Role reversal - Part 2

When I was eight years old, I would walk from the gate of our apartment complex and onto the road where the school bus would pick me up. I had to walk a small stretch of road outside the gates in order to reach the assembly point where other kids would be waiting. One morning, a cow was busy chewing on some grass as I walked by. I don't remember what really happened next,but I found myself running for dear life, followed by the cow that had looked deceptively mild, minding its own business a few minutes back. Perhaps spooked by the honk of a passing vehicle, it had taken off in a startled leap behind me. After an intense chase, I fell into a ditch, expecting the cow to chomp down on my braids. But the cow kept running ahead. I got up slowly, bruised in body but scared to walk to the bus stop thereafter. My brothers could not stop laughing when they heard of my plight. But my parents took a decision that day. My father would accompany me to the bus stop each morning and wait until I boarded the bus safely. He continued to do that everyday till I was 13 years old.

Today my father walks with the help of a walker as he recovers from hip surgery. He has already suffered a heart attack and a kidney problem in the last year. The highpoint for his birthday this year, which ushered in his eightieth year, was being discharged from the hospital. He is physically weak, a mere shell of what he used to be. He is easily tired, demotivated and often cranky. Neither cricket not politics interests him. Anna Hazare's activism revived his spirits for a few weeks earlier this year. But he finds it difficult to read for long, or watch TV. He has stopped making plans for the future. He still wants to give advice but mostly feels that it is a lost cause.

I don't know how to deal with this new version of my father. I am the one who has to help him walk to the table to eat. I choose the clothes for him to wear. I open the curtains, get him his glasses, insist that he eat everything on his plate. I discuss his medication and health status. I teach him Sudoku. I urge him to read an article a day from Reader's Digest. I give him advice. I tell him stories. I share details of my day. He asks for my opinion about dealing with his finances. He seeks inputs into how to pass the days which seem long.

It is hard to take this role, parenting a parent. To be the caregiver after having been at the receiving end for so long. I am sure it is difficult for him too. Only a year ago, he stood by my side as the truck unloaded my possessions into my new apartment. It was exactly a month after his angioplasty. He would not hear about taking it easy. He was my support as I made a major transition. Now he is moving into a new phase, a more restricted life. Perhaps he may not go out for a walk as freely or head to the medical store to buy his medicines as confidently. His social circle will probably dwindle to those few people who can come over and visit him at home. For a person who thrives in the company of people, his sphere of interaction and influence is decreasing.

Just as we see our children growing, it is part of life to also watch our parents shrinking. Being aware of the inevitable cycle of life where I fit in makes me aware of the present. I need to be in the moment to witness these transitions. As I move from one role to another, I need to stay rooted to what is happening now, not visualize my future or go back into the simpler past. Just as my father did with me, I need to accompany the moment.

Medium size life

I was at dinner last week with work colleagues. Among the five a the table, many of us had acquired the same educational qualifications and had almost equal number of work experience under our belt. But I was the only one who had broken away from full-time corporate employment to pursue the uncertainty of the consultant lifestyle. "So how busy are you? How much work are you able to get?" asked the new acquaintance. "My target is to work 5 days a month", I replied. I almost burst out laughing at the open-mouthed expression that followed. "Wow. That sounds really great", he said. "And I try to take a vacation every quarter." I could not resist adding, just to see how far the astonishment level would go.

I suspected that they thought I was a little crazy to be doing this - not getting the full benefits of my elite foreign education. I know that I could make more money and have a fancy designation with overseas travel and five-star hotel dinners thrown in for good measure. But how then can I take a week off to visit my sick father without seeking permission from my boss? How can I take music lessons on weekday afternoons? How can I be home when Aparna returns from school at 3 p.m, the only time when she is chatty enough for me to know what is going on in her teenage school life? How can I accompany a neighbor to the doctor mid-week?

When asked to visualize a successful life, most people imagine a lavish lifestyle, not just a comfortable one - a life which includes expensive homes, cars, gadgets and every luxurious item available in the market. A dream life equals a king size life. One where you can buy anything that is on sale. Enabling such a life demands unnecessary pursuit of material wealth, unhealthy competition, unnatural levels of stress and premature aging. But the all-pervasive subliminal messages imply that anyone lagging behind is a loser. Getting off the rat race is a sure sign of failure.

Personally I made a conscious choice to get off the beaten path. It has not been easy to create this kind of flexibility in my work life which enables me to actually have a life. It is my work that enables my life, don't get me wrong. I live a comfortable life. But it is not a king-size life. It is a medium-size life. I live in a medium size apartment with a reasonable home loan. I drive a reasonably new car but one that allows me to be free from dependence on public transport or finicky drivers. I make less money. I try to put more life into my years. I want to have some reserves of time and energy with me when a chance to explore new avenues for personal development come my way. I want to be available when someone seeks my advice or wants my physical support. I don't want to let the moments speed by when I am immersed in getting through excruciating work pressure.

People talk of working hard till an arbitrary year in the future at which time they will actively pursue the life they always wanted. Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans, said John Lennon. I don't know how long I will live. And as I look at my frail father, a shell of his old self at age 80, I wonder if I will be able to live an exciting life later. Better to live a full life now. And to do that, I needed to create time. So I try to work less, live more. If that makes me a loser in the eyes of the corporate types, so be it.

Do something

A common refrain amongst NRIs when they visit India, is to exhort the resident Indians to "do something". It could be anything that is perceived as being sub-optimal or downright intolerable - heat, air conditioning, traffic, pollution, noise, inefficiency, lack of discipline and on and on goes the list. It seems simple enough for a transient visitor to point out the lack and place the responsibility onto people who live here all the time. I find this stance not just annoying but supremely idiotic. Let me get this straight - I live here 365 days a year. I inhale the automobile exhaust, deal with inordinate delays at most places of business, I brave the summer heat and the malfunctioning air conditioning, all the time. I try to get on with my life. In fact, I find that I have a pretty wonderful and satisfying life on most days, despite this chaos. But here comes a tourist, who once held an Indian passport, and now finds the whole scene unbearable, even for a short time.

Here come the million-dollar answer to the oft-repeated question of "Why don't you do something about this?"

Who should do something here? The person who has a life in India in spite of the obvious difficulties, the one who can live happily amidst all the uncertainties? I don't think so. I think the one who needs to "do something" is the one who has graduated to living in a rarefied space and changed to such an extent that what was once everyday life is now a terrible tragedy. I think the visitors needs to do something; about their attitude.

Let us look at the simple situation of "road rage" - traffic woes that add to the already stressed individual's limited capacity for dealing with adversity. Majority of people who find themselves stuck in traffic find ways of dealing with their anger and channeling their frustration while they inch along to their destination. But a few totally lose it and have the equivalent of a toddler's tantrum on the road. Who needs to do something here? The person with road rage or the others who are at the mercy of the lunatic? It is a rhetorical question, so no need to answer.

Coming back to the issue of doing something about all the ills of Indian society, I agree that there is much that can be done. Much more than what one individual can possibly do in a lifetime. But there is something each one of us can do. We can pick a cause or causes close to our heart and try to change the system, from within. Not by pointing an accusing finger to highlight what is wrong, but by putting out a helping hand to those who need it. It is easy to get dejected by the magnitude of things that could use sweeping reform. But every journey starts with a step.

I try to do something. It may not amount to much. But when I teach at the college, I try to instill a work ethic among students that breeds honesty, respect for others and sense of pride in work that is done sincerely, instead of thirsting for marks or degrees. I help out financially to those deserving individuals who cross my path. I always take calls from those who seek career guidance. I feed biscuits to little kids who beg at traffic lights and stray dogs that seem to need a snack. I can't be Mother Theresa. I can't save the world. But I can act in my little way. Perhaps India will not transform in my lifetime, but it helps me to know that I am doing something.

But I did not say all this to the person to quipped "Do something". I felt it was better to say nothing than do nothing.

Minimum requirements

I have had a discussion with a few friends lately about the topic of intense competition that turns both college-age children and their parents into emotional wrecks. For the majority who chase impossible odds to get into prestigious institutions like IIT, anything less turns into the first major failure of their young lives, perhaps scarring them forever. For the minority who are asked to choose a career of their liking, the choice is even harder because the path to a fulfilling work life is not laid out like a step by step recipe, particularly if you veer away from the path of "doctor" or "engineer". A few loaded parents then resort to sending their children overseas by paying a heavy price.

I am not sure what Aparna plans to do, considering that we will soon have to pick a path. I am wary of the mind-numbing rat race to become one among a million engineers and doctors, all of whom come out of colleges with degrees, but not an education. A broad exposure at the junior college (plus two) stage might open more avenues but it seems like a child is doomed to decide by the time they are 15 whether they want to pursue a scientific or arts curriculum without truly being given a chance to explore. How about sending her to the US, asked a friend? There is better all-round exposure with more time built into the system to decide a major.

In my mind, to send your teenage child abroad, away from your watchful gaze, to independently pursue a college education requires fulfillment of three minimum criteria - money, motivation and maturity. The first one, I will have to cough up. Even if I don't have the necessary amount, I think that is still something that can be arranged. Motivation lies solely in the child's court. How eager and willing to work is the child? Will she focus on the goal i.e. get an education, without being distracted by the freedom and fancy lifestyle? Will she reach deep into her own reserves of values, courage and resourcefulness to survive and thrive in an unfamiliar environment? That depends a lot on maturity, the third criterion. Whose job is it to be responsible? The child's of course. But it is possible that there is a difference in the maturity levels of two children of the same age. Why? I believe that a child's maturity level is a function of two factors, the child's inherent nature and also the parent's approach. I am not sure how I have fared in my part but I have always tried to push the onus of decision-making on Aparna, to let her practice her skills in a variety of situations - should she study or watch TV? birthday party or Blue Cross? pizza or fruit? She doesn't always make the choice that I would like her to but it's OK. The more she decides and takes responsibility for those choices, this iterative approach should help hone her skills. Will it make her more mature? I don't know.

But we have a couple of years to check it out. And then we will decide. About college.

Role reversal

"Let me see what you are planning to wear to school", she said. "Make sure you are not late," she continued. Finally with an admonishment to "be good", Aparna left to board the school bus. I was supposed to leave a few minutes later to reach her school. A teacher had called two days earlier to request me to be a judge at a debate competition in the school. I agreed. All weekend Aparna alternated between excitement at the prospect and worry at any potential embarrassment caused by my presence at her school.

I had been invited twice previously. Unfortunately I had declined both times due to work conflicts. Aparna was convinced I would never again be invited. That explained the extreme thrill at the impending visit to her school. It was interesting to see the role reversal as she became the mother, echoing words that I have said to her many times before. "Don't be late. Be safe (implying, be sensible). Be good."

The seventh and eighth grade students spoke eloquently on the topic of child labor, making their points clearly and confidently. I was asked to say a few words and then announce the winners. I did my part and stepped out, escorted by a couple of teachers. I saw her then. Peeping into the room to see what I was upto. We exchanged a few words and I left.

Later she confessed that she was "proud" of me. A friend asked her "Why did they ask your Mom?". "Because she is awesome", Aparna replied. "And why is she awesome?" came the prompt response. "Because she is MY mother." With these words, Aparna made my day. Just as a few words of praise go a long way to raise a child's esteem, the same applies in reverse order as well. Motherhood is a long haul job with few opportunities for positive feedback. Today was such a day. By her words, Aparna acknowledged my role in her life; not by my "awesomeness" but by her confidence in her own sense of self.

Touch

There is no doubt that we have five senses (perhaps a sixth one as well for some). Different ways to experience the world we live in. Sight, smell, hearing, taste and feel. My comprehension of my world begins primarily with my eyes. I listen so I may speak appropriate words. I inhale the scent of the air around me. I appreciate the flavor of food. And I touch, so I may feel.

Somewhere along the way, I thought the senses were mutually exclusive for the most part. I know people who can't see but can hear. I know hearing impaired people with an acute olfactory sense. Of course there is an exception with food. I read somewhere that when we eat, we first eat with our eyes, then take in the aroma, hear the sizzle of hot food and then feel the texture in our mouth before we get to the taste. Pretty complex stuff huh?

What I did not know until recently was that we can also use one sense to understand something typically associated with another sense. Confused?

Read the following lines of beautiful poetry by Javed Akhtar, featured in the movie Zindagi Na Milege Dobara

Jab jab dard ka baadal chaya
Jab ghum ka saya lehraya
Jab aansoo palkon tak aya
Jab yeh tanha dil ghabraya

Humne dil ko yeh samjhaya
…Dil aakhir tu kyun rota hai
Duniya mein yunhi hota hai

Yeh jo gehre sannate hain
Waqt ne sabko hi baante hain
Thoda ghum hai sabka qissa
Thodi dhoop hai sabka hissa
Aankh teri bekaar hi nam hai
Har pal ek naya mausam hai
Kyun tu aise pal khota hai
Dil aakhir tu kyun rota hai

I felt a pang when I read it. I was using my eyes but hearing the words in my head. But I was left with the feeling that something had touched me, the predominant emotion was of "touch" - not sight, not hearing. Strange I thought.

Then I came across a wonderful collection of Sufi songs. Some were songs that I had seen in movies. But there was one from an album. I played the CD on my laptop and went to the kitchen to fix dinner. As the notes tumbled out, I actually felt a powerful force drawing me back to the laptop from where the speakers were doing a great job of amplifying the music. I could hear it from the kitchen, but the power pulling me was not for audible clarity, it was a power telling me to stop doing anything else, compelling me to halt, and just be. Not comprehend, not memorize, not repeat. Just be. The words eluded me but the tune stayed. The tug at my heart (not brain) came from not just the poignancy of the voice but from a deeper connection with the melody. I was touched.

I am amazed at myself for experiencing feelings through my other senses. Ability to see and hear can be quantified by measurement. Smell is a tricky one, it can become tolerant or weak or sensitive, something that can be gauged qualitatively. Taste of course, while being subjective, can be classified too. But how do we express our ability to feel? Is it just the response to a physical stimulus on skin? Is it a sensation, of pleasure, or pain or plain numbness? Our ability to feel depends not just on the number of nerve endings per square inch of skin. It is in our openness to receive, our sensitivity to perceive beyond the obvious, to be open to new and inexplicable situations. As I age, I find that I am not doing so well on some measurable parameters for certain senses, but what fills me with hope is that I am refining my sense of touch. I feel more now than when I lived in the obvious world of sensory overload. I now stop and appreciate things. With my participation, I feel more alive. Perhaps growing old has its rewards.

Thought-provoking words

I read a wonderful article in The Hindu magazine section this weekend. It was an opinion about Apple's "Think Different" ad campaign, a phenomenally successful promotion of Apple products that led to the rebirth of the company in 1997 and continued to run till 2002 taking not just the products but the company and its founders to iconic status.
A link to the article is provided below.
http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-features/tp-sundaymagazine/article2602615.ece

After a long time, I have come across an article that compelled me to write to the author to appreciate not just the thoughts on the topic but for the compelling articulation of his stance. It is writing that is clear, easy to read and difficult to ignore. Although the author feels strongly about the subject and lets us know his stance unambiguously, he argues the case without being judgmental about the majority who may think otherwise. The flow is smooth, the narrative taut and the logic faultless. It is not a tirade against the status quo but a sharp voicing of opinion that shatters the haze through we which normally operate. It made me sit up and read the words again. I stopped and mulled over the content. I talked about it with friends. I sent out the link via email to those who I thought would appreciate it.

Good writing should do all that. Make you read and re-read. Inspire thinking. Stimulate discussion. Energize into action. A writer by no means is an activist but he wields a mighty weapon, the pen that brings form to his deepest thoughts. And through that channel of creativity, writers can become agents of change. Change demands movement towards something new, away from the ordinary, off the beaten track or in one word, different.

Let me take this time to salute all those writers who indeed "think different".