It is difficult to keep your patience when random people on the local train start yelling at you. I was on my way from Charni Road station to Santacruz station, minding my own business, phone in hand.
An angry old gentleman, who was not at all gentle, tapped on my shoulder, and said, “Khila pila ke, padha likha ke, maa baap bachchon ko kyun bada karte hain?” (Why do parents feed and educate their children, bring them up with so much care?)
I was too puzzled to focus on sending out my text message, so I tried listening. “Jab bachche ko samundar mein jaakar selfie lete lete hi marna hai, toh itni mehnat karne ka kya faayda?” (Eventually, if the child is going to drown in the sea while clicking a selfie, what is the point of so much hard work?)
He showed me a newspaper article about a few college students who were washed away into the sea because they, quite literally, threw caution to the wind. They were single-mindedly focused on generating material for their social media posts.
It was a sad thing to learn about but I wasn’t prepared for what came next. The man commanded me to switch off my phone. “Tumhe kuchh samajh nahin aata? Phone lekar baithe ho, khel rahe ho. Tum bhi unhi bachchon ke jaise ho.” (Don’t you follow what I am saying? You are playing with your phone. You too are like those children.)
Hello, mister! That is taking it a bit too far.
I said, “Dekh lo, Uncle. Itna purana phone hai, saala selfie option bhi nahin hai.” (Take a look, Uncle! This is such an old phone — it doesn’t even have a selfie option.)
Has this ever happened to you - showing up at work on a Sunday, thinking it was a Monday instead? Or, when you were a school kid, studying for a biology exam and then realising you should have prepared for physics?
Sometimes, I feel like nature too gets her timetables all mixed up. It happened this morning. I was standing by the window, appreciating the colour of the raw mangoes that have popped up in the last few days. The tree that had seemed weary all winter looked quite happy now.
And, all of a sudden, it started raining. Imagine! Right at the beginning of March! I think my ceiling was caught unawares. It could not handle the watery onslaught, and now there are three leaks to fix. Yeah, right! I was scrounging so hard to sex up my to-do list.
Of course, leaky roofs are a common headache for Mumbai residents. But not so early in the year. June would have been fine.
Mr. Sachdeva's family migrated to India from Jacobabad, when he was aged six
***
On a day like this, my father seems to be the most amazing guy on earth. When he noticed that it was raining, he ran out to check on the pigeon who has laid eggs on the base of the box grill attached to our kitchen window.
The bird looked a bit afraid. My father fished out a sturdy polythene bag from somewhere, and tied it on the grill in such a way that it would serve as a shelter from the rain.
It is wonderful to observe quietly how, even those men who refuse to show their vulnerable side, have these tender moments. I went and told my mother about this.
Guess what she had to say? “He used to take care of you, just like this. When you were a little baby, he was the one who woke up when you cried in the middle of the night. He’d wipe your tears, change your diapers, sing you to sleep.”
***
Some of the children I meet are such adorable creatures! I have to tell you about Upasana, this two year old who is my friend’s daughter. She has a vocabulary that is quite impressive for her age. I thought that the word ‘neighbour’ would have been too advanced for her. But, no!
And thankfully, this is without sending her to Phonics classes. Would you believe that there are parents in Mumbai who send two year olds to Phonics classes so that they can get their English pronunciation right?
“Yaar, she is too young. She picks up what she likes. We don’t want to plan out her language learning. We don’t want to put any pressure on her,” said my friend. I wish other parents let their kids breathe.
Before I could settle down, Upasana came over to hold my hand, and lead me to her neighbour’s house. “Dada, Dada,” she said. Out came Mr. Sachdeva, her adopted grandfather from next door.
My friend remarked, “For her, home isn’t just her parents. It’s her neighbours too.” What a lovely quality for a child to have! Especially in a city where people often do not know the names of their neighbours, leave alone their phone numbers.
Mr. Sachdeva, I learnt, grew up in Jacobabad. His family migrated to India when he was just six years old. He remembers his childhood home in vivid detail. And most fondly, the time he was bitten by a goat on his head. Well, he got a week off from school. Now that explains it.
Chintan Girish Modi is a Mumbai-based writer. That he shares his last name with a Prime Minister is purely a matter of coincidence. He tweets at @chintan_connect
