November 1, 2011
"Njangade generationanu snehikkan kazhiyilennano aunty parayunathu?" (Are you saying my generation cannot love, Aunty?) I asked Rema Aunty. My expression, one of deep hurt spiced with a tinge of indignation. That facial contortion was prepared to play on her earlier comment that I was not looking well. Of course, I wasn't. It was 7am. I was unwashed and unshaved.
The topic of discussion was based on the Malayala Manorama article to mark the birthday of Kerala state in which numerous socio-religio-cultural leaders had expressed their views on what has changed about Kerala in the last decade. November 1 marks the anniversary of formation of linguistically demarcated states in India. Noted film director, Sathyan Anthikad, had opined that the lovely art of letter writing was completely lost. Rema Aunty had seized on this to explode on how the new generation is always glued to their computers or fingering their smart phones,without a care about the rest of the world. She had waxed nostalgic about the past when she would wait for letters from her brothers which triggered my question quoted in the beginning.
"Athalla," (That's not what I am saying) she clarified with sympathy, "all the superfast communication is good. Definitely. But kids are too sucked into their own world."
"Aren't the parents to be blamed for it?" I asked
"Of course," she agreed wholeheartedly, happy to be on the same side of the argument, "we have spoiled our kids by teaching them to prioritize their comforts right from childhood."
"Isn't that logical progress?", I wondered,"Your generation moved into nuclear families from joint family set up. The next generation i.e. mine, is taking the isolation to the next level."
"And selfishness" she added.
"But we are taught that the self is all important. Haven't you seen parents ask their babies if they like this, like that, dislike this, dislike that. It is as if human babies are born with a genetic disposition of likes and dislikes towards the cultural constructs that are hardly few centuries old. As if they arrive with a fully formed self whose selfishness is what needs to be worshiped their whole lives. And this worry about their likes and dislikes, it is always about marginal variations in their comforts, never about genuine discomfort. I have never seen a parent show some miserable wretched existence of someone else in the society, like a homeless beggar, and ask the kids if they liked it! And if they didn't, then what they think should be done"
"When we become old, of course we will be source of discomfort for these grown-up kids" Rema Aunty got the point.
Achan and Amma were present but silent. Amma would open her mouth from time to time but whatever arguments arrived at her lips got swallowed back with gulps of the morning tea. It was difficult for me to be an inclusive debater this morning. Though I wanted to make eye contact with everyone, my neck sprain made it an arduous task. In a moment of hyper enthusiasm, I had taken a cold shower early morning yesterday. As soon as I finished toweling, the back of my neck lost whatever traction it was supposed to have. I have been moving about like an android with lubrication defect since then.
"I don't know how my old age is going to be..." Rema Aunty wondered as she got up to leave.
"Have no doubt about that," I said.
She gave me a 'what-do-you-mean' look.
"That is all I will say. Have no doubt about that." I ended the conversation in abstract Upanishad style.
It remained dark and cloudy all day but rain stayed away. Continuous rain had postponed the jeans washing for a couple of days. In the absence of a dryer, it would be impossible to get it dried in this weather. Short cut was enacted today. Wash and hang for drying only the top third of the jeans, carefully avoiding the legs from getting wet.
By evening, I finished A.K. Ramanujan's translation of U. R. Ananthamurthy's Samskara. This was the first book I had picked up from the home collection when I landed in August. But owing to jet lag, I never managed to read more than a page a night and when it started becoming the same page, I quit and unfairly judged the book. Revisiting the novel now, I was engrossed and gobbled up the story of Praneshacharya, Narayanappa, Chandri and Durvasapura in a couple of days. Splendid work. Now I have to find something else to read during the two hour wait tomorrow morning at the hospital.
While in the last segment of Samskara, I wanted to have coffee. Amma was also in the verandah reading "Grihalakshmi" magazine. She had the day off, so this Tuesday was very much like a Sunday at home. "Kappi idam" (I will make coffee) she said. "Sugar venda"(No need to put sugar) I said unenthusiastically. "Ninakku diabetes onnum illalo" (You don't have diabetes) she said and went to the kitchen. Coffee with sugar after a week of sugarless teas was perfect combination for Ananthamurthy's story in Ramanujan's words.
Thanks to the neck sprain, I had to take a hot water bath today. The absence of electric geyser in the house meant it was done in the good old way of heating water first in the stove and mixing it in the buckets in the bathroom. Refreshing!
I fast from 8pm tonight for the fasting glucose blood test tomorrow morning. India will be less corrupt because of it from tomorrow, I am sure.
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