What My Mother and Father Taught Me

Learning. That is what we either consciously or subconsciously do in every passing moment of our lives. Right from the cradle to the grave, we learn a myriad of things through our senses from the external environment, books, and more importantly: our mentors, teachers or gurus; call them whatever you may. But the fact remains that whoever does open up that curtain of our minds to let the let the light of knowledge in, should be chosen of the utmost care.

Most of us are given two very important people to mentor and guide us in the initial stages of our lives - our parents. Mummy and Papa. Mom and Dad.Ammi and Abbu.
The duo becomes an integral part of our upbringing, molding our thoughts and giving us our core values which become an integral part to forming our character. However, it might not dawn upon us at a tender age, but we can choose selectively as to what to learn from our 'mentors'. Either eat the doughnut, or gape at the hole.

My mother is pure of heart. Honor driven and duty bound, she has put forward her family first on every needed occasion and is a woman of simple tastes. Fate has granted her the quite life, which led her to take the spiritual path to fill up her hours. , She does believe that one must take up the path that providence has provided. All I do know is that if all that she does have faith in is true, then the divine creator of this universe has no other option but to free her from the shackles of birth and existence, for she has paid for the karma of her past and selflessly served her loved ones, been the backbone to her household, just as a true woman prescribed in the scriptures would be. Her straightforwardness is legendary. This might make people think her to be rather blunt, but at least it beats beating around the bush. It gets things done. These are qualities that I have learned to be of utmost importance and I do my best to imbue them.

There was a very turbulent time in my mother's life last year. Her mother, her elder sister and brother, all passed away in quick succession. The sudden turn of events left my mother completely devastated. Over time, her wounds did heal, but it left a rather nasty scar on her mental psyche. There were moments when she needed physically around she else's she felt suffocated, as if the world were closing in on her. Turns it took a toll on her physically as well. There were spikes in her thyroid hormone levels which caused her unusual uneasiness. A person stuck to a daily routine day after day, month after month, year after year, still finds it challenging and even disturbing when something goes out of the way. It caused bitterness, resentment to brew whenever such disturbances did come into scene. A certain willingness to dominate and control anything and everything possible in their little world is always a side effect that arises out of this mentality. Perhaps, it could be a coping mechanism to make sure that things don't change either too quickly or can be manageable.

This episode with my mother hit me like a bowling ball. I resolved then and there to try to have a completely fluid outlook of life. I learned to love change. My plans always left room for change and small hindrances didn't bother me any more. Frustrated auto rickshaw drivers, stubbing my toe in bed, finding the tube of toothpaste to be empty just didn't push my buttons anymore. I also tried to imbue myself with my mother and father's staunch principles of family, jealously watching out for all her kith and kin. I still remember the times when my brother used to get into fights with a kid two years elder to him, and his mother used to always end up at our doorstep with that boy all bruised and battered. Mother always knew that it was my brother who always started the fights, but she would always take his side, and fight it to the end. Boy did I always feel sympathetic towards that poor lady. Never once did she leave without her face flushed with indignation.

The time period immediately after my mother's malady shot up was where I was formally tested about my family values. This was the period after my high school exams. The period of two to three months where teenagers of my age were suddenly socializing like they never have before. The fact that everyone was heading out to college stirred something in everyone. People were all over the place and merry making. I never got to be a part of that scene because someone had to around my mother the whole time. My father was out working all day and so was my brother. That left me to take care of my dear mother. Never once did I feel any sort of regret or get bitter or frustrated staying at home. If anything, it taught me how to mange boredom by doing constructive things like learn to play the guitar, explore the world of jazz and even cook a few decent meals. For all I know, I knew it was all worth it the moment my mother tasted the paneer bhurji, she smiled, something she didn’t do for a while. "Grow a decent moustache and we'll have a Sanjeev Kapoor in the family!" she said with cheery ring to her voice as she tore a bit of the roti. To be frank, that day was the best of the year.

As I previously mentioned about my mother's straightforwardness, especially with people she found irksome, this was particularly true with my father. I have seen and heard many a heated argument; with my mother's passion carrying her leaps and bounds and yet, showing how narrow minded and flawed her thinking was. My father, by the time I was older, used to dodge this continuous onslaught with a calm and reserve that brought forth a steady stream of logic. It must be noted that I began to see this coolness develop over the years; rather than be present as an inherent quality.

You see, it all began when I was seven years old. There was some sort minor disagreement about some sort of family matter or some particular quirk my father possessed or some forgivable lapse in action or judgment which always seemed to blow out of proportion thanks to my mother and her "passionate straightforwardness" which meant that she would raise hell; whence forth my father, in return would also reply in a similar manner. This kind of bitter struggling escalated on and on to even more bitter taunts, remarks, retorts and continued on in the same manner till I was about sixteen years of age. I always found my brother to be of a very lucky nature as his four years of college life almost exactly coincided with the worst of the fighting. Amongst all this, I always respected my father in the midst of these bitter fights. He taught me the true meaning of the idiom "taking one for the team", for there were times (many times in fact) when my father would come back from work, all tired and worn from travel when my mother would begin one of her epics in one of her downright irrational line of thoughts. I always remember him looking at my distressed and apologetic face before facing mother and then, with a big exhale," take one for the team".

Unlike me and my mother, I and father used to talk a lot. By talking, I do mean that my father used to impart a lot of his "wisdom" to me and I was expected to quietly listen. Listening was something that took some time to learn though. These
"talks" used to take place in out car at our weekly trip to the nearby Mc-Donald's, where I would have to listen to him talk about something or the other. When we reached and gave the order, he would let me hang around in the nearby bookstore where I take a look at the latest bestsellers. Sometimes, he would even let me buy a copy of something. The first few years of the talks though, were punctuated with an "I know dad!" from myself after each and every sentence my father uttered. With a Never say die spirit, this would begin with an endearing "Listen boy" from my father and away he would start with the same stream of enthusiastic chatter. After a while, father even gave me new, rather innovative nickname - "Mr. I know" which was only brought up during our lively talks (with the "Listen boy" now being changed to "Listen Mr. I know"). But sure enough, my dad's never ending enthusiasm never died out and he kept feeding wisdom to a reluctant child who slowly grew into an inquisitive young man. This is how he finally taught him how to listen.

Listening to his old man finally taught the young man a lot of useful things. He understood that his old man was only bearing the onslaught from his woman because of the young man. The old man knew that his woman didn't resent him, rather, she was finding the place she lived to be utterly monotonous and stifling no matter how comfortable it was. He knew that she was homesick for the past ten years or so and she was but taking it all out on him. This was why we moved back home soon after and things are much smoother since. He knew that the young man had a lot of bright potential and would know how to handle pain and hardship from people when he saw his old man as an example. The old man taught his son to treat such situations with grace under pressure. Just like the seed of the creeper under the boulder that blossoms around the boulder; but doesn't foolishly try to tackle the boulder head on. He taught the young man that getting angry in such issues and other petty ones was pointless and that nothing would get solved. He also showed him that a person getting angry at the right place, at the right time, and at the right people would get things done. This happened one time too many at the counter at Mc-Donald's where we were given bad service many a times, and my father shorted a fuse, receiving prompt service soon after that.

I always wanted to know where he would get that never ending reservoir of energy to do the things he did with such excellence; and sure enough, I realized that he never indulged in anything for long if he didn't absolutely love doing it. There never was need for a repairman around the house with dad around. He simply loved fixing those things and stripping things apart and putting them back together. He has been in the same company for the past thirty five years, ever since he joined and that taught me something about loyalty. It turns out that he would do anything for his family too; the only similarity I found in my parents. There was a time when we were attending a wedding and my mother was rebuked by the bride's mother. My father, quick as lightning, gave a rather nasty threat to the lady in question while my mother made a scathing remark immediately after that. The dear soul was reduced to tears. God I love my family!


My father always used to go on about the good old days (boy, does he really miss them) and how life was hard, but not filled with sorrow. I never grew weary of the story when he talked about his education and how he as a village boy, traveled all the way to the city to get an education. How he had no place to stay and had no money for the hostel. How he used to live as a parasite (that is, the fifth, unregistered member in a room of four in a hostel), study up to four am and learn English just so as know what was going on in those lectures (by the way, he was the first one on his side of the family to pass the fourth grade let alone earn a college education). It taught me to understand the true meaning of hard work, appreciate the self made man's story and imbibe the attitude of gratitude.

My old man would talk a lot about his old man too. How he would work for fourteen hours straight at an English mill. How he got a chance to emigrate to the U.K to work as a manger there. How his family wouldn't let him go for he was the sole bread earner for eleven mouths. How he thought of setting up a liquor store but got turned down by his family again calling it an ''idea that would corrupt the family'' even though everyone, including grandpa was a teetotaler himself. The point of this story (despite the crippling family loyalty in this case) was that my grandfather was a man of vision. Without a vision, a dream to direct your efforts towards, the efforts we put in; would be like doing the work of a donkey. Hauling a load up and about; making no significant difference in anybody's life if there was any increase in efficiency. It was this lesson that my father took his heart and began working with fervor in his youth. He wanted to prove himself, be somebody. He sure did to get where wanted in the end.

You can learn a lot from a man's faults and that is exactly what I did. My father can never acknowledge the fact that he can be wrong sometimes and say sorry! Although he understands and knows fully well that he has made a mistake, he courageously defends himself and his actions! He has something by the name of "apologisitis". There is another twisted variation to this disease "ignorizema" and the symptoms include- not being able to acknowledge the fact that his juniors, be it in any aspect of his life, can have good ideas, or can actually be right too! This results in him having this very uniquely flawed sense of ego and a certain amount of thoughtlessness which could make a person feel less valued and leave him/her develop a very negative attitude towards the person (maybe my mother has some basis to her bickering after all). It turns out that we had to reach a certain location that required us to take a certain right turn right after a junction. I knew this and informed my father of it; who was under the impression that we had to take the turn before the junction. After repeatedly telling him the truth, he still wouldn't listen (as it was coming from me, his junior) and thus left us driving on the wrong road for fifteen minutes before finally turning back and taking the turn I mentioned before. This he did- without giving an apology nor telling me that I was right which left me fuming and sulking thorough the day. Thus, I learnt that when a man makes a mistake and makes you all the more stronger than weaker, humbler than arrogant and wiser than foolish. Besides, it raises you as person in the eyes of everyone for it takes courage to do such a humble act.

All in all, there is a lot to learn from anywhere and everyone. What we must understand that a lot of this learning and how we deal with the world does come from the first people we can ever remember in our lives. What our parents teach us with or without our knowing can either make or break us. These are the loved ones that leave the deepest imprints on out souls. Make the best of it.