Family

I am reminded of home by the simplest of things, things I had not thought of for almost a year. My aunt is using her mixer grinder, or as we know it, the Mixie, and that sound just transported me back to my living room in Bombay, where that sound was a fixture on Sunday mornings. Dad talking on the phone, surrounded by every English newspaper published in Bombay, Ma in the kitchen, yelling for dad to come help cook something. if I ventured in there, she’d promptly send me off, telling me she did not have the time to clean up whatever mess I’d make in there, in other words “you are useless, go get your dad to help me”. Dad would go into the kitchen with a long suffering expression, and then relegate mom to the post of a dishwasher, or the sous chef, i.e. cutting veggies while he dumped copious amounts of Maggie tastemaker and every spice he could lay his hands on into what was cooking.

So this post is about my crazy parents, who, I think, are the two most influential people in my life, not to mention the most entertaining.

I often tell my friends that it is a miracle I survived my childhood. From being forgotten in the house as a baby (Ma: Ok, I’m ready, let’s go. Dad: Where is the baby? Ma: Oh right!), to dad’s occasional lack of attention to details (Friend: Oh, so this is your daughter? How old is she? Dad: Four or five. Ma (glaring at dad): She’s four!!) to Ma’s experiments (Ma: Ok, my two year old child, put your head through this oddly shaped window grille here, let’s see if it fits. Me: happily following orders. Ma: damn it! Her head is stuck in the grille!!! Me: happily waving at people walking four floors below us and at birds flying past. Dad comes back home: What the hell happened here?! Ma: Oh she did that when I was not looking. Get the baby oil, we’ll ease her head out of there). Cycling, that is another thing I remember. Dad tried his best to teach me, but while under his supervision, I mowed over a kid who was playing cricket :D

They were cool when it came to religious instruction though. They taught me the basic concepts, you know, God, karma and the ‘thou shall not kill’ rule, brought me Amar Chitra Katha comics so that I would know the mythologies and then pretty much left me to my own devices. ‘Interpret as you please’ was the rule. It never was an issue that I did not pray every day, or that my faith is ambiguous on the best of days. Dad is currently a Buddhist, while Ma finds comfort in the rituals of daily prayer. She also finds comfort in teasing dad when he prays daily, despite his having stated that he does not believe in Hindu rituals anymore. Dad tries his best not to laugh when she starts a hilarious running commentary when he goes to pray.

Unlike a lot of Indian parents, mine encouraged me to make independent decisions from childhood. That, I think, is what I am most grateful to them for. I was not a bad student, so marks never mattered to dad, as long as I learnt something, while Ma was happy that I kept my head out of trouble.

This is most definitely not my best post, but I am posting it anyway. For those two clowns back home. Kisses.