As a teenager I always got irritated with my mom for her too much caring and ‘unnecessary’ worrying for me on trivial matters like, coming home late (Late in my days was 7:30 p.m. or maximum 8:00 p.m. that too with only girlfriends) I always asked her why can’t she believe that I could take care of myself. She would always say, “You will understand when you will become a mother one day.” Cliché… even more frustrating; I had decided then, ‘I will never do this with my kids. When they become teenagers, I will have faith in them that they are capable of taking care of themselves.’ I remember she would always say, “It’s not that I don’t trust you but it’s the world which is not trustworthy.”
Man proposes and God disposes, history repeats itself. I am not getting philosophical but destiny strikes back. You may wonder why I am making you walk down my memory lane, the reason is simple, now I see most of my childhood episodes being re-telecast, but the only difference is that the roles are reversed, I am in my mom’s role and my son has taken my place.
My father was always my super hero, super cool and always supportive of whatever I wanted to do. It was only my mom who seemed to have all the problems with everything. Thanks to my husband, who helped me realise that dads are supercool only when they are with their kids otherwise, they are politically correct. Prima facie I always felt that my father was fine with everything I did or wanted but it dawned on me later that it all used to reroute to my mom, “Why is she late? Where are these girls going? Tell her she will not be allowed to this. Why her marks are less this time?” All these bullets were shot at my mom and poor lady she was always at the gun point. I remember when I had scored very low marks in my tenth board
prelims, he had given the ultimatum, “ I am neither going to pay a single penny as donation nor going to get any favour from anyone for the college admission”. As You guessed it right, it was my mom and not me who got it. It came in a very dilute manner from her which she disclosed later to me. As far as I was concerned, he would be, “How are the studies going on? All well?” See how cool he was.
Unfortunately, my mom was not so smart to reveal the truth that all these warnings were coming from my dad and unknowingly she turned the ultimate villain for no fault of hers. Now I see myself in her place.
As usual, it is a war if my son doesn’t get up by 8:00 a.m. (on Sunday morning). I must bear a long lecture on how I have spoilt him, what is the use of me being a teacher, when I cannot discipline my own child. He should wake up early for his studies as it helps to retain well. He has become very lazy, careless which I am just not bothered about and so on. After facing the trial and proved guilty by the jury, I finally attempt to wake him up unwillingly (else I will be guilty again for not taking any corrective action). Obviously, he is upset for not letting him sleep and his dad is upset for letting him sleep. Finally, when he is out of his bed making faces at me giving me the nastiest look and done brushing his teeth and comes out, “Oh my baby! How are you dear? Did you have a good sleep? Are you still feeling sleepy? Come to me, relax” and I face a very disapproving by a sharp remark, “You tell her, she doesn’t let me sleep for some more time on Sunday also. You tell her not to trouble me.” I am waiting for his father’s response but there are no comments from his superhero who had almost worn his armour five minutes back. His only reply is, “Come to me my baby, relax, your mother wants to discipline you that’s all.” I am the one who is crucified by both; Bakara…. At times I ask my husband, “Have you ever thought of being in acting career?” It won’t take 10 seconds for him to change his tone and expressions, the moment he sees his darling baby. “Blood is thicker than water.” I keep on announcing all the time in my house.
One day as usual, I was busy planning all the meals for the day in the kitchen when I heard the dialogue, or should I say monologue (I am never permitted to have defence council) to which I was a silent listener, “See how much time he has wasted. He started studying at 9:30. It’s already 11:00 a.m. and now he has gone for bath, past 15 minutes he is in the bathroom, what is this attitude and blah blah…..” Now I have learnt some of my lessons, so this time I guide him towards the bathroom to deal with his own blood who is having bath. I have agreed to everything he said and told him to be stern with ‘my’ son (when he is spoilt, misbehaves, he is my son….) this time. I do not live in a palace, so you can guess how far my bathroom can be from the kitchen. I hear a knock on the bathroom door, “Hi sweetheart, are you done? How long will it take?” I am totally floored by now with this sudden change in the tone in less than ten seconds. What should I call him, a Chameleon, that poor species also needs some time for changing the colour.
There was a time when I tried to get into their arguments as I thought it shouldn’t take an ugly turn. Believe me anything can turn our house into a battleground, e.g. not keeping books in place, his room not being tidy, not putting his towel for drying or most serious offence, not charging the Tab after using it. I try to pacify one of the warriors, “Why you always tell me?”, my son. Now I turn to my husband, “You never say anything to him, just try to control me and teach me.” Now, I am a football, my son “Tell him, all the time he keeps on shouting at me.” Back to husband, “What’s his problem? Why don’t you teach him something?” I am being kicked like a ball from one goal post to the opposite one. Finally, after a heated argument, both end up in two separate rooms. Meanwhile, I have left my vegetable half cooked, chapati is waiting to be roasted and here I am counselling my son which he is in no way ready to listen, as according to him I am always defend his father. Now I try peace talks with my husband for which again I am lectured on how I always play neutral and have completely lost control on him and how he is going to end up selling Vada-pav since he is not serious about his studies. Once again, I am lectured for how unsuccessful mother I am in spite of being a teacher. I finally give up on being a peace maker and return to my domain, my meditation center, my kitchen, to do justice with my half cooked and uncooked food. Barely I finish cooking when I can hear some chatting, giggling, whispering from outside. I peep out of my fort wondering who it must be as I did not hear the doorbell ring. What I see is my two warriors are hand in glove, sharing snacks, feeding each other, chatting happily as if nothing happened a few minutes back. When confronted, both speak in one tone, “You don’t understand anything. You unnecessarily create all the problems,” Bakra again.
Now being the next generation to my mom, I have become smarter and do not commit the mistake my mom did. I don’t copy and paste the dialogues from father to son which sounds like mine but redirect him to his darling baby and if he doesn’t utter a word then I make the public announcement, “Your father wants to say that…..” after which there is a sheepish smile on the father’s face followed by the pin drop silence.
I have stopped being the referee and the ultimate Bakara…