Will you have a drink? (And BlogAdda’s #WIN15 awards)

It was a usual Friday night. God had been thanked for the lauki-roti on the table, watching late-night TV called Disney Jr. was underway and our morning’s fight was still continuing. Silently, for he had called from office to say sorry but I was yet to make up my mind - to forgive, or to milk it over the weekend till good Chinese food entered my tract? Difficult decisions. Tough life.

Will you have a drink?

I didn’t answer. Why should I? But I am kind.

You go ahead. I don’t feel like it.

And then I got busy with things we do to look busy when we want to appear disinterested, even though our ears stand upright waiting for a placating offer we cannot refuse. Obviously more than one which just has 60 ml vodka in soda with lime juice, and three ice cubes in it!

I removed invisible food scraps from the table cloth, took ten minutes longer to set the chairs back, another fifteen staring at my toes, that is after loudly sighing and plopping on a dining chair with Atlas’s domestic burden on my shoulders. Toes done, I leaned back to stare at an errant cobweb peeping from behind the fridge now. I was desperate to hear something, other than his unimaginative shuffling feet, till I went delirious thinking I could hear the spider's footsteps entering the jaali behind the Whirlpool monster. So quiet this Friday night.

Time ticked by. The silence of a wife not talking was deafening to his ears. I am sure. The kid couldn’t care less. Captain Hook had just stolen Jake’s gold doubloons and the suspense on his pretty island was thrilling and unrolling to a peppy tune.

Let us please have a drink?

Tch. Still there. No progressive ache din here. Hello, time warp. Good to be stuck in you!

I said I don’t want to.

And I picked up my phone looking intelligent and thoughtful and philosophical because that is the look you give as you scroll down Facebook pictures and more pictures of strangers you like to call friends. And then I saw … a friend asking for votes to be a finalist in BlogAdda’s WIN15 Awards!

Oh teri! The shortlists are out! I said to the spider behind the fridge, because it was the only one I was talking to.

The shuffling feet had hurriedly come to stand behind me, with teeming curiosity, or perhaps just happy I was feeling my Punjabi self again, in words if not deeds, for I was still refusing the peg. (It was a day of wonders.)

Shivering timbers! 

No, that wasn’t me. It was the kid on the bed, shaking his tiny cot at that exact moment. Momentarily, I had looked away from the loading awards page. When I looked back my eyes popped through my pink spectacles.

WHAT THE …!

That was me, full frontal me, not the feet. (Feet take longer to speak.) I had spotted my name among 11 other finalists. My blog had been shortlisted by BlogAdda. In the Creative Writing category. I can write creatively. I am in the running for winning this. I can win. I can win. 

You can win this, honey!

Finally he and I were on the same wavelength. Phew!

Oh darn. I need votes.

So?

I have to ask for them.

Ask. What goes?

I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.

Yeah. Ask your best friends, family, everyone. They’ll vote. You’re good. 

I know! But, votes?

Yes, votes. Your blog is public. Readers’ views matter. I will share your link.

YOU will share my link?

Yes!

Can I have a drink?

What?

A drink! A drink! Usual wali. Why do you look surprised?

(Please note that it was not that I had forgiven him. But, greater frontiers beckoned and I had re-scheduled my faux annoyance to be published on Saturday morning, 7 am. I am practical, that way.)

There was not much left to do, except to swallow, remember Hanuman ji, and make a list of who I had been naughty or nice with, and ask the latter to support my candidature in the ongoing elections. Last date for voting– 13th Sept.

It was about 9:30 pm on a Friday night. I chanted TGIF, thrice, and composed a message which did not show the begging bowl bluntly but carried enough overtones of supplication as would make the recipient feel a patron of great value with the orb of an Elizabethan King in his hands, or an executioner’s axe.

Meanwhile, Jake and the Neverland Pirates had made way for Sam Sandwich, teaching kids good eating habits.

Cheers. Oh! Can you change the channel? I don’t want him learning that too much cheese is bad.

Obviously he did as he was told. Our marriage on this Friday night was still on shaky grounds.

Parental duty done, I started sending the vote-for-me messages. One, two, three, twenty-three … selecting those I was close to, avoiding burdening mutual blogger friends with unnecessary existential crisis. Thirty-three, forty-two …

Of course I was feeling odd. Never done it before only. But what to do? The Romans had spoken, and I had to parade in a toga with a smile on my face, to earn my laurel wreath. It requires courage, if you ask me. It was a night to remember. I felt like a cross between a politician, a best friend, a fund-raising NGO worker and a cow, rolled into one.

Can I help with anything, honey?

Yes, please. Can I have another drink?

Tick. Tick. Gulp. Tick. I realized I was fast running out of those I was close to, so I did the next best thing that vodka suggested – messaged the ones I felt close to. So what if the other person did not feel the same for me? I felt for them. It’s good to love. My heart grew tender wings, it soared with love and vote-hope and pressed 'send' and dunked the vodka with equal speed.

Jake had long left. Sam Sandwich and even Mickey Mouse were asleep. My son was dangling between sleepiness and wakefulness with Hotwheels cars all over his tummy and Mister shuffling feet was standing behind me, no longer shuffling and with his right hand on my right shoulder. Was this chance pey dance? Did he think he was forgiven, totally?

It is then that I reached that number of messages sent that my arrested mathematical development had never allowed me to spell, even though it was double-digits. On top of that, FB wanted to know if I wasn’t a spamming robot and asked me to differentiate pictures of dogs from cats, in a photo grid. I passed with flying colours in the third go. Because the day’s tiredness (no, not the 60 ml + 60 ml) was taking its toll. Also, I had called a school teacher ‘mama’ instead of ‘maam’ and … err, some more errors you needn’t know about.

It was time to call it a day.

A day’s worth of hay had been made. I had to make more tomorrow. Had to. I had tasted blood!

That's my story from Friday night last. Today is a new evening. (Is it Sunday?) I take this opportunity to say this to all my readers. I have always felt very close to you, probably more than you can imagine or see in this lifetime. So, please, would you be so kind as to vote for me? Click on the 'You can write, creatively' below and just FB like below the blog image.

'You can write, creatively'

I have nothing to offer in return for you supporting ‘Between Write and Wrong’. No cash, no movie award tickets, no free grains, no LED TVs. But I can offer you one thing, which I have just been asked on this Sunday night –

Will you have a drink?

Some things are not meant to change.

From Dishoompur to Dholakpur

When I read ‘Be a Child with your Child’ on BlogAdda’s home page, I smiled a wide smile. Do I need anyone or anything to make me turn 5 soon as my son says ‘Let’s play’? Not at all. It requires no external agency and no hard work to forget your age - to prattle to dance to play. All it requires is for your child to hold your hand, pull you up from your chair and drag you into his world of imagination. 

But, I was curious. I clicked, and I signed up for the activity nonetheless. It said it would involve my child as much as it would involve me, and that combination of co-play seemed more attractive than anything I could see foresee for the next few days. 

Soon enough, in came a mail congratulating me for being short-listed as a parent. I beamed. For the first time ever, a blogger community was congratulating me for being that – a parent. I must have done something right, in my past birth or this. Filled up the form well, maybe. Or is it that they had guessed what a darling my child was, thankfully unaware of what kind of a parent he had? 

So, what was the activity about?

Playing games with my child on a microsite for 10 days at a stretch, hosted by ICICIPruLife and Pogo. A session a day once completed would unlock a surprise game for the next day. The child will use the mouse and keys, sitting in my lap or with me by his side. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? It surely was!  

Chota Bheem on Pogo is a rare concoction of mythology, topicality and story-telling. An animation that presents the children with a character they cannot but adore, and his endearing friends fighting evil, saving the innocent, being naughty and always ending on a happy note. Also rare to see one sans incomprehensible violence, questionable language for tender minds or scary scenes delivering nightmares. An animation that celebrates all things good, including traditions and unconditional friendship. Our favourite pass-time, just before bed-time reading, night after night.

And now, he and I were to play games designed around his favourite character. Chhota Bheem and his friends were lost and wanted to reach Dholakpur. The journey involved going through 2 kingdoms. In each kingdom we had to clear obstacles in the form of games. What better! Sounds fun, was my first reaction. Little did I know, it was nothing close to what I had imagined. It exceeded my own expectations. 

What happened over 10 days?  

I was excited like a child. Not just on seeing my son’s reaction at every new game each passing day, but also because I wanted to test myself and see if I could still be called the virtual games champ – like my cousins used to crown me. Set record scores. Scream with joy. Do a little jig, and celebrate with a chocolate, or laddoos, in true Chota Bheem spirit. Of course, all of this and more vicariously, through my child’s reflexes and not mine.

When we were half-way there

The games seemed to be in ascending order of difficulty, but designed such that each game played made the child better versed to handle the next one. We played cricket together and arm-wrestled. We threw hammers and swum across kingdoms. In the meantime, Chintamani stood at hand, to guide in case we were lost. The education based video content was easy to read for children, and the site perfectly designed for smooth navigation and comprehension. 

At the end of every session, we rejoiced and shared our scores with the world. Why, even sent laddoos to other vitual players. What a way to celebrate a stranger’s happy birthday. What a way to be happy, birthday or no birthday. 

And what a way to ‘travel’ from Dishoompur to Dholakpur, by being a child with my child. 

[This post is my feedback for ‘Be a child with your child’ activity sponsored by ICICI Prudential and hosted by BlogAdda]

How I Saw and Learnt

Here is my humble rhyme about some things that I have learnt,

From places, people and situations - the right ones and the wrong.

Life’s little instruction book is not just black or blue or green,

There is a moral to every story that unfolds for you to see.

I write this like a sing-along, hoping one day my son,

Will read my little ditty and say – ‘Oh mom, I saw and learnt!’

From a Place 

Home is where the heart resides, and where the soul must grow,

It’s a place where you are born, to know and know some more.

My granny welcomed Diwali with garlands she made herself,

She made us sit around her, taught us teamwork and togetherness. 

As her wrinkled shaking hands wove the marigolds on the thread,

I saw and learnt devotion – to faith, to family and to friends.

I had pouted when a certain shoe, white-sole and checkered-top,

My mother refused to buy me, even when all my friends had bought.

‘Be different, think different, my little one, if you want to stand out in the crowd,

Against the grain, away from the herd is where the Self is found.’

She was the 1st daughter-in-law with modern ideas and pants,

I saw and learnt that beyond norms too there teems a fertile land.

From People around 

You don’t learn like wine in a bottle, you learn from strangers around,

Turn your head 180 degrees, there are plenty of lessons to be found.

Some drive like devils some litter like fools, others pee on another’s wall,

I saw and learnt that these are things that don’t make sense, at all.

When you share a city, a country and a planet, you have to give what you take,

A little respect for another’s space, simply for goodness’s sake.

The bus was full, as I hung around with a man too close behind,

He brushed and dug his person into me, as others’ eyes turned blind.

I took it in for a little while, praying for it to stop,

Only when I slapped his face, did others push him out.

I saw and learnt that oftentimes, you are alone in a crowd,

You have to be the first one to stop what you know as wrong.

From a Situation 

You think you have learnt it all by now, when a mother you become,

But little ones can teach so much, if you look close and learn.

I saw and learnt to forget and forgive just like my little son,

A boy broke his toy, a few tears shed and next moment they played as one.

I see him shaking hands with glee with neighbours I don’t like,

I learn to look beyond difference and every minor fight.

But the most important right of all, that he has made me see,

Is that all parents need to grow along with their growing progeny.

I see him willing to learn and change, and enjoy an open mind,

I learn that that is where the solution to most adult problems lie.

As I see and learn I say, my Tomorrow I will teach,

But will not forget to ask him: “Will you too teach me, please?”

 [I am sharing what 'I Saw and I Learnt' at BlogAdda.com in association with DoRight.in]