Asha Iyer Kumar (LIFE)
13 October 2011, 6:29 PM
Last night in my sleep I saw my childhood digitally enhanced. I dreamed that I had shrunk to the size of a ten-year-old in pigtails and pinafore! No, not exactly.
The pigtails and pinafore were in the sepia frames, the modified version flaunted trendier stuff-fringe cut and noodle straps.
Oh, what joy it is to be a little thing in an age of Barbie bags and princess pillows! To grow up celebrating birthdays at McDonalds. To carry noodles and cheese sandwich in the lunch box. To get haircuts done in the salon where mamma gets her feet and face scrubbed. To be seen in Reeboks and denims. In bolero jackets and tank tops. To wear platform heels and strut around like Katrina and Kareena!
Oh, what fun to watch 3D in theatres and frolic in water parks! To brag in school that papa has just upgraded his vehicle status to a 4WD and that there are plans of a trip to Europe in summer. To feel important and pricey when the teacher reads out your essay and exclaims, “Brilliant! Class, learn from her.”
So in the dream, I am just back from school and mamma says, “I want the food finished in fifteen minutes.”
I ask for the Cartoon Network so that I wouldn’t know what’s on the plate. It suits her too and she agrees, but adds, rolling her eyes, “Fifteen minutes and not a minute more.” The rice is a pain to eat. I wish I had French fries on the platter! I despise the man who made eating meals compulsory.
“Are you done?” mamma hollers, “You have to practice abacus for half an hour after your food.” I scratch my head with the tail of the spoon and nod. Abacus at three, karate at four thirty and homework on return - I remind myself dourly.
Mamma rummages through my bag and fishes out the exam circular and wheezes her lungs out.
“All these lessons for the exams? And you are wasting time on the food and cartoon? Here, let me feed you fast.” She shoves a spoonful of rice into my mouth and just as I begin to gulp it, I choke. Mayhem ensues. Some water, some more mouthfuls, and lunch time is over in well under fifteen minutes.
“Mamma, did you go to abacus classes?” I ask as she begins the practice.
“No. We didn’t need to.”
“Then why do I need to?” She merely throws a glare and says, “What do I hear from your karate master? That you are very sluggish in your movements. You will wake up earlier from now on and practice all the katas before going to school.”
I want to ask her if not knowing karate made her life difficult. But I don’t. I can plainly see that not knowing music, abacus or karate didn’t make any difference to her life. I hate her for making me plough thorough fields she herself didn’t and still lived happily.
“I am stopping your art and music till you finish the exams. I don’t want any excuse for not scoring a high A-plus this time. Do you understand? A high A-plus in all, including English and Hindi.”
That meant close to centum. I want to ask what happens if I don’t, but I don’t dare. I have some idea of what she would say. “No more TV, no birthday parties, no outings. No fancy accessories, no presents, no night-over....”
I dread losing the perks in my life and fix my mind on high A plus.
Papa looks pitifully at me slogging till midnight and asks mamma if it is necessary to push me this hard. “She is just ten,” he implores.
“Come on, you know it…”
Papa doesn’t dispute. He knows it, indeed. And I know it too. I ought to be the best. Nothing less will do. The nightmare breaks and I awake, thankful (and more relieved) to have been a child of a
bygone era. Oh what joy! No extra classes to attend. No rat race to run. Just a childhood that schooled out of tailored cotton satchels and delighted in small pleasures and simple amusements.
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