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http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2008/01/teacher-is-born-with-lesson.html
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Ishani has arrived at that piquant age of 4 when fact and fiction and truth and falsehood tend to get conveniently blurred, but full-scale adult hypocrisy has not yet dawned.
Ishani and I exchange our stories once in a while. These are real-life stories of happenings in our little little lives. During the 10 minute ride when I fetch her from her school, I ask her what happened in her class that morning. And she weaves her tales exquisitely...I take the credit for her fibs.
She would say that her closest friend, Varsha, started crying in the class. When probed, she would tone down her story and say that Varsha didn't actually cry but just sobbed in her sleeves. Asked why, she says Varsha was rebuked by their teacher for constantly chatting with Ishani by her side. When confronted if she too was not scolded, Ishani says, 'no'...it was Varsha who started it all. When asked why then her face is a little red (which it was not), Ishani would wipe it and confess that she felt a little sorry for Varsha.
The truth lies somewhere in between and I don't probe further...I too need some grist for my fancy.
For the past one year I have been suffering from chronic bronchitis. The cough was dry to start with but turned wet after a few months. It is now internalized and turned into phlegm that chokes my throat once every ten waking minutes. At home I travel from my bedroom to bathroom sink to spit it out. Pharyngitis or laryngitis, maybe. It is no use to swallow the damn thing...it erupts up and clogs the breathing channel. When on the road I have to find a spot where I can conveniently spit...can't carry a spittoon all the time.
When, a few weeks back, I was taking my nightly walk on the ring road around our Nile Valley block, I had this terrific urge to spit and I stepped aside into the dark bushes and did my job unnoticed by gents and ladies. And while stepping back on to the road, I hit a storm water shallow drain, twisted my ankle, fell down flat on the ground, got up, and limped back to our home to be received by Ishani, who asked me why I was limping like a lame man. And I told her:
"In the dark, I was chased by a growling lion...gurrrr...and ran and slipped and fell down"
She then cupped her mouth and twiddled her tongue...a standard sign that it was all a mouthful of bluff. And she said:
"Try again!"
And I tried:
"There was this car being driven rashly by Ranoo Auntie, and little Pinky was about to fall under her car. I jumped and saved Pinky and in the process I fell down"
And Ishani once again cupped her mouth...
Her mom, Sailaja, was watching us and didn't seem to like my tall tales.
And next evening when Ishani was telling her mom a nice story of how all the chocolate cream biscuits got exhausted in 24 hours, Sailaja scolded her to never tell lies. And I smiled and asked Sailaja if she never told lies.
"Never"
"Is it so? Then I should be careful with you"
"Why?"
"It is said that if someone who always tells the truth says anything, it will come true automatically. And that means I should be careful not to offend you and get cursed"
"Do you tell lies?"
"All the time"
"When?"
"Every night when I blog. This is my blog # 1620 and I must have repeated each of my KGP stories dozens of times...every time with a new lie...Pratik says that each of my stale stories is a new edition and that's why he doesn't mind re-reading them"
The conversation ended there...
A few days back, news came that Sailaja's auntie (72) passed away suddenly with a massive heart attack. And that the 10th day ceremonies are falling on this weekend. Sailaja requested Sonoo to let her travel to Nellore to attend the rituals. And Sonoo agreed to take care of Ishani for the two days and booked her tickets by bus. And both of them prepared Ishani for the first ever nightly separation from her mom. And Ishani put up a bold face and agreed to stay with her dad and granpa in Hyderabad for all of two days and three nights.
Two days later, Sonoo walked into my room and announced that Sailaja says she is afraid to travel by bus alone for ten hours in the night, and if Sonoo and Ishani could also accompany her for the weekend. And Sonoo asked if it was ok with me. And I said, no problem...my needs are few and my ankle has eased.
The next day while driving Sailaja from her bus stop I asked her if Ishani has been informed of this change of plan that she too is traveling. Sailaja said, 'no', they want it to be a surprise for little Ishani and asked me too not to reveal it to Ishani. And I was wondering if this amounts to 100% truth. But kept shut.
And then I asked Sailaja if she was really scared of traveling alone by bus to Nellore...she had done it scores of times when she was yet to get married and was staying in a Ladies Hostel in Hyderabad. And she said, 'no' really, she felt bad to leave Ishani for all of 3 nights.
I then asked her if the lady who passed away was very very close to her. She said, yes and no, and that she was anyway looking for a trip to Nellore where her parents are staying now...she was born and brought up in Nellore for all of 20 years and she was pining to travel there...it is almost a year since she went 'home'.
All this was very interesting to me since I came to realize that, for ladies, truth comes in several grades like the distillates of petroleum...tar, diesel, aviation fuel, kerosine, petrol and pure and simple cooking gas....
An hour before they were scheduled to leave home, Ishani was almost breaking down and asking her mom to come soon without fail and keep talking to her on her cell phone every hour...
Sailaja's heart melted and she broke the secret news that Ishani, as well as her dad, were accompanying her to Nellore.
Naturally Ishani's joy knew no bounds and she started dancing and prancing and preening like a peacock in the first monsoon shower.
And went over to her mom, embraced her, and said:
"I love you, mom!"
She then went over to her dad and embraced him saying:
"I love you, dad!"
And I was watching the fun and asked Ishani:
"What about me? Don't you love me?
"Ok, but you are so old!"
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Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!
When first we practise to deceive!
...Sir Walter Scott
As Headmasters go, my father was rather a micro-Arnold, and our School a
nano-Rugby in fun and frolic if nothing else. (It is tough to write of
one’s late father…..he sort of peers down one’s shoulders.). Truth and
Justice were his fixes, but he tended to forget that kids have a
partiality to convenience, and abstract morals are sparingly soluble
in their tender hearts.
http://gpsastry.blogspot.in/2008/01/teacher-is-born-with-lesson.html
"Before wondering why people are not reading your blogs, you should wonder why people should read your blogs"
...Bloggers' Golden Rule
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Ishani has arrived at that piquant age of 4 when fact and fiction and truth and falsehood tend to get conveniently blurred, but full-scale adult hypocrisy has not yet dawned.
Ishani and I exchange our stories once in a while. These are real-life stories of happenings in our little little lives. During the 10 minute ride when I fetch her from her school, I ask her what happened in her class that morning. And she weaves her tales exquisitely...I take the credit for her fibs.
She would say that her closest friend, Varsha, started crying in the class. When probed, she would tone down her story and say that Varsha didn't actually cry but just sobbed in her sleeves. Asked why, she says Varsha was rebuked by their teacher for constantly chatting with Ishani by her side. When confronted if she too was not scolded, Ishani says, 'no'...it was Varsha who started it all. When asked why then her face is a little red (which it was not), Ishani would wipe it and confess that she felt a little sorry for Varsha.
The truth lies somewhere in between and I don't probe further...I too need some grist for my fancy.
For the past one year I have been suffering from chronic bronchitis. The cough was dry to start with but turned wet after a few months. It is now internalized and turned into phlegm that chokes my throat once every ten waking minutes. At home I travel from my bedroom to bathroom sink to spit it out. Pharyngitis or laryngitis, maybe. It is no use to swallow the damn thing...it erupts up and clogs the breathing channel. When on the road I have to find a spot where I can conveniently spit...can't carry a spittoon all the time.
When, a few weeks back, I was taking my nightly walk on the ring road around our Nile Valley block, I had this terrific urge to spit and I stepped aside into the dark bushes and did my job unnoticed by gents and ladies. And while stepping back on to the road, I hit a storm water shallow drain, twisted my ankle, fell down flat on the ground, got up, and limped back to our home to be received by Ishani, who asked me why I was limping like a lame man. And I told her:
"In the dark, I was chased by a growling lion...gurrrr...and ran and slipped and fell down"
She then cupped her mouth and twiddled her tongue...a standard sign that it was all a mouthful of bluff. And she said:
"Try again!"
And I tried:
"There was this car being driven rashly by Ranoo Auntie, and little Pinky was about to fall under her car. I jumped and saved Pinky and in the process I fell down"
And Ishani once again cupped her mouth...
Her mom, Sailaja, was watching us and didn't seem to like my tall tales.
And next evening when Ishani was telling her mom a nice story of how all the chocolate cream biscuits got exhausted in 24 hours, Sailaja scolded her to never tell lies. And I smiled and asked Sailaja if she never told lies.
"Never"
"Is it so? Then I should be careful with you"
"Why?"
"It is said that if someone who always tells the truth says anything, it will come true automatically. And that means I should be careful not to offend you and get cursed"
"Do you tell lies?"
"All the time"
"When?"
"Every night when I blog. This is my blog # 1620 and I must have repeated each of my KGP stories dozens of times...every time with a new lie...Pratik says that each of my stale stories is a new edition and that's why he doesn't mind re-reading them"
The conversation ended there...
A few days back, news came that Sailaja's auntie (72) passed away suddenly with a massive heart attack. And that the 10th day ceremonies are falling on this weekend. Sailaja requested Sonoo to let her travel to Nellore to attend the rituals. And Sonoo agreed to take care of Ishani for the two days and booked her tickets by bus. And both of them prepared Ishani for the first ever nightly separation from her mom. And Ishani put up a bold face and agreed to stay with her dad and granpa in Hyderabad for all of two days and three nights.
Two days later, Sonoo walked into my room and announced that Sailaja says she is afraid to travel by bus alone for ten hours in the night, and if Sonoo and Ishani could also accompany her for the weekend. And Sonoo asked if it was ok with me. And I said, no problem...my needs are few and my ankle has eased.
The next day while driving Sailaja from her bus stop I asked her if Ishani has been informed of this change of plan that she too is traveling. Sailaja said, 'no', they want it to be a surprise for little Ishani and asked me too not to reveal it to Ishani. And I was wondering if this amounts to 100% truth. But kept shut.
And then I asked Sailaja if she was really scared of traveling alone by bus to Nellore...she had done it scores of times when she was yet to get married and was staying in a Ladies Hostel in Hyderabad. And she said, 'no' really, she felt bad to leave Ishani for all of 3 nights.
I then asked her if the lady who passed away was very very close to her. She said, yes and no, and that she was anyway looking for a trip to Nellore where her parents are staying now...she was born and brought up in Nellore for all of 20 years and she was pining to travel there...it is almost a year since she went 'home'.
All this was very interesting to me since I came to realize that, for ladies, truth comes in several grades like the distillates of petroleum...tar, diesel, aviation fuel, kerosine, petrol and pure and simple cooking gas....
An hour before they were scheduled to leave home, Ishani was almost breaking down and asking her mom to come soon without fail and keep talking to her on her cell phone every hour...
Sailaja's heart melted and she broke the secret news that Ishani, as well as her dad, were accompanying her to Nellore.
Naturally Ishani's joy knew no bounds and she started dancing and prancing and preening like a peacock in the first monsoon shower.
And went over to her mom, embraced her, and said:
"I love you, mom!"
She then went over to her dad and embraced him saying:
"I love you, dad!"
And I was watching the fun and asked Ishani:
"What about me? Don't you love me?
"Ok, but you are so old!"
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My youngest grandson (b. July 2009)asked me quite innocently during our recent visit to US, " Tata, why cant you and ammamma be young and active like mummy and daddy ?"
ReplyDeleteI guess all kids are alike, just as all grand parents !
Yea this is what this generation has become
ReplyDelete