Mornings, I wrestle with pushing Chathu off to school- a daily event interspersed with many tantrums and uncertainties. His sartorial sense is becoming closer to that of king kong. A strange non-acceptance of blue jumper with black pants is not understood. Why does he carry earphones to school? All the guys sport it, fixed to the mobile phones, he says. Well, you don’t- I say, in my best firm, authoritarian style. No way, he says. I give up…
I broach the idea of going to a play at Canberra theatre in the evening. He said he’d be a dead man if his friends see him in the company of old fogeys at intellectual pursuits like plays. Instead, he invites me to an evening of multi player mode game session of ‘Assassin’s Creed’ on Play Station-3- with only the splatter of machine guns and loudly uttered four-letter-words to break the peace and quiet of the evening. We could order pizzas and sip coke to make the evening somewhat richer` and meaningful, he offers. I politely turn down the offer. Off he goes to school.
9 AM. The driver in the ACTION Bus had tattoos on his forearms and wasn’t smiling today. The lady sitting in front is sorta cute. But does she have to expose the crack in her bum to the ogling public? But then, why do I look there? Aren’t I too old for this sorta stuff?
9-30 AM Reached University. I picked up the newspapers. Read some stuff about verbal duels between liberals and labour in parliament. The language used in these debates is sure colourful- could note down a few twisted terms for future use, I tell myself. Some stuff about pub brawls by rugby players- no language was used: only fists. Apparently the middle aged labour MP is having a baby by the daughter of the Governor General. Apparently they aren’t married to each other but to other people. Marriages are in trouble but the baby is on schedule. Why do they complicate lives?, I think...
11 AM Why do boys and girls at the University carry a coffee cup or a coke can to class room at 3 dollars a pop. Is it part of the uniform or is it a style statement? I wonder...
12 PM Didn’t realize that Melbourne cup for horse racing is a national holiday. Australians are so low in the hypocrisy index. Can you imagine India having a national holiday on the opening day of races in Calcutta. We might indulge in informed debates on why the long-dead leader ought to be honoured with a national holiday or why his family ought to be granted pricey real estate in Lutyens Delhi for a memorial. Indians take the cake for hypocrisy...
Sightseeing in Delhi is already a rushed visit to several graves of dead leaders. Tourists might think that Delhiites are masochists with a predilection for graves. We see them, photograph them, grow flowers around them, nurture them and trim them. If they’d give building permission, I’d love to shift to a small tent near a national leader’s grave. One could spend a life in peace and harmony and be at one with nature. Electricity and water supply assured round the clock. One could also shut oneself off from the cruelty of Delhi…
1 PM I overheard conversations among school-kids (Chathu’s age). They have bunked school and are just shooting the breeze at the bus interchange. One boy was talking of fibbing to Dad that he is at Mom’s place & promises to get to the friend’s place with a ‘deck of smokes’. Mom & Dad are apparently separated and living with other partners; Parents believe that their children are either at school or with the other estranged spouse, while they are actually not at school and are busy puffing smokes at the bus interchanges.
2 PM Back home. I am on the couch trying to read a huge tome called ‘The kindly Ones’ , by Jonathan Littel, a novel, nay, true story of the 2nd world war. I give up: pour a glass of wine, sip some and doze off. Chathu is back from School. He creates a racket about the PSP(play station portable) not being in its’ place where he left it. It is normally kept in the dressing table at an angle of 60 degrees facing east.
4. PM Chathu apparently doesn’t believe in God, is highly superstitious and believes in the devil and sundry ghosts. That is an interesting combination, I think. Well our experiences teach us what to believe in. I lost my faith in God when I was young. But luckily I didn’t see too many devils and ghosts amongst us to start believing in them. Poor Chathu…
5 PM Played with Saba, the landlady’s puppy
9 PM dinner and sleep
All that good life is coming to an end. I am leaving this wonderful continent in a couple of days and will be back in the thick of my troubled life in Delhi. It has been a great time and I loved every moment of it. I have met some wonderful people, had some great experiences and an ultra cool, relaxed time. But all that comes to an end next week. All ye believers… say a prayer for me.
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I used to feel sad while reading Pakistani media’s responses to terrorist attacks in India. One standard set of response was that there is no proof of Pak involvement- terrorists haven’t left visiting cards. It is a staged attack & that it is calculated to show Pakistan in a poor light. The second set of response was that the Indian police & army were kept engaged for several hours- it shows how inefficient India is. The third set of response was that if India attacks Pakistan based on these events they will get a fitting reply. One sentiment was glaringly absent. A lot of innocent lives were lost in the terrorist attacks. There is no sensitivity towards people who lost their lives for no reason.
Read about the responses to the string of attacks in Pakistan now in Indian media- I realize that we are not very different. Most responses are on the lines that they are getting a taste of their own medicine. The Frankenstein monsters that they created have turned against their masters and the genie is out of the bottle etc. Don’t we think about innocent women and children and sundry civilians who lost their lives just because they happened to be out there? How would we feel if our dear ones died in that cross fire? Let us hope that they win this battle against monsters that kill for no reason. Let us show a little bit sensitivity...
