Of plants and kids

Prologue

June is 3 and she has already lived in Kolkata, Pune, Bangalore and Hyderabad. Along with us, a few plants have moved as well. Plants which could withstand the ravages of eviction. Plants which are well ensconced in their pots. But some have died, some have struggled as we have moved on and some have got renewed vigour. But we have moved on.

Initially June was more like those plants which survived. But slowly June is growing up. And she is asking questions which gives a peek into her mind. Of what she feels each time we move. Of the little roots that poke out of the bottom of the pot.

Here are 3 conversations that she raked up over the weekend.

Saturday evening. Jun, Mun & Me have just discovered this park somewhere in Banjara Hills. June spots a white Zen which stopped right in front of us while I was parking.

June: "Is that Scout?"
Me: "No, Scout is in Bangalore. Scout has an Alto. "
June: "Will Scout come today?"

An innocent question and most of June's questions come from nowhere

Mun: "No, we are in Hyderabad. Scout is in Bangalore."
June: "Scout cannot come?"

End of conversation I

Sunday evening. Three of us are driving back home after one of those "Explore Hyderbad" jaunts. We are crossing Banjara Hills Mainland China.

June: "Ghetu and Scout will come today?"
Another harmless enquiry and again it comes from nowhere.
Mun: "Ghetu and Scout are in Bangalore. We are in Hyderabad."
June: "Are they with Nicole?"
Nicole was June's best pal in Eurokids Bangalore.
Me: "Naah. Nicole is with her Mom and Dad. Ghetu and Scout stays somewhere else."
June: "They stay in Bangalore?"
Me: "Yes. In Bangalore. But on some other place in Bangalore."
June: "Are we going to Bangalore now?"
Mun: "Naah. We are not going to Bangalore. We are in Hyderabad. Bangalore is another city."
June: "We are in Hyderabad?"
Mun (feeling sad): "Ok Beta! I will take you to Bangalore."
June: "Now?"
Mun: "Not now. Bangalore is far off. Later"

End of conversation II

Before all of you start feeling that June is missing Bangalore here is the third conversation.
Saturday morning. I am relaxing. June is tumbling around me. Suddenly I remmember that its Ayush's birthday today.

Me: "Hey June, let's call up Ayush Bhaiyya. Its his birthday today. Lets wish him happy birthday."
June: "Ayush Bhaiyya will come tomorrow?"
Another one from nowhere.
Me: "Naah, Ayush Bhaiyya is in Bombay. Bombay is a different city. He cannot come from Bombay every other day."
June: "Mamiye (Ayush's mother) stays in Bombay?"
Me: "Yes"
June: "Mamuji (Ayush's father) also stays in Bombay?"
Me: "No, Mamuji stays in Delhi. Delhi is another city"
June: "Does Chachu (my brother) and Mamuji stay together in Delhi?"
Me: "No Chachu stays in Kolkata."
June: "With Didibhai (my mom) and Bhai (my Dad)?"
Me: "Yes"
June: "Ami Jaabo."

End of conversation III

Epilogue

Does each of these conversations give a clue? Clue to what June feels as she moves from place to place. Picking up new acquaintances and pinning old ones in her memory.

I realise as she grows up it is not about moving the pot anymore. She cannot be potted anymore. Its about uprooting the plant and replanting once again. AndI pray she is like her mother who survives and thrives after each such transplant.

But this is 21st century and June is 21st century's child. Just like Ayush, Trina, Tua & Jojo. But I have faith in Darwin. They will surely grow, each using their own circumstances. But the question is can they group around when needed? Or it is not important anymore?

Passion! Where art thou?

Its been a while since I have written for nothing.

Each morning as I look out from the window through the gaps of my sheet, most often I dread the white light of the day. Another new day, another round of painful meaninglessness. I dont wake up to something or go to sleep for something. Each day goes by. One by one, like pages of a novel which you just want to finish. Like watching TV. Click, click, click..... Zero to n and back again.

"What do you want to do in life?" - the line screams out each passing day, even after 8 years it was asked. Overburdening me with a sense of guilt for wanting to do nothing. Nothing that is meaningful to anyone. Just like a cockroach.

Was man always designed to achieve? Achieve something/s during the span of his life?

And then I think of the others who spread so much love around with no apparent love in their life.

Thanks to Deloitte, my present nest, I had the opportunity to go to an old age home. Its Deloitte's way of giving back to society in a constructive way. And I respect it for that.

And there I met 'Her'. She doesnt have an eye and a leg. Through her imperfect teeth she smiles the perfect smile. A smile which pierced my heart and made me cry. She infects you in that disinfectant atmosphere. She smiles, she laughs, she jokes, she talks and she dances on one leg.

Each moment you are there with her you feel guilty of not acknowledging your privilege. A privilege that you have 2 eyes and 2 legs. That you wake to go to work. That you can come back to what you call home where someone must be waiting for you. That you see new faces each day as you cram in a bus or a train or in the mall.

Each day the occupants of the old age home wake to another long day. A day of no newness and no hope. A day of waiting. Waiting for the day to end. And whenever they interact with hope they just cling onto it like a straw in deep sea. She fed me with a spoon and ruffled my hair. It felt so nice but it brought tears once again and with it embarrassments galore. How can a man cry?

So why does each day of my existence feel like a struggle? A struggle for nothing but a struggle nevertheless. Why do I wish the night lasted an eternity so I could hibernate till the time I found an answer to the question that screams out every day to me and make me feel small and puny.

Is it because I dont have the gift of passion? A passion for anything or anyone? A passion for good or for evil? Am I damned like the cockroach who can think and will survive all?