Of daddies, mummies, and their little idiosyncrasies

A few weeks back, while we, Moon and I, were gossiping our heads off, she said something that has stuck to my head. It was what Moon said about children becoming like their parents, no matter how much they denied it or ran away from being like them. She was of course, talking about the not-so-nice qualities about our daddies and mummies. The good part is good and we have acquired them, and don’t mind getting more of- its the little irritating qualities that we always said we wont inherit, but seem to be doing a bad job of it. Come to think of it, hell, I am on a similar track too.

I couldn’t stand ma’s habit of purchasing plastic ‘dabbas’. She has a fetish for those - she started with those Chinese shops and has elegantly matured to being a Tupperware agent. whatever, I did not quite share this liking for plastic trash. And as the genes would have it, I seem to have grown into another dabba maniac. No number of dabbas are ever enough for my kitchen. The other day, I asked Raj, carefully treading over the volatile teatime conversation - ‘I want something, you promise you won’t yell’ . ‘I already know what you want….you want those Rubbermaid dabbas, don’t you’, he said in a matter of fact manner and burst out laughing. We both had a laugh, and that’s when I realized I had turned into a La Basanti (Ma’s name,  I know, very filmy) myself.

There is more. Last evening, I was reading my book, sipping cha and looking out of the window, while the skies poured their guts out. Suddenly, like in a dream, I got up, went into the kitchen, and in 10 minutes flat made Pakoras and cha for Raj and me. That was so ma like. I always got irked with ma for spending insane amounts of time in the kitchen- especially when she made pakoras while it rained. Why couldn’t she just get from the ‘bandi’ downstairs?  Of course, I didn’t have a choice in Sydney, but the way I did it, was very very ma like.

Ma’s OCD bug for cleanliness, which got the better of me in college, bit me when I got married. My unfortunate husband  faces the brunt, now. Its funny how ma would pull  the corners of the bed spread every 5 minutes, and it would drive me crazy. I do that now- now, even a crease on the bed cover drives me crazy.

I remember whenever we had a party at home, ma would get into a frenzy, cooking. I just couldn’t get the point.If the purpose of a party was to chill and have fun, why cook at all? Just call Nanking or bring home Biriyani. I always had fights over this with ma. And now, you should see the same old mocking KG. Raj dreads having a party at home, lest I finish cooking only after the guests leave. I cook an awful lot, too, just like ma.

Dad’s turn now. My uncles always told that dad was the ‘angry young man’ of our family, and that he slowly cooled, as he grew older. I remember how he lost his cool at the drop of a hat over stupid things. I dreaded those angry moments, and always told ma- I will be cool as cucumber with my children. Yah right! People who know me very well know exactly how cool this cucumber is. Its okay you know if a bit of his temper has rubbed off me too :D. Raj has a new way to calm me these days- each time my nostrils flare up in anger, he clicks a picture of mine with his Blackberry. How irking- but I crack up, nevertheless. (And one of these days I plan to crack his irksome Blackberry).

When dad has an opinion about something- even the three Gods- Brahma, Vishnu or Maheshwara cannot change it. KG lately is acting like a stubborn bull too.

Oh and the pencils- I remember, dad always was particular about the stationary we were given. He wanted us to always keep them in place and all together instead of throwing them all over. Of course, no such thing happened, and I was an unruly child. At times he did give me a yelling- very rare, but on other occasions, and even NOW, he collects them all together and keeps stray pencils and pens in one box. As a child of course, that bothered me- I wanted to be left alone. I even went a step ahead and told my brother that when I become a parent, my child will be given pens and pencils, which she could throw around as and how she likes, because they were the child’s. Huh?! No way baby. KG is a task master of a mummy. All pens and pencils in one box. Now!

 

So, little by little we become like them. We take to their idiosyncrasies and their little madness into ourselves, and become like them. And that’s what makes us love them all the more.

 

Miss you, ma, dad.