Nap in a KSRTC bus

 

If you read any article on how to nap one would always come across ideal situations.

One, noise should be low; create ‘white ‘noise, they suggest; or play some soothing music;

Two, reduce visual stimulation; dim the lights or better put on eye lids;

Three, cover yourself lightly as it aids sleep but not heavily as increase in warmth wakes you up.

Four, don’t keep shuffling but keep still; relax your muscles one group at a time etc.

I have no quarrel with any of these as we have experienced them sometime or the other.

Now imagine inside a KSRTC (State run Buses in Karnataka) bus in summer. There is no AC ; you are squeezed between people ; noise is constant and children crying adding to the variety ; windows are open and there is plenty of light; not to mention smell - of fellow human beings and diesel and a variety of others like fruits, masala ‘paan’, snacks and sweets ; and then to cap it all the bus is moving/ groaning/ struggling on an Indian road with frequent halts, generally sudden; one of your hands on the handle bar in front of you to steady yourself and the other clutching a bag, kit or whatever.

Then a miracle happens; bus starts moving and I fall asleep; it would not be an exaggeration to say that some of the best naps I have had were in these conditions; many times  I have even wondered why the journey was so short when I woke up

 

 

 

 

 

Gundu – the Teacher - 05

Gundu Takes Over My Mind

We come back and after an eventful lunch (meaning after many protests and unsuccessful pleadings) we coax Gundu to take a nap. I tell him a story. Halfway through, Gundu with one/ two / three fingers in his mouth and the other hand holding mine close to his body drifts off to sleep and so do I. When he stirs sometime I increase my pressure and he sleeps deeply. When he gets up I am so relaxed and comfortable. He tells me his dream (not realising it was one) as if it happened. I beam with pleasure. What pleasure is it? Does it have a name?

I call him names- all sorts of names- that are at once nonsensical. He does not know the meaning but understands the spirit. Whenever I call him by some such name he runs to Ajji (Grandma) complaining. After some days he gets smart and asks me to call him names so that he can complain to Ajji.

I am lying down in a hospital, Narayana Hrudayalaya, after a painful surgery. It has been four or five days after the surgery and I yearn to see him. Lakshmi does not like to bring the child into the Hospital and I agree with her. But to her credit she brings him (actually Hospital rules do not allow) to the ward. Gundu, all of five months, is unperturbed by all this drama. Once inside he screams at the top of his voice so that everyone in the ward and beyond can hear him. My spirit soars.

A few days later I feel I cannot carry him in my arms. The shock is huge and I cry uncontrollably. A few months later I can lift him and carry him around. I am now as proud as a peacock. He climbs up on me as if I were a tree or a ladder  with a war cry ‘ Hattu Mele ‘ meaning ‘ Climb Up ‘. His feet press on my chest and the wound (due to surgery) protests and there is a sharp pain. Soon pain dissolves into pleasure.

I do some antics and Gundu laughs uncontrollably.  I can feel joy flowing through me. I am reminded of my grandma who always smiled or laughed at any outrageous things I did or said. She would at worst call me a joker (‘nakali Shama ‘ ). I could do no wrong. Unfortunately the intermediate generations did not have such insight and wisdom to recognise the greatness! Perhaps wisdom eludes alternate generations. My grandmother ( that my  grandfather did not have a great opinion about me is an  inconvenient data and should be discarded ) , I and Gundu share similar wisdom and opinions !

Lakshmi leaves for office in a hurry without adequate parting talk. Gundu becomes aware of the fact that she has left. I am carrying him and try to say something soothing to divert his attention. Gundu is angry and hits me. A few minutes later Gundu comes close and asks me ’Why did I hit you Bebaine? ‘. I murmur ‘It was your right’.

We are in the swimming pool. Gundu sees my surgeon ravaged chest. He is shocked. ‘What happened Bebaine ‘he cries. I laugh happily.

It is night. Gundu sleeping next to me in semi darkness says that I scare him and turns away towards Ajji. He wakes up in the morning and looks at me coming into the room and asks in a voice dipping in concern and affection ‘Where were you Bebaine?’ This time something chokes.

I sing a song. Even Gundu finds it intolerable. He catches the last phrase of the line ‘ hosa Beedi ‘ and exclaims ‘ No Hosa Beedi ! No Hosa Beedi! ‘

We play many games. I lose a majority of them. Gundu is happy. This was expected. A few days later in a game (‘catching the ball’) he is leading 9 to 6 and intentionally drops the ball so that he does not win. I ask him why. He says that he does not want me to lose and feel unhappy. ‘What made you so sensitive? ‘, I wonder.

I meet him after a ‘long’ time of two months after he left Bangalore. We reach their home in North Brunswick around 7 pm. Gundu walks in and I rush and pick him and blabber something. Gundu is in my arms too overwhelmed by emotion to speak but pats my back and puts his head on my shoulders. He has spoken eloquently. I cannot recall or watch video without becoming emotional even now.

Time to say bye as we leave USA. On earlier occasions I preferred to leave when he is not around as I cry all the way to the airport and beyond. This time Gundu refuses to go to school and asks me ‘Will you cry when you leave me? ’ I say ‘Yes, I do ‘. My rascal boy smiles in satisfaction! When the time comes I do cry and Gundu, all of five years,  now looking soft and  serious  comes close to me and consoles  ‘ Don’t cry Bebaine ‘. I cry even more.

A book, a song, a mountain, a beach, a park, a pond, an animal, children playing or sleeping, a rainbow, – all trigger thoughts about Gundu.

I am in a Vishaka Hari discourse. The intense yearning of a devotee soon transforms into my yearning for Gundu.

Moments before going to sleep I wish he were here to hold and talk and tell my ‘great’ stories.

I invent a new name for him but he is not there to share it.

Usha cooks a delicious dish and I wonder how Gundu would have liked it

Now I am in Bangalore far away from North Brunswick where my Gundu lives. I think of him all the time and wonder when I would see him. (US visas are terrible. They allow hardly six months for us to stay). I listen to the song by Sankaran Namboothri and Krishna – rather Gundu  - comes alive.

Paalvadiyum mugham

Pal vadiyum mugam  ( innocent face or literally milky face )

Ninaindu ninaindu en ullam (thinking about / recalling; thinking about / recalling - the face - my mind)

Paravasam miga vaguden          ( why is very much thrilled)

Kanna                                        ( krishna - Gunda )

ಪಾಲ್ವಡಿಯುಂ ಮುಗಂ

ನಿನೈಂದು ನಿನೈಂದು ಎನ್ ಉಲ್ಲಂ

ಪರವಶಮಾಗುದೇನ್

ಕಣ್ಣಾ

And later the poet sees him everywhere. It could have been written for me! I understand Gundu very well when he thinks of Rama all the same. Madness? So be it.

I wonder how a mere slip of a boy can occupy my mind entirely and dominate it. Gundu props up in usual and usual moments. He is a trigger for an experience and sometimes a catalyst and some other time the essence of it.

As I write recalling many such incidents there is a lump in the throat, eyes are watery and there is sweet sadness (he is not here now and moreover he is not the same Gundu although adorable in a different way). Gundu brings out the best in me – softness, forgiveness, tolerance, contentment, joy, a sense of wellbeing and a deep sense of gratitude to life which has been kind to me. I feel free and don’t have to prove anything to anyone including me. I feel intensely “ kurai ondrum illai Keshava “ – I have no complaints my Lord . I listen to music with greater pleasure, eat more heartily, and drift off to sleep so contentedly.

Life is kinder, brighter. Red is redder and Green greener and sweet is sweeter.

 Life presents the same picture to everyone but perception depends on the individual. Sensors, sensitivity and imagination define life. I feel Gundu has purified, enhanced, sharpened my perceptions and often added new dimensions so that life looks different.

I have always liked this poem (‘A Prayer for My Daughter ‘by W.B. Yeats ) and prayed for our daughters and now for Gundu with a minor change in gender:

   May he become a flourishing hidden tree

   That all his thoughts may like the linnet be, 

Gundu – the Teacher - 04

Here and Now  

RELAX says Yoga teacher. Stay in the present. Gundu is a living exponent of that.

I realise that the pleasure and intense satisfaction are not to be planned. It is like working hard ( with  dissatisfaction ) hoping and anticipating that we will have happiness in the future; perhaps – next weekend, vacation or  after getting that bonus or promotion or after retirement. No. It has to be ‘Here and Now ‘. I recall TS Elliot, in  Little Gidding ( did not mean this exactly )

          Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
         Is England and nowhere.

This  strikes  me again and again when I am with Gundu. It could be an afternoon nap or throwing stones or talking to ducks or telling a story .

Gundu – the Teacher - 03

Miracles and Magic

Miracles and magic are  round the corner. Crocodile pond in our sunken floor and Hyena (from ‘Lion King’) forest under the staircase just sprang up. It is scary to go near and the two serene statues standing there suddenly spring to life and have become guards to the dangerous place. Occasionally I am sent off to one of them to the accompaniment of Gundu’s shrieking. When it is Gundu’s turn to go to the forest there is great deal of protest and screaming and the verdict is reversed and instead I have to go.

It is a late   summer evening in North Brunswick and we are walking around. We pass by a pond full of ducks and geese. Gundu, the great warrior, who can fight with a variety of   arms and vanquish many rivals all at once, clings to me. He is not scared, he declares urgently.

He sees a big group of geese and then a smaller one nearby. Wait a minute! He has discovered how Kauravas of Mahabharata fame (one hundred of them) have turned into geese. The smaller group consists of  the five brothers, Pandavas and sometimes with mother Kunti leading. He can even identify a hefty one as Bheema.

Some other day he recognises his grandfather, Prabhashankar, with his two brothers walking slowly as appropriate to their age.

We look at the park below from our balcony in Bangalore. Two dark robed people are walking there. Gundu says ‘Look, Mama there are Gorillas in the park ‘. We hastily tell him it is not so. But then why are they wearing costumes, he wonders. Who knows!

I tell him a story while we try to sleep. I feel words getting jumbled up and some characters get mixed up. My wife corrects me. Gundu, my hero, is there for my rescue. ‘Ajji (grandma), sleep; Bebaine (my nick name given by Gundu) is telling a great story ‘. My heart swells with pride! To add to it a couple of days later Gundu declares that I know a lot. Alas, a few weeks later I am back to normal self and he feels that I am completely ignorant. Again a wave of joy passes over.

Gundu is immersed in Ramayana, one of our epics. He talks, eats and breathes Ramayana. He is Rama most of the time and I his obedient brother Laxmana or his faithful follower Hanuman or one of his  bitterest enemies , Indrajit, Kumbhakarna or Ravana , all ferocious and evil  rakshasas ( Demons ).

Gundu is Rama and I am his brother Laxmana and we are searching for Seetha. We are short of people as Ajji is busy in the kitchen. So we take on different roles but the hero or in any case any good character is always Gundu. But reality buts in. Gundu says’ you are very old, you can’t be my brother’. What do we do? Show must go on. Gundu has a simple solution. He says ‘let us pretend that you are not old’. Problem is solved.

 I ask him if he dreamt anything in the night. He says that he thinks of Rama all the time and his dreams are full of Him. Tulasidas would have been proud of Gundu.

He plays soccer. While running around he meets with two of his opponents. They start talking to each other and the game goes on around them.

He does not catch the ball though he runs hard and wild. When I ask him why does he not focus on getting to the ball, Gundu non- chalantly replies that he was thinking of Rama.

Under the influence of Ramayana and Mahabharata Gundu says when he grows up he will have eight wives. Mother and Ajji threaten him that he will end up in jail. Gundu reluctantly accepts the harsh and unfair reality. He dilutes his ambition. Instead of eight wives he would have eight sons. No daughters though. Nowhere in all our great stories girls are prominent or are role models. 

Occasionally he has an issue with getting children. He is certain that when one reaches the age of 100 one’s skull would crack open and one will die. He has a plan to forestall the future. While talking to me he says he does not want to grow up or at least will not have children so that I would not reach the dangerous age of 100.

There is a miracle happening in front of us. It is the miracle of growth. The physical growth itself is amazing to watch. From turning, sitting, crawling, standing, walking and running – each stage is truly remarkable. What is even more exciting is the mental growth. For instance, take the development of language. No one teaches him but he learns nevertheless by hearing.

Gundu is less than two years old. We wonder if he is slow to speak. The paediatrician for once overcome by parental stirrings declares that his son at Gundu’s age had a vocabulary of two hundred words. We come home slightly depressed. I count the number of words Gundu speaks. Even I cannot push it beyond 30 but declare it is forty. A few months later Gundu’s vocabulary easily exceeds two hundred and is much better than his peers (grandpa speaking?)

We play the Gorilla game. I challenge Gundu that I would stare and scare him. He laughingly agrees. Staring starts at a distance and Gundu is smiling. Slowly I close in and when it is really close a funny thing happens. Reality breaks down and imagination takes over. What if I am not Bebaine? Gundu shouts the game to a closure. He wants an encore!

Gundu - the Teacher - 01

Sheer Joy in Living

When I tell people that I learn a lot from Gundu, my grandson, there is incredulity and a smile at an old man’s preoccupation, passion or obsession. Sure, there could be elements of that but Gundu and I are only representatives of what I am writing. It is about children and adults (ok, ok, old adults or better mature adults). I read through what I wrote. I wanted to be sure that there is no condescending tone anywhere. While it has been fun and great joy the thoughts are serious and important to me. I have seen the world through his eyes as it were and not looking down.  

Let me enumerate a few lessons. First and the foremost is the sheer joy at so many things we take for granted.

He laughs, without malice, at jokes that are simple or at situations that are unusual; cap worn crookedly, a sheet covering your body, a ball balanced on the head or for that matter ball unable to stay there, a funny noise, imitation  of a tiger or mouse  - anything will do for laughter;

the cake is so enticing; so also beet root and rice ! ; the colours, the texture, the temptation to touch the cream, to lick your fingers, temperature - cold or otherwise – are all immensely tempting.

Joy in seeing a butterfly, cow, crow, sheep or a lazy man following the cows at a distance (‘farmer ‘ );  

We hear a cow moo. Gundu is wide awake and exclaims in wonder  ’ Did you hear that ? ’. He wants to run outside.

We touch many leaves, plants and tree trunks feeling the different tactile sensations. If we miss one we come back and touch it; he cannot express the joy in words.

There is wonder in the eyes, keenness and anticipation in the face.

Sights, sounds, odours, touch, movement all come alive with a new hue, with urgency and in large measures flooding me.

Some were new; some I had experienced; some I had forgotten; he awakens in me a fresh outlook and when he wonders at so many things how can I not do so.

A day before leaving India Gundu is two plus in age. We are on the terrace and he runs shouting ‘Charlie, Charlie ‘for no reason and is intensely happy. Then we sit on the swing and as it gathers speed we shout partly to overcome the fear and partly for the novelty of it. He is uncontrollably happy and I have to stop the swing so that he can get back his normal breadth.

It is an evening and we are again outside. This time there is a flock of sheep with the shepherd behind. Gundu and I run (Gundu runs after a sheep and I run after him). Gundu is excited and when he shouts sheep runs away making funny noises.

We are near fish pond looking at fish swimming. We count them and debate their colours. Also identify our favourites. It happens that the orange one is Gundu’s favourite. It occurs to him that it could be his (fish, I mean) birthday. So Gundu sings ‘Happy Birthday to you ‘and I join him. Gundu is certain now fish are happy. We say good bye for the day. 

A butterfly flutters. He wants to catch it just like he tried with the sheep but with no success. That does not matter because it is butterfly’s loss and we say bye to butterflies too.

After an eventful walk in the morning in North Brunswick – after talking to geese and scaring a few - we are collecting swords from the ground. After a careful selection from a variety of sticks we choose two – one for Gundu and one for me to fight. Naturally Gundu’s sword is slightly longer than mine. After an inconclusive fight we head home. A grocery van goes on the road and the driver smiles and waves his hand as it is the third time he has seen us. Gundu is thrilled.

A strange transformation happens to me. I start enjoying many of these things as intensely as Gundu. There is always immense pleasure when my smile is returned with a brilliant one. Nothing seems more important than soaking up the experience with a sense of surrender and feeling a wave of contentment. I recall the lines (Author: Ce­cil F. Al­ex­an­der, Hymns for Lit­tle Child­ren, 1848):

  All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
  All things wise and wonderful:
The Lord God made them all.

Gundu – the Teacher - 02

Perspectives and priorities

Gundu carries books – one time he took six of them - to the toilet and I have to accompany him. I pull up a low stool and settle down comfortably as it would take sufficiently long time not necessarily because he needs so much time for his toilet function but because he has to finish six books. He cannot read but that does not worry him in the least. His vocabulary is good and imagination even better. He insists on reading all of them and explaining to me. In spite of constraints of space and time (and smell, I should add) it is quite relaxing. He has his priorities and who is to say that they are less important.

We go for a walk and Gundu does not want to come back. He drags me in a direction opposite to the house so that he can be as far away as possible and delay the return. We end up near a house under construction. There is a heap of small crushed stones (‘jalli ‘ ) and we start throwing stones back to the heap one by one. It goes on for more than 45 minutes and the sound of stone hitting the heap, disturbance it causes to the heap, path of the stone, size and shape and careful selection of the stone itself and the competition to throw as far as possible – all are so pleasurable. After sometime I sit down on a nearby culvert and watch lazily Gundu playing. The man on duty is initially circumspect but smiles soon. Sun is shining but weather is mild (Jan or Feb morning in Bangalore), a breeze is blowing and time stands still. And at the end, reluctantly Gundu starts for home and looks at me with pleasure and I have become a hero.

We play a game while we walk. Whoever has more cars on his side wins. Gundu changes his side often – sometimes to my left and sometimes to the right – to get more cars in to his account. You see, fixed rules do not interest him. He likes rules to be flexible and he should change them at his will!

I cannot watch cricket. Under instigation or on his own inspiration Gundu stands in front of TV, hands stretched across, and says ‘No Cricket ‘. I move to another room stealthily and watch TV putting the audio on mute. Gundu smells it out and catches me quickly. Not watching Cricket was never so interesting.

My coffee is the next victim. It is morning and I have a nice hot cup of aromatic coffee in my hands and I sip it lazily. Gundu says let us go out. I plead with him to let me finish it. Gundu has his priorities and also has ready solutions.’ Put it down’ he says and I obey.

I realise the obvious. Deadlines are self-imposed and in hind sight often transient, silly and trivial. Perspectives change and so do the priorities. When you are driven by someone else’s rules, schedules and priorities it adds different flavour to life. It is a humbling experience.