Twenty- five Seven

G is for grandchildren and grandparents

April 8, 2015

Ever since I’ve become a grandmother, I’ve been having a lot of pee and poo on my mind. It is no wonder then that the first word that comes to mind when I think of the letter G is my grandson. The little fellow has been around for just a week over two years now and what a joy he’s been.

But before this turns into a gushing account of how cuddly and cute he is, let me warn you that I’m hardly the indulgent grandma though I’m fat and wobbly. Grandmothers today have evolved into quite a fashionable breed – the young, hip and happening grandmas who keep in touch with their grandchildren via Skype, WhatsApp and other methods that their own grandmothers hadn’t even heard of. They are fashionable and smart with their hair rinses and pedicures. They go to Yoga and salsa classes and meditate in the Himalayas. They go out with their friends for movies and lunches and hardly sit at home burping baby or cleaning up. A far cry from my own grandmother who I picture as an old woman, constantly in the kitchen stirring something or the other.

I had two grandmothers and more because in India even the grandparents’ siblings qualify as grandparents so you have Sheela (Aji) Grandma or Gopal (Ajoba) Grandpa who are not really your grandparents by direct descent but via the family tree. This makes it really confusing sometimes when the grandparent’s sibling is just a few years older than the father of the child who could qualify to be labeled an Uncle rather than be bumped up a generation.

One thing though about grandparents is that they were always indulgent. Even one of my grannies who always put her money where her mouth was and was prepared to carry out her threats had a streak of kindness in her and when she was in a good mood did manage to give me what I wanted. But by and large our grandmothers were tough as nails, women who didn’t mince words.

Grandfathers were another issue – mine were remote and quite inaccessible and I always remember we had to walk around on tiptoe and whisper when he was around. We couldn’t laugh when he passed his musical wind, nor could we shut his mouth which fell open as he snored. Quite unlike today’s grandpas who match their grandson cry for cry or jump for jump.Grandpas too can win over girls with their old worldly charm that still can appeal. They can also be miserly mean and snitch on you without the slightest remorse.

In other words grandparents of today are just older than your own parents and have changed from my own grandparents.

But grandchildren – they’ve not evolved. They’re still the same little ones who can run faster than you, who can jump right near the edge of the bed knowing your heart’s in your mouth. They scribble on your walls and scratch off the polish, they leave sticky marks on furniture and ruin your sleep. They can knock off your specs and leave you half blind. They can give you a headache with their screams and their whines and know how to wheedle their way to an ice cream, a few extra bucks, more time with their friends. Above all, they still know how easy it is to turn their grandparents’ hearts to mush with just a hint of a smile.

I’m also linking this to Write Tribe ProBlogger Challenge

There are over a 1000 bloggers from all over the world participating in this challenge. Do pop in and see what the others are writing. It’s amazing and fascinating to discover how people’s minds work and how the same prompt can inspire different thoughts.
A Room with a View

April 7, 2015

Today’s prompt takes me back to my secondary school days when in our graduating year we had to study E.M. Forster’s novel with the same name. I remember it being an interesting book with shades of romance, tinged with history, exposing of the shallow mores of Edwardian society in Forster’s inimitable biting prose. I can still remember Mrs. Downey’s cutting remarks delivered in her frosty British accent, matching Forster tone for tone as she deconstructed the novel piece by piece.

Since then, I’ve always imagined what it would be like to walk down the river bank, with Lucy and George, cousin Charlotte and Mr. Beebe visiting museum after museum in the historic city of Florence soaking in the atmosphere of a medieval town.

It was thirty years or more before I got a chance to visit Firenze which by this time had acquired epic proportions in my mind and I could hardly contain my excitement as I watched the sun kissed hills of Tuscany roll by on a warm autumn day as the speeding Frecciarossa made its way from Rome to the Stazione Ferroviaria Santa Maria Novella. The undulating landscape kissed golden brown by the summer sun unfolded itself, the fields ripe with autumn colours in shades of gold and brown and yellow ochre with pink roof tops peeping from behind the magnificent Cypress trees.

And as I got off the train and rolled my strolley down the cobbled streets towards the unmistakable magnificent Dome of the Duomo visible from every spot my heart beat faster as I approached my hotel in Via dei Calzaiuoli just around the corner from the Battistero in front of the Duomo. I quickly checked in and dumped my bag to set off to the Galleria degli Uffizi determined to beat the rain in a darkened sky. And what day it was wandering through room after room of Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci and Michaelangelo with the words of Rick Steves unfolding the significance of each painting.

I wandered past towards the Arno and crossed the famous Ponte Vecchio before making my way back to the Piazza della Repubblica just behind my hotel. I sat sipping my hot coffee watching people throng the cobbled square to share a coffee or take a ride on the carousel waiting patiently on the other side. streets of medieval Florence where merchants once walked by in buckled shoes in horse carriages now replaced by throngs of tourists of every hue, soaking in the atmosphere charged with history. And I sat in the corner of the sipping a coffee while a solitary carousel waited patiently for the people strolling through the square to take a ride.

My brief two days tramping the streets of medieval Florence where merchants once walked by in buckled shoes in horse carriages now replaced by throngs of tourists of every hue, were blissful as I soaked in the atmosphere charged with history.

Gazing up at a perplexed David in the Accademia, wondering why he was confined to this open space and not out in the open where was supposed to be, I could imagine the confusion in young Lucy’s mind as she grappled with her feelings of first love.

My Florentian holiday was just a taste of the beauty of Tuscany and I can hardly wait to go again with time to absorb and savour the beauteous splendour of this ancient city.
Why we need faith, friends and fear

April 7, 2015

F is for FAITH

Santa Claus in the summer? You may wonder if you are seeing right, particularly since the Easter Bunny has just hopped away. Perhaps it is the wrong time to recount a Christmas story but whenever I feel the slightest bit disheartened, I think of my daughter and her unflinching faith in Santa Claus.

We’ve all grown up with the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus , the Easter Bunny, the Fairy Godmother, the Big Bad Wolf and other mythical beings who inspire us to be better little children while growing up. Modern mothers may question this method of child rearing, preferring to be more direct and straightforward with their methods but there is a certain amount of innocence in childhood that is retained and preserved with these beings.

To get down to the original story of Faith, one year a month before Christmas my daughter was told rather cruelly by her newly enlightened cousin that there was no Santa Claus who went Ho Ho Ho distributing gifts to little children. Upset at the thought of an empty stocking, my little girl resolutely told me that she was going to write Santa a letter and this time actually accompanying me to the Post Office to make sure that it was put in the mail. So off we went, the two of us with this letter written in faith and sealed with love to the Post Office down the road where she watched me lick the stamps on a letter destined for Santa Claus Land somewhere in the Universe, eyes filled with conviction that Santa would show up. I felt a fraud as we carried this through but deep down inside, I thought that perhaps this would be the way she would find out things for herself. But obviously, her faith and belief far outweighed mine, for three weeks later she proudly showed me a letter from Santa Claus himself who promised to honour her wishes of a bag full of sweets!

Indeed, whenever I wonder whether things will really happen, this incident renews my faith that they will and gives me the courage to hang in there.

F is for FRIENDS

Friends are like family who help us through life,
giving support, love and advice,

As I think of all my friends in different situations –
my ‘yoga’ friends,
my ‘school’ friends,
my ‘college’ friends, and ‘bus stop’ friends.
my ‘building’ friends,
my ‘walking ‘friends,
my ’email’ friends,
my ‘waiting with other mothers’ friends,
my friends who happen to be the children of my parents’ friends and others who are friends of friends
(you get the trend my friend?)
I always remember my father’s words
“You cannot choose your family but you can your friends,
so dear child: remember to
choose them well!”

Indeed, friends are our sounding boards, our cheerleaders, our conscience keepers
Our partners in crime, sharers of joy
stand in mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and all,

Thank God for our friends!

And finally the letter F brings to mind the fear that sometimes grips me for no reason at all –
a cold, feeling that starts from the bottom of the pit of my stomach, that radiates slowly till my hairs stand on end,
a slight shiver goes through me for no reason at all,
till I take a deep breath and then watch it slide out
leaving me calm and resolute to face what lies ahead.

We are all gripped by fear at the oddest of times,
sometimes in normal situations for no reason at all.
It is this fear that prevents us from jumping into things headlong,
that makes us think things out and approach situations with caution.
It is also fear that acquaints us with pitfalls and drawbacks of situations that enable us to think things through so that we act with our heads and not with our hearts.
It is fear that preserves us, protects us and keeps us from falling down tunnels, puddles and all.

There are over a 1000 bloggers from all over the world participating in this challenge. Do pop in and see what the others are writing. It’s amazing and fascinating to discover how people’s minds work and how the same prompt can inspire different thoughts.

I am also linking this post to Write Tribe ProBlogger Challenge.