The old man,his books and his wise words..

When I woke up today, I had no idea how enriching my day was going to be.

Last week while browsing through a popular social media site I came across this event happening in Johannesburg. It was a second hand book sale. The event description said, a ‘Recently retired academic's personal library. An impressive selection of over 4000 books to be sold.’ I kept reading and re-reading the event description, partly happy, partly confused and also strangely angry. I was naturally happy because the books were sold at a ridiculously less price. But what confused me and further angered me was the fact that someone has actually arranged a book-sale to see unknown people touch and take away his beloved books. I tried telling myself to calm down. I do not know the person and hence I could not be angry on him. But a part of me was highly dejected, and I kept going back to the events page. Finally I decided to go.

Today morning when we reached at the gate of the mansion, it was drizzling. In my mind the backdrop seemed perfect, as the universe must be deeply saddened by this treacherous activity. But I quickly controlled my mind from the melodramatic ranting, composed myself and stepped into the foyer. The house had a warm welcoming vibe, and it was clear that everything was placed with a lot of thought and care. I crossed the foyer and walked down a narrow hall-way, when I heard voices coming over from the room on my left. As I turned and stepped inside, I found myself standing in one of the best home library I have ever seen. The two walls on either side of me were covered with thick wood panelled book-shelves. The room was U-shaped with two floors. From where I stood i looked up to an elegant crystal chandelier, around which the wooden carved railing of the second floor could be seen. There was a huge table in the middle of the room. Behind the table a spiral stair-case led to the second floor. There were around 10-12 people in the library, who must have come for the sale. I looked around the place trying to locate the owner. At the corner of the room there were few chairs and I could see two elderly gentlemen and a lady were engrossed in conversation. I looked at them from the corner of my eye, trying to understand who the academician was. 

His collection was diverse, impressive and awe-inspiring. Homer’s Iliad rubbed shoulder with Aldous Huxley, Shakespeare’s plays stood next to John Osborne. There were books on the history of chamber music, wine tasting, law, gardening, travelling and so on. It was like tens and thousands of different worlds colliding against one another, creating this magical realm. I just closed my eyes and let my fingers brush through the spines of the books, taking in their stories. I didn’t realise when I had reached the corner of the room. As I looked up I saw few young college students were standing around a kind-faced octogenarian man, “You kids should have come yesterday. Today is the 2^nd day of the sale, and most of the good volumes are already sold off.” He was looking through the books these students had picked up and was helping them chose the right ones. He had the kindest face and the wisest eyes I had ever seen. I walked to the other end of the room.

I picked some books for myself and walked to the table in the centre of the room where a young man was busy with the transactions. Kunal said maybe I should meet the owner once before leaving and thank him, as a courtesy. But I was not sure of that. I still harboured some mixed feelings for the person and didn’t want to face him with my prejudices. So I stayed back in the queue. As my turn came I laid down my books and started handing them to the guy at the counter. Suddenly someone took a book from my stack and said, “I was wondering why no one was taking this book. This one is a sure winner. I hope you have good time reading this one.” It was the elderly gentleman I had seen before, the owner of this envying library. 

I smiled and thanked him politely.

And before I knew the words poured down my lips. “How can you sale your books to complete strangers?”

He looked at me, as if he is noticing me for the first time. A pleasant smile crossed his lips and sat cosily in his eyes. “I’m not selling them to strangers. I’m selling them to people I know will value them. I have read these books and I know that I will never read them again. Moreover this is just one-third of my whole collection.” He paused and silence swiftly filled in the spaces within and without.

“And you know young lady”, he spoke again, “As you grow old, you must learn to live light and let go of the things that binds you.”.

Sometimes few words can teach you more than what a library full of books can do.

The son speaks

Ever since I have become a mother, my husband and my Mom (who by the way, are my two biggest fans), have pestered me to pen down my experience. I tried. I started. I stopped. I faltered. 

Not because I don’t have anything to write. Oh no no. It’s been only 10 months, but I already feel like I can give J R Tolkien some tough competition. It’s just that so much has already been written and spoken about motherhood; I didn’t know what else to say. And partly also because I strongly disagree with many motherhood/parenthood notions harboured by millennial mothers. But this blog is not about that. So, coming back, I wanted to write about my experience of being a mother but I didn’t know where or how to start. It was so vast and so deep that I was too overwhelmed to pen it down. That is when my knight in shining ‘diaper’ came to my rescue. With wobbly feet, he crawled straight to me, his mouth covered in drool, but his eyes shining with determination to help his distressed MumMum. So with oodles of apprehension and a dash of relief, I passed by pen (albeit hypothetical one) to my 10 month old son.

Dear MumMum,

I don’t have too much time to spare, so I will come straight to the point. My first 10 months had been great. We are doing good MumMum. I’ll be honest with you. I don’t remember much of the first 4 months. That time is like a blur to me. I remember seeing faces...many faces, things moving and bright colours. I remember you, of course, and how you held me, and your smell. Ohh, and I was peeing a lot....ya how can I forget that. But I kind of start remembering more clearly from the time I started crawling. Ohh those were such happy days! Finally I got to see the world in all its 3 dimensional glory. Honestly, I was getting a little tired seeing people’s double-chin all day long (sigh). MumMum I know this whole thing is difficult for you and Dada. But it’s not really very easy for me, either. Suddenly waking up at night, not knowing where I am, trying to adjust my eyes in the darkness, feeling cold and hungry, is not really a lot of fun. It’s only when you wrap your arms around me in that darkness that I feel secured, I feel at home. And when you lovingly whisper, “it’s ok baby I love you. I am here”, I know that you got me. You will always get me. It’s not too much fun to let other people decide what I wear, eat, play and see. I trust you completely and know that you only have good intentions for me. But when you force down that avocado purée down my throat, my faith wavers! It is difficult not being able to go where I want, not being able to reach where I want to and not being able to communicate what I want to. And don’t get me started on the list of Don’ts that I have to hear every day.

Don’t throw toys.

Don’t spill food.

Don’t bite me.

Don’t crawl below the table.

Don’t eat shoes.

Don’t chase the ants/flies and don’t eat them.

Don’t pull his hair. 

How about saying some ‘Do-s’. What happened to the good-old positive attitude folks? Why so much negativity? You see I have to spend the day doing something. Even if I sleep for 11-12 hours a day, I still have 12 hours to spend. So how do you want me to spend those hours? I’m just 10 months old, my attention span is no better than that of a gnat. So I need to keep mixing up a bit to make my day exciting. Hence, biting, eating, tearing, falling, crawling (falling again), drooling and irritating the ship (well, that’s the word I hear you and DaDa say a lot. But I’m pretty sure the ‘p’ in the word doesn’t sound quite right) out of you is what I like to do.

Ok, so enough of what I don’t like. There are actually a lot of things that I like. The list is long, and I don’t have time. So I will pick up my favourite ones. 

Needless to say I love it when you and DaDa cuddle me. But sometimes DaDa manhandles me; you must talk to your man. I will not weigh 9 kgs forever, you know. The day I grow my six packs, the man will be in trouble! I love sitting by your feet in the kitchen while you do the dishes. Love how you sing songs for me and talk to me, like I understand everything. In case you didn’t notice already, I don’t understand a word you say. But I love your lilting voice and the sound of your laughter. You might not be the best singer in your big-people world, but to me you are the best one I’ve ever heard, and I love hearing you again and again (please don’t cry MumMum, you’re a grown-up remember). Oh, and I love our daily massage sessions. Are you kidding me, free spa every day of the year! I might be a baby but I surely know that this is not going to last long. So I enjoy every single bit of it. I know you will not believe me, but I love when you read out loud to me (not always, but sometimes). I know you think I wiggle around a lot when you read and don’t pay attention. But that’s not true MumMum. I wiggle around so you can move around and catch me. I see you don’t get much exercise, so I need to do something about it, don’t I? Or else you keep telling people you have put on the pounds because you carried me in you for 9 months. Now there’s only so much a baby can take blame for. 

And now my most favourite part of the day; playing ball with you. Since so many weeks now, you have been trying to teach me to ‘throw the ball’. Of course I know how to throw a ball.....I’m 10 months old, I’m not stupid! But I chose not to throw it when you ask me. You know why, because I love to see that expression on your face when after repeatedly asking me to throw the ball, I don’t oblige. The way you cringe your nose and roll your eyes, ohh it makes my day, really. 

Okay, enough of baby talk, now some serious stuff. MumMum I don’t like it when you cry. Yes, I know when you cry. Last week, when I stood on my own without holding onto something for few seconds (before falling with a thud), you cried. Few days before that, when I ate the whole strawberry on my own, you cried. You also cried on the day when I said my first words, ‘Mama’. But you have to stop crying, you know. Because I will grow up and do zillions of things on my own. Slowly I will not need you anymore to carry me places, because I will learn to walk, I will not need you to feed me because I will learn to eat on my own. I will not need you to be my voice anymore because I will have my own voice and vocabulary ( I just said ‘zillion’, didn’t I?). But you should be proud of me for not needing you, as that means you have been a good parent and have taught me well. I am born with wings, all of us are. All we need is a little push here and a little shove there along with dollops of encouragement, so we can learn to soar. But no matter how high and far I soar, at the end of the day I want to cuddle up in your arms and sleep peacefully. But if you try to break my flight or mess up my wings, then I will never learn to fly high amidst the vast sky. Then I will be sad and hurt, and angry on you. That’s not what you want. You want me to grow up to be an independent person, and I sure will. Now I might not know what ‘independent’ means. But from what you said, it seems like I need to learn to do my own cleaning, cooking, washing, etc. Though this doesn’t sound like fun, but I will still do it for you MumMum. Because at the end of all joys, tears, heart-breaks, success and pain, you are my person. And I’m yours.

 

I had fun writing to you MumMum. I’m glad to realize that ‘big-people’ do interesting things like writing. Growing up will not be so boring, after all. I might write to you again. Till then you laugh more, sing more, dream more (I know sleep is an issue now, try day-dreaming maybe), cuddle me more and worry less. 

PS: MumMum I have a complaint on behalf of all (well, most) babies across the world. Can you please forward it to the right person? It is for the person who has come up with the ‘blue’ and ‘pink’ colour-code for babies. Pink for girls and blue for boys. Are you kidding me? This mindless discrimination needs to stop! Now.