Bringing up mum

A trip to find nirvana for her daughter proves instead to be an enlightening one for this mum

BY MADHUCHANDA DAS

You bet my friend’s as popular as her daughter in the latter’s school and yes, you read that right. Doling out supposedly magical and heavenly curries at her daughter’s school events, my friend, let’s call her ‘A’, has got famous.

Well, A was in some sort of competition with her daughter dearest, until a while ago, though on different plane. The daughter generated a what-no-one-in-eitherside-of-the-family-ever-did kind of pride in her mum, whilst manoeuvring her little fingers to the notes of the Beethoven classic Fur Elise. And mum basked in the glory of having the ideal child, the best in the community dinner party circuits that every immigrant parent craves for, who had bridged the legendary East West divide with unabashed aplomb. A proudly claimed to all who would listen and several who didn’t, that besides piano, swimming and netball, the daily puja, paratha and padhaai (academic studies) were all reluctant elements in daughter deary’s life.

The secret though, was that A was no different from the milieu… she too was gripped by harrowing thoughts that preoccupy most first generation immigrant minds. Piano shiano to theek hai …but would her possum learn to cook to save her life? Or would daughter deary be capable of tossing up a decent traditional meal for the family? And there was the mother of all concerns... would she marry a decent man of likewise heritage whom A could identify with, which would bring stability, direction and all the packages that go with it?

But, blast! Fearful reality began pounding in A’s eardrums. Her dream quilt was torn asunder by the gory sight of reality. Daughter darling had embarked on hip hop practise for her upcoming event on a Saturday. Saturday? Never! Weekends were reserved for culture, contemplation and heritage buttressing – lest daughter deary finds herself lost in the world of crass materialism and confused identity syndromes. A found

Tomorrow would automate her angel’s actions according to its own social, political, intellectual, economic and linguistic contours herself floundering again… the dream quilt returned to smother her. She had taken a bheeshma pratigya to infuse her offspring with enough Indian-ness to blabber unending poems, songs and dances in the mother tongue as part of their weekend dinner party rituals. At these do’s, A basked in filial pride, often failing to notice the snores of senior guests, while juniors sported famed dazed expressions, writ large on their faces. The embarrassed host and hostess were the only ones who managed a reluctant clap or two.

A was a mum on a mission to cultivate and nurture a confident, not confused second generationer, a perfect specimen with no qualms, no dilemmas, no nothing!

A poured her heart out to a know-it-all community agony aunt, who also doubled as the community quickfix expert. With all her worldly wisdom, aunty mahaan espoused that the solution was a baanye haath ka khel simply take daughter deary back to her roots, and let her behold the motherland steeped in tradition and old world charm that is absent here. Familiarity breeds acquiescence, sermonized aunty mahaan

And so she did. On the flight to nirvana in homeland, A dreamt of her daughter deary’s reawakening to find her true self, just as had happened to Mohan Bhargav in Swades, or Gogol in The Namesake, or even Krishna Reddy in American Desi. After all, movies take after life, don’t they? A little twirl and swirl with the dandiyas, a village full of loving and giving people, an extravagantly elaborate religious ceremony were all that it took to bridge the cultural crises in those coming of age masterpieces on celluloid. Its only a petty predicament, A pondered, relaxing.

Immediately on landing, A set out on her mission (im)possible. She frantically scoured every corner of the land to track down, uncover and unravel that unadulterated and undiluted symbol of cultural glory that she knew only existed here, away from a world immersed in relentless materialism. Alas! Her search for the namaskars, pranams and parampara seemed largely futile as all she witnessed were new age concrete boulevards, nicknamed malls sprawling up on every possible empty patch of available land, swanky cars in the fast lane and flashy billboards. The leisurely pace of A’s childhood had all but disappeared and ‘high speed’ was the new buzz word for everything, from internet to lifestyle. A’s land of origin, like everything else, had also moved on with the times. It dawned on her that the motherland had been redesigned and reinvented to fit in with the universal mantras of modern life and living. The Lost Empire? Not really. As she scratched the surface of things, this unanticipated shock metamorphosed into a compelling reawakening.

In her noble undertaking of preserving cultural individualism, A had overlooked the innate nature of culture and identity. They were fluid, evolving and ever dynamic concepts, subject to no rigid labels, definitions or dictates. This in itself probably defined both human assimilation and yet its distinctiveness in the bhelpuri (nee melting pot) of our fusion times.

Identity Syndromes

Lo and behold! The magical cure had taken place. A’s dream quilt was complete and ready to stave her from the chills of the unknown winters of tomorrow. Tomorrow would automate her angel’s actions according to its own social, political, intellectual, economic and linguistic contours. And there was not much she could do about it, A comprehended. Instead of bringing up daughter deary in a mum-fashioned mould, the nirvana trip had ended in bringing up mum instead!

At that moment the chart topping Bollywood number aptly titled Desi Girl…roared from the heavens above…or was it? Nope, it was just the super cool surround sound system. A looked around, seeking the apple of her eyes. And there she was on the makeshift stage in the Millennium Mall, grooving merrily with the other girls while holding onto a sweet corn bhel. As A joined in, daughter deary looked relieved…thankfully there were no instructions from mum this time!