the GRE exam, I was quite comfortably aware of and used to the concept of analogies. I did not even have to write down the frequently-asked examples of analogies on flash cards and memorize them. So well did they teach me, with real-life examples, such as:

Badam:Brillance, as Butter:Badam Halwa.

The more, the better! Needless to say, I was regularly fed with soaked and peeled badams (non-fat variety).

Logical Reasoning

Similarly, LR was taught to me at a very young age.

Najiba = III A

Sumitra = III A

Hence Najiba  = Sumitra

Najiba = 100/100 in Maths

Najiba = Sumitra

Hence, Sumitra = 100/100 in Maths!

Simple, yet profound. 

Lectures

Yes, my parents were quite accomplished when it came to delivering lectures. I would receive one whenever they felt their oration needed some practice.

One of the most popular lectures was titled, ‘Studying children will study anywhere’. This one was rendered particularly in the homes of relatives, family friends, etc. when I was expected to bring a book along to study, while the adults watched TV and chatted. A single complaint about the lack of amenties such as table and chair, lighting, mood, etc. would act as a trigger. 

Since my father is Telugu and mom Tamilian, I was subject to dual-language versions. So I was alternately told, “Padikere pasanga enga venalum padipaange,” by one parent and, “Chaduve pillalu ekkadaina chaduvutaru,” by the other. An inspired version would include examples of the likes of Abraham Lincoln who studied under street lights.

Guest-Lectures

For my benefit and the betterment of my general up-bringing, my parents routinely invited their own parents, siblings and closest friends to provide the much needed guest lectures. Some of the whackiest ones were given by my Grandma, whose words I still cannot forget.

My beloved Paati wasted no time in telling me that I would grow up to be like Kanthamma, our maid, if I did not study. “See Kantham, she cannot read or write. Unaku kooda ade gadi thaan, if you don’t study. You will have to wear torn sarees given by others and wash dishes for a living.”

Quotable Quotes

Russell Peters was not kidding when he quoted his dad, “Somebody gonna get a hurt real bad.” This was routinely chanted in my house too.

Again, I got multi-lingual versions of this. “Yaaro nalla adi vaanga poranage ippo” by mom, and “Evvaro baaga thannulu tintaaru ippiudu,” by dad. Unlike Russell, I always knew it was me. No siblings, you see. 

Another quote that got thrown around a lot was the one about the well. As in:

“Dad can I go to the sleep-over?”

“No”

“All my friends are going”

“If all your friends jump in the well, would you too?”

“K”

Memoirs

As all great personalities, my parents also narrated fond memories of their childhood experiences. Of course, these narratives always included a lesson, something for me to learn.

“What? Raise in pocket-money-aa? When I was a boy, I took the five annas my father gave me and saved it by walking five miles to the school in the next town. Children these days…” <Head bent and shaking>

“Inda kaalathu pasangalukku bhayame illama pochu.  Naanga chinnapo we were so scared of our parents. Why, even now, at this age also I am scared of my mother.”

Inception

Ahh yes, the concept of planting an idea was discovered by my parents long before Christopher Nolan. In fact, multiple dream/idea planting sessions were conducted frequently, and I did not even have to be asleep for them. Example of a common post-lunch scenario:

Dad (Looking up from Newspaper): Sumi, what to you want to become when you grow up?

Me (Looking up from Hardy Boys): Umm…

Mom (Running in from the kitchen, Beaming): When she was born itself, I told Amma. Our daughter will become a doctor. First in the family.

Dad: You know, Mr. Verma’s son has gone to America to study his masters. One day…

Mom (Dreamy-eyed): I always wanted to learn the Veena when I was younger. Alas, my parents could not afford. But our Sumi…

Recitals

Yes, I was required to recite several things as a child. Multiplication tables were one of them. When I was in the second grade, my mother took it upon herself to permanently imprint my mind with tables. So she mysteriously procured audio tapes of ‘tables-songs’ that promplty replaced the Suprabhatam. Paavam,  M.S. never knew that ‘times-two tables’ were actually her greatest competitor.  Every morning, I had to listen and sing-along, accompanied with the correct taalam.

Rituals

Several rituals that mirrored the lifestyles of the accomplished were religiously followed in my household. The one I remember most vividly is the summer ritual of ‘Five Words’. This practice required me to read 2-3 articles in the editorial section of the newspaper every day of my summer vacation. I had to underline five difficult words, look up their meanings in the dictionary, and copy them down into my notebook.

 As my laziness grew with age, I was pardoned, and the ritual was reduced to ‘Two Words’.

Newtonianism

This was perhaps, the most brilliant of my parent’s accomplishments. They were firm believers in the third law of motion propsed and proved by Sir Isaac Newton.

Every action, indeed, had an equal and opposite reaction in my house. Like if I told a bad word, my face would immediately be plastered with a slap. If I did not come home from playing immediately when my mother called me, the front door would promptly be locked. If I behaved badly in public, a tiny, discreet, yet painful pinch would follow on the underside of my arm, when no one was looking.

If you grew up in the 80s and 90s and cannot relate to anything I’ve written, I am sorry to inform you that your parents were quite unimaginative, as my reading-source states.

Translations:

Badam - Almond

Badam Halwa - Gooey, Yummy, Almond sweet

Padikere pasanga enga venalum padipaange/Chaduve pillalu ekkadaina chaduvutaru - Studying children will study anywhere

Paati - Grandmother

Unaku kooda ade gadi thaan - You too will suffer the same fate

Yaaro nalla adi vaanga poranage ippo/Evvaro baaga thannulu tintaaru ippiudu - Somebody gonna get a hurt real bad

Annas - old Indian currency

Inda kaalathu pasangalukku bhayame illama pochu - These days kids have no fear

Naanga chinnapo - When we were kids

Amma - Mother

Suprabhatam - A religious chant to be heard at the crack of dawn.

Paavam - Poor thing

Taalam - Way of keeping track of rhythm in Indian Classical Music

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