Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Childhood - guess it never gets over! # 1

So there I was. The first child in a long time on my mothers side of the family. On fathers side, well, I was just about another kid, albeit the youngest. My days of fame and glory lasted about a year and half when a cousin was born and then he was the new kid on the block. My earliest memories are a collage of varied components. They range from jubiliant as I was convinved that I was the greatest, to shameful as I realized that I am the grand panjandrum, if ever there was one, to those of silent introspection on the fragilities of life and the fact that we look up to grown ups only because they are taller than us. Thus, the deconstruction began, one after the other, all pictures of the cherished dreams, the rosy sketches filled with laughter and sunshine - all peeled off, like bits stolen from a painting by onlookers who thought the parts were better than the whole.

It seems that I was very talkative as a child. Mother was about 21 years old when I was born. She seems to recollect the fact with a tinge of pain in her voice. She was young, very young. Well, me being 23 now does kick in a realization of sorts - cant imagine myself having a toddler around, let alone a baby. So there she was, with no idea on how to bring up this round, fat and hairless mass who seemed cute but all hell broke loose when he started crying. By the by, it seems that hell broke loose multiple times every hour. I sometimes wonder whether father had anything to do with bringing me up. All recollections at this point seem to point to him as a useless fellow. Well, I do appreciate that he was a guy and being a guy I can understand why someone would drink whiskey to kill time as a bachelor, but then it beats me as to why I was left to mother and her supervision alone. Its not like father was a superhero or better still, an evil scientist! I guess it turned out pretty well. I have always been a mama's boy. Even when father passed away, I was not affected much by it. Its like there is this stranger who comes home every evening with smelly shoes and all and orders you around and audits your academic status and punishes you if you have some little things wrong here and there (something that I seem to have had a talent for) and then one fine day, you find out that he's dead. But then mother - the one who brought me up - who would dress me up for school in a tidy uniform and polish my shoes and cook the best food for me and...well the list is endless...its a pain that a part of the mother I loved died with the father I had (in name and in blood but not in heart).
Maybe this is why the Blues, sometimes strike a chord with me. It starts off well but then there are these notes thrown here and there which dont seem right and start to give you a funny taste - something that you werent looking for, but then it all seems to gel together well and then you wonder if its just an exercise in making you feel so and then you marvel at the devil who wrote that piece of music. Guess, its just the blues that I lost my mother too, at the pyre of my father. I feel no pain, feel no pity...am just concious of those odd notes on the guitar and the sound of the harmonica for which I feel that mankind is yet to invent a suitable adjective. It makes me think that my life could have been like Pachebel's (or Pachelbel's) Canon in D major, with every moment of it appearing as the shimmering moon reflected on a river. Its a bit discordant now, so much so that at times I think that this is convincing and conclusive proof that there is a God and He is the greatest Blues musician ever. Its He who plays all the music that I am facing right now and its He, the master, who will make it all gel together, fit together and make sense to me and maybe after all these kicks that I seem to be getting the end of, I will get my kick!

2 Comments:

Blogger rahulbajaj said...

Cannot comment on a personal post...rather would not want to...but I seldom am so impressed by someones writing style....and you are one of the few..Hats off..

1:45 PM  
Blogger Sonal said...

"It seems that I was very talkative as a child"

Helllllll yaaaaaa....talkative you were! But you were also one of the few boys in the class who actually made sense, so I guess it made life much easier for those around you! ;)

I had no idea about your dad....this may be tooo tooo late but please accept my condolences! Is that when you moved from St Lawrence?

7:35 PM  

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