Stylised Communication

"Clean up your room in the next five minutes and your time started two minutes ago!" I hollered to my son. My husband a prim and propah gentleman stood at the top of the stairs and asked me what I was exactly doing. "Communicating", I answered in the language that he dabbles in. How I got to him with my verbal communication skills, I patted myself. I saw him shake his head and disappear using his non-verbal communication language.

It was eleven, an hour to go before noon and my daughter had not woken up. Sunday, thats the excuse. "Young lady get up before I get to you" my voice had the perfect tone to scare even the wwf wrestlers away. Her eyes flew open at being greeted with such affection! I am speaking with clarity, the second thumb rule of communication. Leave no space for doubt, to the point, precise and choose your words with care. It proved effective too, she rolled out of bed and straight to her father to complain.

Complain - another form of communication. Usually the meek, the gentle find it a decent way of saying that they do not agree. If you have people like me who have a natural excited disposition, it could be a rather vocal game and am not responsible for the vocabulary used. But my children have taken after their gentlemanly father so complain sessions are usuall held in a corner, care taken to see that the sound bytes do not reach my ears and end in a non- verbal resolution, a nod or a shrug denoting 'she is like this anyway'.

My favourite part of communication is cribbing. I love it. Everything is wrong with everybody but not me, an epitome of perfection. Now there are some thumb rules in cribbing, never do it in a boring open style. Always use subtleties, underplaying yourself but highlighting the right lines. Trust me no consultant would give you this tip. Not that I am qualified enough but I speak from my little experience and studying the re-hashed lines that consultants dish out and yes charging a bomb. You agree, I know you do. What have I just done? Cribbed against the consultants and told you that I can do it better. It is another story that I have never got called. The world is not ready for anything new it is rather happy with the ordinary lot. "Look beyond people", say welcome to me.

Husband and kids come in a group, I know they find solace in numbers. That is the perception they exude and I envy their listening skills. Lunch I serve with my style of exaggerated flourish, with the perfect body language to go with it. Do not ask me how, it is their gaze that tells me that I have them mesmerised even before they have started eating from the platter.

You must have come across the non dumping theory under communication skills. But look at it this way, if I do not dump my ideas using my most meticulous words and tonal excellence, would I not be over thrown by now? I am surviving for the last twenty three years and already planning my silver jubilee at the helm.

I pilot the conversation at the lunch table. How we are lucky to have what is on our platter, never mind the taste. This way I have ensured that no negative feedbacks roll in when I flutter my eye lashes and ask them whether they enjoyed their lunch. I do allow a few sentences from them, communication is afterall a two way process! You speak more and create an aura that you are allowing others their time as well. It will take some time to master this art but there is hope.

Last on my list is listening. Who? Me? Listen? To whom? How can communication be about listening. That is not my job, it is theirs who sit opposite me. If I listen then who will communicate? Funny, very funny. I only listen when I see my threesome huddle together in a corner. I put on my hearing aids to catch a word or sometimes a syllable. It is enough to drown them with my ballistic communication after that.

'Silence speaks louder than thousand words', remember the text book that taught us this? I allow you to communicate in this form after you have read this piece.

As for my lovely threesome they found meaning in this decades ago.

A Blanket on A cold Night

He was in his home. The steps by the riverside were his home for as long as he could remember. During the day he would wander off to different tourist spots showing them juggling tricks which always brought in enough coins for his daily bread and tea. The day he could have all the five balls in the air together, it would mean he could buy his favourite dish from the corner food stall.

It was his favourite past time to stare at the river flowing, through seasons, calendars, decades ,just doing its job, flowing with the same spirit. He smiled, he too grew up much the same way. Abandoned on the steps, found on the steps, taken away from the steps and then coming back home to the steps.

A boatman had found this baby wrapped in rags whimpering, too weak to even cry. He took the baby home and made place in his already crowded life. His wife protested, one more mouth to feed but her heart softened seeing the baby's tiny pale face. They made room. He grew up fast. The first lesson he learnt was that the river was their lifeline. Every morning he prayed to the river along with hundreds and sometimes millions of pilgrims who come here for a holy dip.

Yes it was tourist season again and he had learnt that it meant fish for lunch, unlike other days when potato and boiled watery lentil was all that they would have on their platter. But this time it was missing, his young mind could not comprehend why. He heard the old man saying to his wife that his boat had become old like him and tourists seldom called for him. Standing by the river he had seen the newer boats, brightly coloured, cushioned seats and smart boatmen alluring tourist with their accented English. Secretly he had pledged, standing on the steps that he would get one for his father when he grows up. The river was his witness .

Even before the season had ended the boatman decided to go to his village and join his brother in cotton cultivation. All was packed, their little hutment fetched him some money. They all went to the riverside to pray one last time. The old man had tears shimmering in his eyes. The river had been his life for eternity and today he has to move on, bowing to new times. The young boy felt an unusual tug at his heart as he walked up the steps. This is where he belonged he felt. His wet footprints on the steps also told him so. He stayed back.

The first night on the steps he realised that he was not alone. He had quite a family. Some were hostile and asked him to stay away from their designated bedroom! He smiled and found a spot to call his own. Sleeping under the vast blue sky with a river flowing dilligently had a thrill of its own. Who cares what tomorrow brings, for today it is goodnight.

Well into his sleep, he felt someone pushing him to snuggle under his cover. He let out a yell and it was answered by a yelp. A dog seeking warmth. He extended his patched cover and silently the dog settled in. We all need to co- exist were his last thoughts.

Now a young man and a deft juggler. Had learnt to enthrall the crowd with his humour and his tricks. He too could now speak accented English, never mind the grammar. Tourists loved it and coins jingled into the tin cup which he would take around after a trick. Evenings he would get back and relax in his home. The cool breeze blowing across the river had a balmy effect. He would sit crosslegged arms spread out, sipping tea. His friend, the dog would be munching into biscuits. Both existed in perfect harmony. The boats bobbing up and down with their twinkling lights would often pull his heart strings. He had wanted to buy his father a boat but life did not give him time. He would look away but the blaring music from the boats told him how song of the river was getting replaced by loud music that was the order of the day.

It was winter again. Nights were beginning to turn chilly. He needed another blanket but that would mean ripping his coat pocket where he had neatly stiched the notes away. That was afterall his safty vault! Tonight was really cold. He was shivering and his friend of many seasons was curled up beside. The dog had aged and was a little under the weather for the past few days. "Come" he called out to the it as he went towards the corner stall for dinner. The dog did not follow today. He had his dinner and called out again. Maybe it had gone to sleep. He walked back to make his bed. He pushed the dog lightly, it looked up with pain in his eyes.

The look told me him something. He pulled out his coat in one swift jerking motion and ripped the stitches he had once carefully sewn. Pulled out the rolled up notes and ran up the stairs. If he makes it fast enough, he might still find a shop open. Panting he reached the shop selling blankets. The shopkeeper was winding up for the day but finding a buyer at this hour was surprised. Exchanging a few words, he pushed the price into the shopkeeper's hand and snatched the blanket not waiting for it to be put in a bag.

He raced back.Flew down the stairs and spread the blanket on the dog. It looked up at the sudden warmth. He was relieved. He could not allow one more wish to remain unfulfilled and the river being his mute witness. He sat and watched the river flow on. Life too is just this, flowing on.

Today his wish also got fulfilled on the steps. He curled into the dog's blanket, happy at not having missed the boat this time.

My Son Turns Eighteen

I am standing here today all alone to bid farewell to my long standing companion. I had to choose a calm, serene place to say the final goodbye. It has been drizzling since morning and we walk hand in hand mutually knowing that with every step we are getting closer to our point of separation.

I cannot help but think of this unique bond between us. Even though I do not recollect, but my mother says that our first meeting was at my birth. Oh that makes it nearly forty three long years. My companion too is not blank on thoughts, I was a loyal friend, offering always my other cheek without much pursuation.

To physically describe my companion, I do not have the acumen but I shall try. Crystal, clear, made with a lot of care and symmetry. Almost like Casper(the friendly ghost), would always arrive at the right time and be there gripping me until I could gather myself again. Woosh it would vanish! Sometimes leaving a tiny trail which would disappear before you could put you finger on it.

My companion and me were pretty happy with our live in relationship. No, do not get me wrong there was nothing scandoulous here. I am a loyal wife and mother to two now grown up children. They all had got used to my companion's looming presence in my life. Be it over stubbornness of my kids or their sudden burst of brilliance in accademics, my companion would show up. When I was with my kids or when my husband's job took me far from them it was my companion along with me. On the phone, even sms-ing, good times, sad times, emotional moments, unnecessary times, my companion never let me down.

Those were the days and today we walk the final steps, lightly, carefully, understanding each other's pain.

My son as he touched eighteen suddenly metamorphosed himself into a confident young man. His voice boomed and so his thoughts. He first questioned my companion's presence. I was taken aback. How could he but then he sat me down and said life is all about living each moment and not holding on to past or habits.

I have to choose and let go of my old companion." Why do you need your friend when life is showing you its brilliance? Why do you need to fall back on your mate when your daughter is taking her first flight to start her career? I know you would need your friend as you say goodbye to me at the airport, as I fly off for my higher education", he continued. "Let go " he said with a lot of firmness which stayed on in my mind.

Not necessarily all that is old and has been with us is good for us. Everything has a shelf life and some things just block our view and we have to remove it to allow fresh light to come in. The words of my young son kept ringing in my ears. Maybe I could see a trace of meaning in it, worth a try. It proved to be an easier task than I had anticipated, to take this last walk. A little bit of confidence can do wonders to one's self. His parting words at the airport were "believe in yourself, you wouldn't need a crutch" then he walked away and got lost in the crowd.

We arrive at the designated spot. Good knowing you I said in silence. Same here came the telepathic response. Lets meet once in a while, perhaps the day I give my daughter in marriage. You may not need me even then, came the casperian reply. Okay goodbye it is and as I put forth my hand, my friend had vanished.

In a reflex action I touched my eyes, it was dry, no more tears.

That is what I had bid farewell to. I broke into a smile, it rolled into laughter. I screamed out my son's name, see your mother atlast has broken free. No more tears from now on only smile and living every moment.

A buzz brought my attention to my mobile phone, son calling. "Hello" I said with my new voice. "Ma were you calling me, I felt so". I broke into a smile and said the sun had come out after days. "Wierd" he murmured, "for this you had to wake me up at dead of night, I have a presentation tomorrow, bye ma."

On my way back I bought a tube of teeth whitner, I will need it now! No I did not pick up my usual box of tissues.

Only For You

Look at me, please just once. A glimpse is what I am willing to settle for. Yes I know, Time is one currency that is never in your wallet. But how about early morning, will you spare a few moments, please, I ask, garnering all the sweetness that I can. 'Yes will try' would have done it for now but a blunt reply almost made me go to pieces.

With a broom and dust tray I sweep myself together and with hope bring back myself together. I coo on the phone into your ears , please is it time now, can you please take a look. Your Business attire speaks full volume, your tone tells me that you are wearing a Versace tie this morning and you have no glance to spare at the mortals and their trivial demands.

Dejected but not lost, I continue to string my hope beads together. He will see it, he will like it, he will see it, he will...

The telephone ring tells me it is you, I carry the string carefully and in a honey soaked voice say "hello". I knew it you have found time atlast. Yes, I thought. No, it is not to so. You were just informing me about your late meeting. All the beads that I had so carefully strung together just scattered away without a trace!

Tie loosened, first button unbuttoned you return from your meeting, tired. Tea? Coffee? No straight dinner. Okay so there is hope. Perhaps over dinner you will ask, just once. I look Heaven wards as if I could see through the ceiling, into the clouds the abode of Gods above.

Dinner passed off as silently as roads do after midnight. With just an occasional 'want some salad', an affirmative nod, and then again the light clatter of cutlery. But no talk of glance or glimpse. I clear the table.

Bedroom scene, confrontation says all my pores of existence. Go for the jugular I thought. I cannot be walked all over like this. No way I am taking this from that too God's lesser creation -A Man! I will stand up (even though I am now tucked under a sheet) for my time, my demand, my space and above all my right, I continue thinking screaming my mind out.

A soft touch broke my chain of thoughts. You look at me and say "you write well". It was like standing under the Niagra. Every vein soothed, calm , happy, I bask in a golden glow. Atlast he read my blog and uttered the three magical words. A straight lift of three worded statement from my last piece. He could have been a bit more elaborate but that is okay, scant is the buzz word of today!

Morning still has me glowing with satisfaction. Today it is going to be a piece on him. Oh I can almost hear the words pounding on my mind slate. 'Only For You' is as mushy a title I can get I thought, while getting his breakfast ready. Oh the red tie suits you so well my eyes say. He says "why don't you start something, like writing perhaps" his gaze as innocent and calm as his exterior.

Alas, it was all an empty dream! I stare back blankly.

Sleep can do wonders and dreams can take you anywhwere, I realised as he left.

'Only For You' it is, for today.

The mush and the gooey stuff I have kept tightly bottled for just another day.

I Want To Be Famous

Enough! I can't take it anymore! Every Deepak, Robin, Tom, Dick and Harry are raking in millions by just stating the simplest form of truth wrapped in even simpler words. Is being simple so difficult? Is it only the few who can say it so aptly and in crystal clear form?

Why do I need reams just to say a line which perhaps have been repeated since eternity? Are the days of jargon over? Has it been put to rest? Does its epitaph read "Here lies the soul, who never you could get to, who made you run in circles amongst bushes and rocks,who made you proud everytime you took my name, who made heads nod knowing that they haven't got what I meant and yet you said it because that was the idea, the essence of me. Yours very truly, The Jargon." Oh I miss it already. May its soul return atleast to haunt us.

Given this scenario, I can see more three worded sentences coming into vogue. One ruled the roost too long, 'I love You'. Move over give way to others. No more beating about the bush that you are good but need to improve, three words would seal it: you are bad. Oh I like your face, if only your lips could curve the Monalisa way, your eyes if they could encompass the globe, oh I'd drown in them. Three words are enough again : go for makeover. Simple so far isn't it? I'm enjoying it - wow! three words again.

But how to rock the world simply? I neither have the panache or the penchant for simplicity. Extravagant utterance have always been my forte. My apathy to all that can be said easily, the magnetic pull towards apocryphal phrases and facetious expressions tell me that this is not my time.

I have got to wait for another day, the season to change. Everything moves in circles. Fashion of yesteryears come back as chic haute couture of today. So it is just a matter of time when I embellish my writing once more with heavy metal and throw open my doors to my surreal world for you to delve in.

Actually all I wanted to say was : 'every dog has his day'. I look forward to mine.

My Little Miss

Try unlearning what you learnt and it won't take you long to realise that learning is a far easier task! Learning comes naturally to us.

But I am not talking of learning here but unlearning.

Life began for me much like any other child, learning all the way through, obidiently, dilligently perhaps unquestionably. I was not even 21 years when in walked into my life a little being who turned my entire world topsy turvy. She was my first born. I stepped into motherhood with her in arms little knowing that she will soon have all my" learnings" up in arms against her path breaking ways!

Nights are when we all sleep. Time for rest and lullabyes, goodnight kisses and lights off. Thats what I had learnt, read, seen in movies - mothers cutely tucking in babies under satin sheets. Oh how I went to town matching the pink blanket with the pink polka dotted night suit.
One month old and I knew she was different! No sing song at night, no tucking her in. It was play time right through the night! I had to walk with her in my arms and talk to her otherwise she would let off a yell that was enough to trigger off the alarm bell. Slowly each day from dozing off now and then and being rudely woken up by her shrill cries of protest, my body slowly unlearnt that night time was bed time.

It was as if she reserved her best for the night. I distinctly remember that night. It was around three in the morning that she agreed to lay down and I just dropped off beside her. A few minutes later something made my eyes fly open. It was the most precious sight for a mother! She was sitting up on her own and gurggling to herself! She had grown under the veil of night! I had completely unlearnt the fact that nights are meant to be in bed. The bond between her and me grew every night as I saw her learn new things and in the process unlearning mine. It was a delightful journey!

You can either be a left hander or right hander. From my school going girl I unlearnt this. Left hand was for writing, drawing, eating but the right was reserved for hitting bullies and later her brother when he came along! Amazing how she packed in power punches in her tiny right fist.

Study time was a very serious affair in our days. We washed and combed and sat down to study at the stroke of six in the evening. My parents would talk in hushed tones and no radio would be playing between six and nine in the evening. All to create an atmosphere for optimum learning.

I did the same but my little miss would refuse to look at the alphabet book without the television being switched on. I tried to be strict but nothing worked. Finally I switched on my unlearning button and all was well with her. From ABC to chemistry to mathematics it was music all the way for her. Any visitor would get shocked seeing her study and they always left debating as to which was she attempting, studying while listening to music or was it the other way round! I was as cool as cucumber by the time she was in high school. While my other friends discussed how they have imposed a ban on television, music was wafting through my house as aroma of freshly baked bread does in a bakery. She musiced her way through college as well.

But I have left out the icing on the cake! It was only after the witch hour that my little miss would have 'lights', 'music' and studies. I joined in because having unlearnt to sleep at night it was waking hour for me as well. I watched her hum and learn. Click on rewind buttons on the tape recorder and learn. Write and do ghastly mathematical calculations with ear phones on! It was a sight not to be missed!

Then she found a job and moved to another city. Taking her music along.

But listen my little girl what has happened to me and my unlearnt state. Every night I wish to see you gurggle. I want to twirl with you because that was your passion when you were five or so. Why has my music stopped? Tunes just flow through my mind but find no voice.

Yesterday, a leaflet was distributed by our residential society office. It said someone in the housing complex was playing music all through the night.

A Smile Can Do It

We are all blessed with our own very traits that help form our own identity. It becomes synonymous with a group or even a country. It is as unique as our finger prints. But thankfully they can be learnt and you won't be sued for plagarism!
It was 1994 that we went to Indonesia, not knowing much about the place or its people. Like any newcomer we took tiny steps and moved into our new home in Jakarta. It became our home for the next four years.
It was fun learning a new language. Our children proved better learners than my husband and me. At the end of everyday we would "cat walk" our new found vocabulary over dinner and it usually would end up in uncontollable laughter!
In the morning as day light was creeping in, we would be woken up by a pleasant warm voice calling out "Susu", which meant milk. It was the milkman. In all the four years he never repeated the same tone but always succeeded to bring in a lot of warmth in his voice as he said "Susu". Sometimes it would be a sing-song tone, othertimes it would be a whistling tone. Children loved it so did we. We grew to wait for our morning wake up call!
Indonesia taught me to smile. The people were ever smiling and polite. To hurry up was not their way of life. Yes at times I would get a bit exasperated but I slowly realised that it is their way of doing things and I learnt to respect it. At shopping malls we would be greeted by staff smilingly and with a greeting on their lips.
Smile can do wonders. As a patient once at the dentist, I was being readied for an X-ray of my entire dental set. With a lot of care they finally got my angle of the head right! Then "click"! Almost in rhythm the nurse and doctor ran into the room bursting with laughter, "Lupa yeah". They forgot to put in the X-Ray plate!! Again the tilt, again the readiness and then the "click". In all this I had forgotten my pain and I was laughing along with them much like school children.
Usually the nurse or the assistant would be hauled up and the patient would complain of in- efficiency but all of this got wiped out with the innocent laughter of the nurse and doctor.
Numerous such anecdotes crowd my mind. Each one still brings a smile to my eyes.
It was pouring all night and by early morning we could see that it was flooded all around. My son was v. depressed, it was to be his first inter-school football match. The match was a washout we consoled him. Sharp at 6.30 in the morning the door bell rang and I couldn't believe what I saw! Madani, our driver had come all the way wading through waist high water from his home to take our son for his first football match. He was drenched to the core but he was smiling. He knew how important it was for the little boy and so he did not want to disappoint. He would be termed "silly" by the smarter lot but that day he brought sunshine pushing the clouds away. He took our son downstairs to play in the portico and soon the broad smile on his face was back!
I have witnessed cars trying to pass in the opposite direction but both stop asking the other to go first and whoever moved first would always salute the other in a thanking gesture. Minor grazes would mean both drivers getting off and smilingly running their nursing hands over the bruises of the other car. Both smiling and both saying it was his fault and then they would shake hands and ask for "maaf", forgiveness.
Try it, it works. In the most adverse situation if only we could bring out that smile, it just washes away every bit of bitterness and feeling of goodness prevails. Next time I catch someone smiling even if I have offended, I'll know that you read my blog!