A Driving School called Dad

Keep one foot on the brake, release the clutch softly, and step on the accelerator-Hard.

The gears would screech in protest and the car would jump and jerk to a halt as I would take both feet off: How can someone operate three pedals at the same time?

Well go and ride a cycle then!

That was my Dad teaching me to drive.

Well learning from him sure was tough-but then it was learning for life.

Yes I can still hear him strategizing while teaching me to overtake trucks on a National Highway:

Look at the number plate-for Maharashtra and Gujarat numbers, overtake from the right, for Haryana numbers, go left.

For others-Flash the high beam, beep and watch the way it shifts. Slow down to make space, pull into the third and take over just as it is losing momentum

He taught me never to assume that anyone else knows the traffic rules or has heard of road etiquette. On the road we have to save our own ******

He also taught me never to get bullied by size (that menacing bus cannot move as fast as you can) or get awed by opulence either (that rude merc or chevvy or whatever is more scared of a scratch then you are.)

A hallmark of the best teachers is that they teach you how to learn on your own.

Thanks to Dad, I also learnt to drive through the deceptive desert sands, through sticky bogs, through gridlocks and subzi mandees and traffic so crazy that it makes me look at the regular Bangalore traffic as a chance to de-stress (and blog).

It was a long time ago, when my father urged me on as I (plonked against a pillow to reach the controls of our fiat) struggled to juggle between three pedals with two feet.

Yet, the day I was stuck in the worst ever rush hour jam, with wheel-deep water, miles of stationary buses and cars, cyclonic rain and darkness all around, I felt Dad’s words coming back to me, guiding me home.

As I was inching ahead, scribbling on my notebook and munching chocolate, I saw an astounded look on another driver’s face. I guess she didn’t know about Bernard Shaw’s insight into what makes a “Real Soldier (or Driver).” My father did.

Mom Skills-I

Long before reskilling and picking alternative skills became the buzzwords, all Moms have been doing it. I may take a shot on a compounder’s (the guy who used to scrape wounds with stingy, smelly stuff and tie bandages-remember?) job.

Yeah not one to cringe at gory sights, I have dressed enough different types of wounds of my own (driving a two wheeler since you are twelve teaches you a lot about life) to qualify.

I now react to my kids’ cuts and bruises, nosebleeds and bangs on the head with the same degree of equanimity as I would to a project manager’s email about an imminent deadline- a part of life!

I have learnt to diagnose which are the wounds that need scraping, a comfort Band-Aid, a stern rap or just a jadu ki jhappi! 

I have held babies through those routine vaccinations, tetanus injections and even stitches on the younger one's forehead (and managed not to hit the Surgeon who took so long to do it).

And with a kid who complaints of throat pain to explain her unfinished lunch box (stomach ache results in "no junk food" for the next seven days so it is not a common ailment), I also learnt to check for tonsils. 

However, I did have to rush a kid to the Dentist when her milk tooth refused to budge inspite a very painful, newer one, growing in its place. 

When I told my neighbor (a mom with two boys) about the visit-she was genuinely puzzled: Why do you need a Dentist for pulling out a tooth? I could have done it ………

Oh! 

And I thought I was the smart one…

Running away

When the going gets tough, the tough get going. 

Yeah. And the cowards run. 

Those who do not have the guts to confront situations always look for escape routes, to avoid an honest duel and run away and hide. 

Those who mind getting their hands dirty and bones broken always try to turn and flee. 

I have been doing a lot of that lately.

Actually I have done a lot of that, all my life.

When people get nasty and cheap, when situations get messy, when it is a choice between sticking to your ground or taking sh**. 

I run. 

When there is no other way but to make a choice between getting even, hitting back, or hurting someone. 

I run. 

Why fight when you can fly? 

But what if you cannot run anymore? 

Guess that is when you have to take off your running shoes and face the world. 

Given a choice, I’d rather be a coward. It’s cleaner, faster, and much more fun. Sometimes it is also the smarter way out.

Purani Jeans-addendum!

I may be a Mom in distress (at times) but I am certainly not alone.

My last post was more about nostalgia than loneliness. Got slightly carried away by the metaphors.

Why don’t I throw away my Purani Jeans? Or donate them to a museum?

I have got lots of new blue ones since then, along with lots of new memories and great hopes too.

Yet sometimes, I get a kick out of dragging out the decade old ones and wearing them around. When you are a Mom of two and have reached my age, these are the things that make your day!

P.S: For those who got concerned at my last post, I apologize for the dramatization and thank you for the support.

I do need that.

Purani Jeans---and the memories

Purani jeans--------

I still have mine from those days…along with memories that would take ages to key in.

One of those memories is of the desperation to avoid a particular Professor’s class. As there was no other way to escape, we had to dive out of the window, climb onto the terrace and hide in an empty water tank till the coast was clear. We would have gone for a filled-in tank too, such was the fury of the tempest and our strength in being together.

I feel like doing it again, burying my head in sand, till the cyclone blows away. I’d take my chances with a water tank too, but this once, there isn't any place to retreat to...

When thunderstorms arrive, I’ll have to go out and get drenched.

And I am on my own.
Guess that is the toughest part.

If only some things could have been like those days………

Sibling bonds-Is this what they mean?

As soon as my daughters wake up, they instictively look for each other, and start fighting like cats and …well cats.

The issues are different each morning, they keep changing throughout the day, but the argument continues…quite like the heated political discussions onboard the CTC routes.

Come on gals cap it-----

I too grew up with a sibling.

I can’t say we never fought but then we fought over real issues:

Like who gets to watch DD1 or DD2 on TV.
Actually I can’t remember why we needed to argue over that one, but anyway the issue was a real one.

And the telephone-that was too real. It was about someone curtailing my conversations by keeping the line busy all day, screening all my calls and inflating the family phone bill.

Even who gets to drive the scooter and who has to ride pillion (or take the moped) was as real an issue as it can get.

I guess that was all, except a few minor ones which were about…

And any way we didn’t have this incessant bickering going on, our confrontations were different…….

Like that once I tried to give him an electric shock or the one time he punched my nose so hard that I had to be rushed bleeding to the hospital.

Oh and there was that one time, when we managed to explode a lighted tube light, I don’t remember who had thrown the bat at whom…

He was even rude to me even on the day he was getting married, and had the cheek to forget about it, asking me to guard his shoes as he was getting ready for the pheras. I walked off!

And the once……

On second thoughts, I guess the girls are better off with these cat-fights about non-issues.

As for my brother and me, yeah despite the miles we’ve still managed a few altercations when we met, over the phone, on email, and sometimes without saying anything to each other.

And yet there are times he is the only person I can speak to.

 

Bringing up Mother

Can we go for a sleepover?

When the question came out for the first time, I almost reacted like the Father of the Bride when Kimberly announces her engagement! Even Daddy cool didn’t manage a cool reply to that one.

Mean momma that I am, I managed to delay-drag it for a good six months before I knew I had to agree. With craftiness worthy of Loverna, I also coaxed them into inviting their friends for the grand sleepover rather than them going out. Yeah not a great difference, but I still feel somewhat reassured that my babies (I can call them that-they still don’t have this url) are where I can take care of them.

I guess most moms reacted like me (I am not the only mean one) and only one of the invitees turned up with a backpack containing her pajamas, toothbrush, towels and loads n loads of Barbie stuff. Popcorn, a Barbie movie, Pizza and Bed-wow this one wasn’t all that bad.

The predictable the can we go……..question popped up again.

What could I tell them?

No-because you are not old enough? (I can see the reaction to that one)

Or no, because I don’t trust anyone in the worldto take care of you?

Or -because I always want you so close that I don’t think i'll be able to let you go anytime soon?

After dragging it out for another couple of months I had to let them go.

My bit of growing up-------------lots left for me.