In Search of The Time Machine

It is a misfortune that befalls man that we get wiser (supposedly) only as we age and live through a considerable part of our existence. It is no wonder that the eponymous tooth of wisdom, the wisdom tooth breaks through the molars at a later stage in life! And in the middle ages of our life or when we are all most over the hill that we look back and feel what was in store for us and what we missed, what we did not. Then you feel having wasted much.  But then it’s quite late for introspections- to bring back time that went by and we have to sigh with breath of regret-for moments that we missed, things that eluded us, that we did not notice, we did not appreciate, perhaps with little bit of wisdom, it could have been different. Why did it have to be me? The question comes up.

Someone once told me long ago, when I was single and leading a fairly irrepressible living that it was only until he became a father that he knew what it is to be one. He said he then deeply regretted his missed opportunities and life denied, as a son. I did not think much about the statement then. But as years went by and now often, I could feel deep, the pang of the reality of what he said. I can only hope and wish the A and R may not three decades from now sit back and muse like I do. Because with relationships, what we miss and lose at the moment is lost forever. There is no time machine or “black hole’ to board and journey back in life, in time.

My relationship with my father as (brief) as it was for less than two decades was not even a roller coaster like, it was cold- from my point of view. Yes, now I do remember that, he had mourned to mom on a few occasions that I maintain a painful distance from him. Indeed that was the case. The simple matter was that I did not much like him, was afraid, was uncomfortable when he was around and that reflected in my moods and my behaviour. Quite a misfortune as a father for him and as a son for myself!

Why and how that feeling enveloped my relationship with him is not quite known to me, its genesis is something I cannot now recollect or point precisely. However trying it is to build up stray incidences and bits from distant and faint memory! I can recall that he was a disciplinarian of sorts. He, I feel often targeted me and was critical of me, reprimanding me often from my early age I can remember – let me say as six year old. He used to compare me with the boy next doors and ridicule me for not being like the jolly good smart fellow like his friend’s son , a distant relative – a  boy or girl displaying  a flowing outward charm and speaking without fear the good Anglican language. He, I do not know if it was the fall out of his Air Force  days insisted that we speak English and converse at home in English. Something I detested because I was not comfortable speaking that language. Though the early education was in a respectable convent run by a very old order of nuns, there was no diktat that only English must be spoken at school. Yes the nuns who were at that period mostly from outside the country did not speak Malayalam they never were not silly and false like the Neolithic educationist of this day. I remember that once he slapped me in the face, for something that irritated him. And mom was quite harsh with him for that. Not that Mother was an epitome of softness and feather touch. She was quite tough and would vent her other irritations on me. Father would, whenever he could and have me in his sights, begin his advice, his lecture on how to be in life. Perhaps there was a bit much of the dose that was not to my liking. Not that I was a saintly fellow at that. He, I now feel was a bit unsure of my direction .And did he fear that I may turn out to be the lamb that went astray? Now I understand that the apprehension about one’s children is in every father, parent.

But should that constrict the child to an extent where the freedom to breathe freely in their presence do not exist? Freedom to be with children of the same age? Freedom to dream like children does? But be sort of incarcerated within the four walls what was called a home? I feel that the answer to these asking will be provided by my children. I’m certain they are at home and do not feel asphyxiated.

A particular incident that is still haunting me when I think of him was one that bled me to a considerable extent when it happened. I was eleven or twelve years of age and not more. There was this very important football tournament that was held in Thpuram in the 1970’s. It was an All India affair where clubs like Mohan Bagan, MH Sportings, East Bengal, Vasco Goa, JCT Mills etc used to compete. The carnival used to be for forty five days. The match began at 5 in the evening and was over by 6.30pm. My maternal grandfather who was among the respected gentry of that time was given a VIP complimentary pass to watch the tournament in full. He gave me the pass and asked me to enjoy the matches. I was thrilled and it was seamless. I ran home from school and was at the stadium in the elite VIP box before the players began their warm up. It was a dream come true. The next morning back in school I was the cynosure, the one who has the ticket for the tournament and that too an elite pass.

The exhilaration and euphoria was mercilessly wrenched out and my father was the villain of the piece. After a few days he found out that I have been rollicking at the tournament. He asked me from where I got the tickets or the money for them. I told him appuppa (grandfather) gave me a VIP pass. He asked me to fetch the pass. And when I did, he snatched it from me and curtly decreed that it was time that I began my studies in earnest and not waste time at these places. Later I found that he gave the pass he wrenched out from me to one of his close friends. I still cannot chance a word to describe his doing or my feelings. Did I begin to hate him then? I think I did, it was the gradual slide into gradation from not liking into hate.But that was just one of the few incidents that began to eclipse him from my mind, sadly though.

Looking back I feel miserable for him, but the damage that he perhaps unwittingly inflicted on his image as a father and my psyche resulted in losses to us both.

And no time machine can help!!

A Common Trait

Sometime ago I happened to see on TV a live footage of  the aftermath of a minor collision involving a motor bike. There were quite a few onlookers around the accident spot and in animated arguments. Little scuffles also seemed to happen. Then came a Maruti car, which stopped nearby. A man alighted from the car came eagerly into the crowd, he jumped through the small group and gave two hard slaps to the guy who was probably the rider of the bike. And he exited as delightfully as he came.

This, though comical to watch, perhaps tells the underlying psyche of people. The uncontrollable passion and eagerness to comment on anything and everything of which they may not know much. To pillory someone without even knowing the antecedents of the matter.

When the going is wonderful or seems to be so there may not be accolades, but when one stumbles you have raised hoods coming at you from all possible places. Authoritative dissertations, statements and, advices even unsolicited are thrown at you by all and sundry. The cruel and equally jocular aspect is that none of these opinionated gentry has been privy to the road that you have tread and the travails that you have felt or survived. How great it will be if one could retrospectively correct the course, and out- fly the insightful ones!

Is it proper then to make an imperiously authoritative statement on something that we cannot honestly claim to know about? Commenting with mere speculative knowledge and hearsay to substantiate our opinion is quite unjustified. But then the world is such that we have more people who know more about our life, our difficulties, our means and sources of happiness and distress than we ever could.

I think that it is the pleasure that people get when they involve with something that they have no knowledge about and make statements like they were  experts of the matter, that drives people to be so. Like the man who ran out of his car to slap some stranger he presumed was the villain of the piece,  how often have we uttered things that may have added to another’s misery, all along being aware of our ignorance of the truth of the matter.

What goes on these days in television news channels ( call them ‘tabloids’) perfectly sums up the state of the matter. Tragedies are dissected to suit the ratings, victims are disregarded  and culprits are decided by the visual media, carefully playing on the mindset of the gullible viewers. The pleader, the juror , the judge and the executioner is the media. A blatant trampling of privacy and ones basic rights.

It must be a careful tread I guess, else  may result in mauling an already bruised person. Isn’t it better to be silent, quiet and  sympathetic than be a marauding ,boorish and insensitive? It is quite true , that when the going is good you have a score and many to revel with you and in distress may be your ghostly shadow for company and brick bats to chase you.

But  then  why must you be sensitive to someone’s feelings and plight? That is what is in most minds.

Ironical life is! Indeed it is!

Just Another Story

I met this guy the first time many years ago on the Nilagiri Express from Coiambatore to Chennai. We boarded the locomotive from Tiruppur. We were both in the second class compartment. He was in his late twenties. Christy and Aravind (who was a baby and about two years) were with me. He had met Christy before at some official meetings and seemed to be fairly well aware of her and where she came from, so on and so forth. Aravind got quite friendly with him during the travel and was reluctant to come away to sleep. We got to begin casual chat and by the time we arrived at Chennai early morning the next day, we got to know one other quite well. I felt it vibed. An infamous person I'm at creating friendship or acquaintance!

He was a senior level merchandising manager in a multi crore garment manufacturing and export company. We did not have any contacts after, for quite a while. And at some point we got again in touch. I asked him for dinner at our home and he obliged. We went to his parent’s house in Chennai during one of our travel. His mother liked Christy much, and since she was adept in being liked and affable to any stranger, they jelled.. He hailed from a respectable family – an erudite, scholarly father- retired as the principal teacher and since researching in temple architecture of Kerala. Mother was a fiercely strong willed woman. Loving, caring and very matter of fact! She was insistent that the children send her a certain sum every month (I guess it was about Rs 5000) without fail, and did not care if they starved because of that. And she meticulously planned that money into bank accounts in the boys’ credit. She once told Christy, 'I have to force-out this money from the boys- else they will be penny less one day. For thrift and care for the future is not with the kids of this generation'.  Some months he used to  run out of money and would desperately come to me and ask me to send the amount to his mother, which I did quite a few times. He had a brother younger to him and he was sailing with the Merchant Navy.

This guy became a frequent visitor to our house and always came running to us when he faced any crisis and for comfort. He had exercised such freedom and enjoyed much bonhomie at our home that he would come come at night after work and ask Christy to cook him dosas, with the taste of dosa his Amma cooks. Aravind used to go around with him often in the car. Once Aravind  who was then about four years,went with him to a distant town and it was much after that we joined them.

At his wedding, his parents wanted Christy to be in the forefront like she would if she were his very own sister. I remember Christy had conceived Radhika during that time and was a couple of months away from labour. We were at the wedding and treated by his parents like we were their own. This fellow repeatedly exclaimed that he was very lucky to have Christy there, that he does not miss a sister.

Years passed …… and he grew in stature, left his job, commenced fashion garment business with a client from Europe and rocketed through the roof, wealth wise. We were at the inaugural pooja of his business, which began out from a tiny little office space. The last time I met him was at his office which stood on a huge area and would rival a INFOSYs or an MS. He was quite tensed during the early days, before and after the commencement of his venture. He always called me for comfort and any form of pep. He wanted a name for the firm and I suggested he pick a name to identify with a beautiful bird. I lend him couple of my prized possessions “The Penguin encyclopedia of extinct birds”, and the “Time encyclopedia of Birds of the World”. Outrageously, but true to his subsequent nature he declined to acknowledge that he borrowed the books from me. They are lost forever! Penguin ceased publication of the former!

He was outlandishly superstitious. And the nadir of all that was when he put his pet a  Bhutanese pug to sleep after an astrologer allegedly confided that if he keeps the canine at home it may bring bad tidings. Do not know what befell him, ensnared by the new mounting riches, he distanced? Not only from us, even from his parents. His mother wept once we were in Chennai to call on her. I sensed the hurt, the wound a mother bore. His father had passed away in the mean time. And she lived all alone. The sons were too concerned about their affairs and well being that they rarely went to her. Never their wives!

At a point in time he was a helpful person to me Vis a visa companion and also as a business acquaintance. But those relationships were abruptly severed. And the last was he declined to attend my calls.