Plants, Pets and Prayers - II

Part II-Pets

Dogs, cats, parrots, goldfish etc., are more than just animals to pet lovers. One can love them with an unmatched abandon, and with no expectations. It’s an unconditional pact of unalloyed devotion.

I haven’t really had any. But I have shared and helped to care for the family’s canine cuddles, who in the process of being cosseted and cared for, probably forgot the canine part of their selves. They were more humane than us, with high spiritual quotients and I can absolutely say that they did indeed lead us up the path of Nirvana. However, their touchingly short lives cut short our travels and we fell back on our more slovenly human ways of crying, weeping, mourning our loss, promising ourselves never to fall for pets and of course learning nothing from them.

Today, I am caught between pet lovers and have become more of a courier. One dog owner friend gives me a packet to give to another dog owner friend. Packet lies on my desk. I never felt I had to hide it until I had another colleague saunter by for a visit.
“My, my, I did not know you have fallen into such bad times—Dog biscuits? Have we touched rock bottom?”
“Dog biscuits are pretty expensive”, I growled.
“Ah, so we are so rich now that we have been elevated to an elite canine class? Oh well, every dog has his day—you have a good one.”
I bare teeth and hide the packet.

Another day it was de-worming tablet that had to be couriered from the same dog owner to the other. The less I say about it the better as it was a day filled with sniggers, snide snarls, and speculations regarding my alimentary system.

One thing I learned is that pets help us focus on what really matters. The morning walks matter. Meal times matter. Good grooming matters. Loyalty matters. Taking care of yourself matters and who better to learn this from than a cat? Watch it purring and preening itself and you will know the importance of putting yourself at the centre of things.

Pets help you relax. Watching the fish swim in the tank is de-stressing. Don’t think of the gold fish bowl as restrictive and monotonous, like a friend who felt they would like to see the rain.
“I just thought that the Fighting Siamese Fish would like to enjoy the rain drops.”
"Well, did they?”
“Yes, until a crow came from nowhere and swooped them away.”

So let them swim in their bowl, even if you think (like the friend who wanted her fish to enjoy the rain) that the Black Mollies are dumb enough to get entangled in the algae. I personally think that we are all fish in a big goldfish bowl and like the Black Mollies get entangled in nonsense. I also feel that somewhere someone is watching us and hopefully watching over us. Of course, whether we are helping our watcher de-stress would be a matter of debate altogether.

Irrespective of what happened yesterday, pets will pull you out of bed, greet the new day with a style, welcome the flowers that bloomed overnight and help you get about your daily routine with a purpose. There is none of yesterday’s baggage in today’s agenda for them. Pets teach you to actually care without expecting, love with undying loyalty, and live with a sense of wonder. Pets teach you to take things a step at a time—a sure path to Nirvana.

Plants, Pets, and Prayers - I

Plants, and prayers—the path to Nirvana—this is what I first heard from a favorite aunt and the edit came when ‘pets’ was inserted in between from the experiences of my family. Considering we are all hamsters running on the proverbial wheel of life that is unnecessarily complicated by an amalgamation of our egos, expectations and energy that has not been directed to the right quarters, if these three things can create a detour to Nirvana—what’s the harm?

Part I- Plants
It’s just that how many of us are born with the green thumb? Many you, say? Fine—but I am not among the many because I certainly did not inherit it from my mother. She’s a true blue Green Thumb, the kind that can coax a dry twig into a luscious tree. A terrible cyclone once split open the trunk of one of her coconut trees and defying the expert horticulturalist, who told her it was dead wood; she planted creeping plants around it. Believe it or not, the creeper’s entwining embrace, hugged the coconut tree into healing and she is rewarded even today with coconuts the size of my head. We have forever borne her nicking off a stem here and a branch there always with a nonchalant, “ Dawai ke liye (It’s for a medicine)”, like some Ayurvedic quack, if anyone in the vicinity raised a questioning eyebrow. I still fall into paroxysm of laughter imagining my mother grinding a medicine out of a croton stem and immediately sober up after imagining myself at the receiving end of that concoction. Anyway, what I really applaud is her efforts at greening my home. Considering that I live in an apartment, not only the pots but also the soil has to be bought and hauled up. She sets off to work mixing the soil and the fertilizer, planting and patting the soil back in place and I see all the plants lined up like little green gladiators looking sadly but heroically at me saying, “We who are about to die salute you!” I have kept them alive, at least most of them.

To make matters worse, I have the Green Thumbs at the workplace too. Money plants, and bamboo flourish at their desks, christened with names like Dewdrops, Buttercup, Hope etc. Their attempts at greening the rest of us is on, but I did hear this excerpt:
“I gave you a Money Plant, didn’t I?”
“Yes you did.”
“But you went and killed it”
“No, it actually committed suicide”

Yet another:
“Will you plant this Lily or not?”
“Er…yes, looks like an onion to me”
“It’s a bulb and it’s very fast at reproduction”
“So what color Lily is it?”
“Pink”
Yet another constant gardener pipes in, “Hey, I can give a white Lily too”
“Can I plant the pink and white together?”
“Yes and you will get white and pink lilies.”
“Unless they mutate into light pink”
“I already have a yellow one. What kind of lily would I get if I plant the pink, white and yellow together?”
All I got was stony stares and, “We choose to keep silent on this matter.”

Possibly I have the genes of the uncle who made an effort of planting tomato plants in the yard. Did he harvest ripe, red tomatoes? No, he mowed them down with his lawn mower when the plants were beginning to rise to face the sun. It was a genuine mistake but the intentions were heartfelt.

How then do plants take you up the path of nirvana? By focusing your attention to caring for them, by watching them survive all odds of weather, human profanity, and their own limitations just to stick out one new leaf, by learning from them the tenacity with which they take root, the foresight with which they grow into the future, the steadfastness of their purpose to flower and recreate, and ofcourse the sheer joy of their beauty.

Rock you, baby!

“Can I come over to your house right now? I want to see if I can borrow some books,” she says with a sunny smile. She’s the his, hers and ours category friend that adds up to family and we’ve stood by each other through kids, home, jobs, the good, the bad etc.

“Oh sure, no problem, come on over,” said with a smile to match but a thought bubble overhead with the words ‘why right now—anything else on the agenda?’

Trepidation fills the air. When there is too much one knows and too much to say to each other but at the same time you know that it’s best to leave things unsaid, that’s when trepidation hangs like a heavy smog, polluting the air with subconscious anxiety.

The kids play and their banter breaks in to the smog like filtered sun rays. But it’s evening and in the kitchen, the rice and vegetables are begging to get cooked and the cooking range and microwave are getting restless.

“Want to stay for dinner?”

“No”, she says, “I really have to go. I just wanted to come over because I just wanted to see you. We’ve come a long way. Remember how you said that all you need in your life to make you happy would be a reading lamp and a rocking chair?”

“Yes, I still feel that way—a comfy rocking chair, a light over my head and a good book—but I said that years ago. I am surprised you remember!”

She’s got this really pretty face, with eyes that light up, and an infectious smile from the heart that it’s tough to throw her out of the house. But I do know that the onions are crying to be sliced and that I have work to do and then suddenly she say, “ I’ll be on my way” and I see her out with all the usual goodbyes.

After a while, the doorbell rings. “I came back”, she says. I can see that you did, replies me wondering what’s up, people?

“Is there something you want to tell me? I ask. “No, I just want to stay a while”, she says. “Ok then—play with the kids, I’ll rustle us up a dinner”. I feel edgy. Is something wrong and she needs to tell me. I do not want any bad news—oh god, anything but bad news.

The doorbell rings again. “I’m from the Bombay Cane Store”, says a surly chap at the door. “I don’t care where you are from, I am busy, please do not disturb me’, the words are bold and underlined and I close the door.

She flies out of the kids room, like a bat, and screams, “No no, wait…” She opens the door and runs. I am beginning to doubt her sanity now but am rooted. She returns with Surly who is hauling in a rocking chair.

I am not only rooted but I have grown a trunk, branches, leaves and the flowers of ‘what exactly happened here’ spring from my brain. “You got me a rocking chair?!!”

“You said it would make you happy. I wanted you to know that there are so many people like me who love you, who want to see you happy.”

She bought me a rocking chair, and she was waiting for it to get delivered to my house? She did it just for me? She wanted to get it for my birthday but it was only today that she made a profit on a stock and this chair was meant just for me? Speechless. Overwhelmed.

Am touched to stun, adding this improvisation on ‘turned to stone’ to the rooted bit. But not stunned enough to know that I indeed have people like her around me, friends, family and other animals, singing the remixed-hit from Queen for me, “We will, we will rock you—rock you, baby!

Just one question, which I do not want answered any way: What the hell have I done to be blessed this way?

Who me? Cry?

When there is life waiting to happen right outside my door? No way!
When the sun comes up brighter than every day?

When God leaves a rainbow in the sky for me?
When my fantastically funny friends drop in for tea?
No way would I cry—not me!

It’s funny this business of getting hurt, I say.
You can cry and cry, but you can't wash it away.

It’s laughing about it that actually heals,
And knowing that life is a road full of banana peels.
(Take my advice: you can dodge them if you wear boots with high heels ;-)).

Look ahead; arm yourself with a smile, and Dr Seuss’s prose
Be with people you can learn and laugh with and your confidence grows.

Remember not to think into every little thing,
Or those keep-u-up all-night demons from nowhere will spring,
Just get rid of each grouse, one by one, and don’t let them cling.

From time to time a bit of sadness may creep,
But I wouldn’t make it a reason to weep.

I’d watch Mr. Humphries or the Pink Panther bumbling around
I’d get a great hairstyle and turn up the stereo sound.
I’d listen to my heart and keep my feet on the ground

I’d make sure for crying that I have neither reason nor rhyme.
Who me? Cry? I simply don’t have the time!

Driving Lessons - Naga's World

Nagalakshmi’s late. She walks in huffing and puffing carrying with her all the potholes, bus problems, jams, snarls and pollution of the roads, which of course is why she is late. As she settles into her seat and logs into the computer she says, “The buses, Madam, never on time. And then there is a traffic jam, if there is no traffic jam, there is a political rally. If there is no rally, no jam and the bus is on time—then I miss the bus. What to do, Madam? Get ready, cook, pack lunches, get the kids ready, drop them at day care—I tell you I cannot do without public transport but it is still the bane of my life.”

Why don’t you try using your own vehicle, maybe like a Scooty, Naga?

“Oh Madam, that is a story by itself—I will have to learn driving”

It’s not really that hard.

“But it is full of dangerous pitfalls, my driving efforts. First time I drove the Scooty, I drove straight into the neighbor’s compound wall.”

Oh my, were you Ok?

“I was fine but the wall collapsed. My husband had to pay for bricks and cement—even the labor charges. Very expensive.”

Well—that doesn’t mean you give up.

“Yes but the next time, I drove into the neighbor’s chicken.”

And was it alive?

“See, Madam that was the point—the chicken was still alive and not entirely dead. So I argued with my neighbor—“Why should I pay for it, when it is still alive. You give it first aid and then we shall see?” But he was adamant and wanted me to pay.”

Then?

“While we were arguing, the poor chicken seemed to be alive less and less. And this neighbor of mine still wanted money, instead of caring for the chicken. See, Madam, if he cared for the chicken, he would have tried to do something to keep it alive, no?”

I suppose so, Naga.

“But all he wanted was the money. Then I saw the chicken breathe-ed its last breath. The neighbor began jumping and dancing around saying—“See it is dead—you have to pay for it now!” Shameless, heartless fellow, I am sure Madam that he was already thinking of dinner instead of feeling sad for the poor chicken.”

“I took very strong stand, Madam. I said to him, “ You are a human or a pumpkin? I am sure you have been planning to eat this chicken since the day you bought it. No remorse you are having over its untimely death. I think I have done you a favor, but since you want money, I will only pay only for the masala that you will use to cook it with.” ”

And to think it all began with a driving lesson.

Perfect Parenting

Picture the classic bad beginning for any parent. First of all one oversleeps and it’s sacrilege for a parent to oversleep on a school day but that’s inevitable if you cook late, have a delayed dinner, catch the latest of CSI: Miami and postpone sleeping because you know you can crack just one more clue on that crossword. So you get up late, grab a dose of the mandatory morning tea and then suddenly it’s red alert in the brain. You throw back the last drop, rush to kid’s room, give hug and kiss to wake up the little thing gently. It obviously does not work so you shout. That doesn’t work so you throw a ferocious ultimatum, roar like Aslan, bare your teeth, spring out the talons and drag the child out and thrust the child into the bathroom. You rush to begin your work in the toilet and come back to supervise kid—you find the hapless little thing still standing where you positioned it, with eyes closed. You turn on the taps, direct water into the eyes, get things started and rush back into your space to get ready for work. Uniforms are pulled on. Milk is glugged and other food items are chomped, and shoes are put on simultaneously to the working of the jaws. Respective hairbrushes are carried to be used in the car. You lock the door and rush down to be reminded by kid about the project work forgotton on the dining table. You rush back faster than Flo-Jo and retrieve the project—like a super hero you have saved another day. In the car you wait for the school bus that rolls in like a messiah for you and you look at your kid whose hair has been brushed, buttons straightened, homework in place and say “You look all set!” Kid turns to you, gives a grin that would turn the dreaded Medusa of the Gorgons to stone and says, “I forgot to brush my teeth”. You see the messiah (now for your kid) roll in, but you are already breathing fire. As kid senses the angry charge of the bull, you begin to hear the chants “Toro, Toro…Toro!”. With one sweep your hand makes a contact with the school bag that’s dangling on the back of the kid like Karna’s armour and kid is automatically propelled into the bus. The last thing you see is small face, safe but looking a little relieved, a little scared and a little sad. ‘Sad’—because you forgot to paste the lipsticked kiss that is defiantly wiped away but is what is the mark of a good beginning for the perfect day.

You did not want this kind of a beginning. You wanted to be the picture perfect parent in the ads who smiles and waves and looks picture perfect. You are far from that—you are a messed up oil painting and after you slump into the office guilt-ridden, you take a survey of other moms. “Yeah sure’, says one mom, “I have the same problem at home and I do not save the rod, though I do not use one—my hand is enough”. “I would call it a gentle push on the rudder”, says another mom. “What would kids be without some kind of constructive physical prodding”, says yet another mom. Feeling slightly consoled, you turn to one of the Dads. “Oh I never would do that to my children. Children have such impressionable minds. It’s not fair to force them into routines and expect them to comply. These are children not robots”, is what he says.

Your jaw falls, your heart breaks, you think of yourself as beneath even those horrible Orcs of Tolkein…you are leaving this paragon of a papa’s desk and you hear him mutter, “ I leave all the disciplining to the Mrs and she has quite a free hand”.

A language from beyond

Moon Gonch!

The moon is gone? It’s daytime—time for the sun! You’ll see the moon in the evening again.

Oh wow. Waiju do block?Elmo?

Yes you can play blocks after you watch Elmo.

EllllMo!! (hug hug, and Elmo dolls starts to giggle and laugh)

You want to watch Sesame Street with Elmo—good idea! Just don’t touch anything that I cleaned up already OK?

TV, Elmo!

(A long silence—too long for comfort. In some cases no news/noise is not good news/noise. Situation warrants inspection)

Oh no you can’t do that—you can’t put the talcum powder all over to clean up the place with! This is talc—expensive, shimmering, face talc—not a house cleaning agent. Besides I just cleaned up!

Wita,wita, oh yeah.

Right, you put it on your face. No no—not all over your face—oh well, now you look like a ghost.

Peetty. So peetty, yeah?

If you say so, yes you look pretty even though you’ve plastered the talc over your head too—I love you.

I zobie too. Brrr…Meawo

You love me too and you want water and your milk? I got the water but got to get the milk from the store.

Bebe bebe bebe, Na na na na na na. Oh hi!

Well—never figured that one out!

Free Fallin'

I just feel a tickle. A tickle? Are you sure it’s not a pain? No it’s just a tickle. Hey look I have office to go to. But I feel a tickle. It might become more than a tickle—maybe you should stay back. “She’s a good girl she loves her Mama, she loves Jesus and America too.”

Ok—it’s more than a tickle. This really hurts. “She’s a good girl, crazy bout Elvis, loves horses and her boyfriend too”. Is there anything I can do to make you comfortable? Will you let me pull the hair off your head?

“And I’m free, free fallin”
“Yeah I’m free, free fallin”.

It’s an escalating pain—I need help! How on earth do people romanticize pain? “It's a long day living in Reseda. There’s a freeway running through the yard..."

Are you sure that’s the date? You picked an inconvenient date—too close for comfort to quarter end targets. “And I’m a bad boy 'cause I don’t even miss her. I’m a bad boy for breaking her heart”

“And I’m free, free fallin” Down, down into more pain. Pain that comes and pain that goes. “Yeah I’m free, free fallin”.

Must I be up for everyone to look at me—whenever and wherever they want to? Any idea what privacy is? May be a little consideration for my dignity? “All the vampires walking through the valley, Move west down Ventura Boulevard.”

You have to have more patience than this. Really? Then why don’t you take this pain? To feel this kind of pain you would just have to take your lower lip and stretch it over your head. Ouch! “And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows. All the good girls are home with broken hearts.”

It’s hurting—this is pain and I want it over with! “And I’m free, free fallin”. It’s a whizzing past me and everything is a blur. Won’t this stop? “And I’m free, free fallin”. Down, down, down…up, up, up.

And up. To a rainbow—I can see a rainbow!

Look, look, have you seen anything as beautiful as this little daughter of yours? Small, so small and pink lips tightly pressed together with the faint eyebrows all furled into a frown. So tiny, so perfect. “I want to glide over Mulholland, I want to write her name in the sky. Gonna free fall out into nothing, Gonna leave this world for a while. And I’m free, free fallin. Yeah I’m free, free fallin”

Not without her boots

Sujata died and went to heaven. With her boots on. Her deadly boots, not the mommy ones. The deadly black boots with the pointed toes, all the better to kick you with, and the high heels, all the better to grind you into the ground with. So she died and went to heaven with her boots on. At the Pearly Gates she meets St Peter who looks her up and moves his inspecting eyes down and points at the boots. “I sent you in your birthday suit—whatever do you need those boots for? Can’t allow you in with those sinful contraptions.” Oh no—not without her boots! "You won't fit in. No good girl would want one of those evil looking things," she hears him say. No one messes with her deadly boots—there’s a deathly silence (it’s heaven y’all, no place for the living). She shifts from one heel to the other, tries a disarming smile. She types out an application in triplicate and sends it off to all the newspapers. She stands up straight and pitches a speech for the leather industry. St Peter does not acquiesce. She gestures with her hands - the you asked for it gesture. The Cherubs gasp and give out a sigh. Sing she will, whether you can stand it or not. St Peter stares not knowing what's coming his way. Sting your ears it will, whether you like it not. All the cherubs with their harps get into the groove and strum in tune with her as she takes a deep breath and sings out what she’s been singing all her life till now, “These boots are meant for walking and that’s just what they’ll do. One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you…”

Well—she did not get into heaven. But she is happy where she is.

Idea Courtsey - Maneesha, thank you, you little thing - from the vantage point of my high heels
Photo Credit - Debani, flat sandals are good things - catch my drift?