It is
March again, and only my God and the walls of my house know how much my
household hates the first two weeks of this month. This is the time when schools
conduct final exams for the year. The lads hate it because their iPad time is
squeezed from hours to minutes and their playtime is shortened to the least
possible. Mommy hates it because she is juggling hard between fulfilling the
needs of her three boys, tutoring/preparing the two lads for their exams, and ensuring
that I am nowhere near the lads’ study table. I hate it because I am banished
from the living room and also because this period is an anniversary and a grim
reminder of a silly event from the past.
This happened
last year, that is, when my elder one was in 5th grade. By this time
my situation was not as worse as it is now. Until February last year, I was
allowed to tutor math to my younger lad, that is additions and subtractions
only, but not multiplication or anything to do with English grammar; and also
allowed to assist my wife in tutoring the elder one on ad hoc basis, on easy
subjects especially when she had any important or unavoidable task in the kitchen
or bathroom to attend to. Albeit part time, both I and my kids took great pride
in it, because they still believed that I was intrinsically intelligent and
knowledgeable as I had graduated in Civil Engineering from a prestigious Engineering
College (their grandmother kept telling them that) and I was working on a large
city development project (I kept telling them that). That was it! Then came March.
It
was one of those hateful days in the beginning of March, it was final exam time,
and I had just walked in home form another hectic workday of crushing candies, watching
raunchy Bhojpuri videos and pampering my boss’s ass. You never know how time
flies when your eyes are stuck on a Bhojpuri bhabhiji’s hip gyrations and your
ears are lost in decoding the double meanings in her song. Needless to say, by
the time I regained my senses and decided to drive back home, all my colleagues
had already left and the office lights were switched off. It was pitch dark,
and with great difficulty I managed to locate what I believe was the washroom
door next to my boss’s cabin and peed into the first thing that felt and smelt
like a urinal. Anyways what I intent to say is that I was late, pretty late, and
that it was a tad bit later than what the definition of late actually is.
That
day as I entered home, I saw a disaster struck Mommy with volcanic fumes and
what not ejecting out of her ears, teaching math to an almost sleepy kid, who appeared
equally disaster struck and holding back a tsunami, waiting to break free from
his eyes. The younger one though had fallen asleep on the recliner.
I
took a few steps in and my lad jumped off form his chair and ran towards me,
hugged me and asked how my day was. I replied back saying “Very hectic son,
very hectic and busy. I am so tired”. Mommy, the tutor looked up at me without
lifting her head, with the sightline above her glasses, her eyes filled with aggravation,
as if accusing me of coming home early and causing disruption to the kids
studies. It is only when I enquired “What’s for dinner?” that she realized that
it was already past 8:30PM. She got up and ran into the kitchen begging “Half
an hour just give me half an hour”. I somehow dragged myself to the master
bedroom to freshen up and change as my son zipped past me into his bedroom and
in no time started to play on his Xbox.
Although
I was home, I was not quite done with watching my favorite videos, as those holi and choli numbers kept lingering in my brain. I quickly changed into my
nightwear and switched on my laptop, plugged in my headphones and got lost in
my Bhojpuri world. Never realized when I
got into the groove, and posited myself into an imaginary hammock. I placed my
feet on the computer table and slouched myself in to the chair with my head
resting back lazily in the cup of my arms. Swinging in my imaginary hammock I
hummed ‘maal desi maal desi maal desi maal’ with my eyes closed. Never realized that someone opened the door of
my bedroom and entered in. Never realized that, that someone was my 10-year-old
son. My trance was broken only when I felt his little warm hand on my shoulder.
I jumped off the chair, scampered for the controls, couldn’t locate them, and
in the process ended up dropping the mouse and breaking it. Nevertheless, I
somehow managed to shut off YouTube and stand straight in front of my son and
ask him sternly “What are you doing here, don’t you have anything to study?”
He
said “I want you to explain me this desi maal thing”
“What?”
I screamed back in a hush voice with my eyes almost popped out and shock
written all over my face.
“I
won’t explain anything to you. Go back and study” I said
He
screamed “Amma, look this papa is …….”
I
stopped him midway “No beta no. Don’t
tell Amma. I will tell you everything. All that you want to know about desi
maal” and I took a deep breath and began.
I started
with explaining him that desi meant
anything that is local and therefore anything Indian for Indians was desi, and that maal meant merchandize or product. So the term desi maal actually only meant any product that was Indian. He didn’t
seem convinced with that answer. He seemed rather lost with that explanation
and stared at me like I had gone crazy or what.
I
always knew that my lad is smart kid, and so I couldn’t trick him with a
placebo, and so I started explaining about the real stuff. I started with
explaining him about UP, Bihar, Nepal Border, the language Bhojpuri, taught him
a few Bhojpuri phrases and reached to the festival of holi, ched-chad, Devar-Bhabhi relationship,
Mahua TV, traditional Bhojpuri numbers remixed into bollywood item numbers etc
etc. I even sang to him two lines from my own Bhojpuri compilation:
Hamar padosan chamiya badi hott lage loo
Chamiya ka jobanwa, atom bomb laage loo
Dilwa kare dhak dhak, humka shock lage loo
The
explanation must have lasted for some 45 odd minutes, at the end of which I was
feeling great and accomplished. For the first time in my life I felt that I had
actually transferred important knowledge to my progeny. It was a masterstroke,
and my chest bulged with pride. Pride, that I had actually explained something
as complicated as this to this gulf-bred kid. But the gulf-bred kid seemed more
lost altogether. He looked back at me with blank eyes, as if I have been
talking to him in gibberish or some alien language and showed absolutely no
sense of gratitude for the immense knowledge sharing that had just taken place.
It
was exactly at that point that mommy called out saying that my dinner was
ready, and this lad grabbed the first moment of my distraction, sneaked out,
and ran away. I thought he ran away to play his Xbox, but he actually ran down
to his Amma.
I
stood there thumping my chest, brimming with pride and oozing self-love.
My self-admiration
vanished as I opened my eyes and turned myself to walk down to the dining table
for having dinner. Mommy stood there with disgust and disdain written all over
her face and spewing dragon like fumes from her nostrils. One sight, and I
shuddered with fear. I looked for a leeway, but she had already cornered me.
She
screamed “What is this? You can’t do even
one thing properly? That kid has his math finals day after tomorrow, and all I
wanted you to do was help him revise the chapter on decimal system. You couldn’t
even do that much? And what rubbish have you been talking to that little 10-year-old
kid? How irresponsible and immature can you be man?”
That
was it.
:-(
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