The Invasion of my Inbox

I have been lamenting silently on multiple counts since Lockdown was announced in this part of the world. It was a routine weekend visit to A and now after three weeks, we are staying put for another three. Till recently my lamentations could have been ignored by my own 'greater' self on account of their trivial nature. But now that this space has been devoted to airing of grievances, I better lighten myself by recounting them.

• Of all the things, I missed being unable to go out anymore- for the runs, the walks and general contemplations.
• In the absence of an oven, baking (one of my greatest loves) was ruled out too. Not that one would have obtained the ingredients. And yes, I missed the regular cheese sandwich due to unavailability of good bread. 
• The fact that I am stuck in a place other than my own home, meant my urban jungle of an apartment would be withering due to lack of water and sunshine.
• And since the place where I am has only the nature's bounty to placate you, I miss being unable to capture the russet sunsets and pink supermoons on my DSLR; Or paint the myriad hues of spring in watercolors.
• Further, selfish as it may all sound, I lamented wearing the same set of clothes every few days too. 
• To make things more difficult, A was constantly away with his work responsibilities.
• And lastly, the fact that for the first time since I became a mom of two, I have been stuck with both 24*7 without any family member to offer reprieve. 

And yet there were a million blessings to be thankful each day for. The fact that four of us were together, that all of us were healthy and safe, that our plates were full, that I have rarely had this kind of time with kids at home, that the kids still had a place to play outdoors, that there was time and access to any book on my Kindle and that it was a  beautiful place to be locked in (just as spring was receding) meant we were managing pretty well in the beginning.

Till of course the school announced the beginning of online classes. At first, we thought at least the elder one will be gainfully engaged in the pre-lunch hours and I might actually get some breathing space to do the little ones chores. It was not to be. The Little One (all of 4) too had to join a half an hour class at 9. So far, we are operating on the assumption that all daily chores (including feeding and bathing the kids) would be over by nine and there would be at least two electronic devices on which both kids could attend separately. (Let's not even think of the explicitly stated requirement of separate space for both kids without any household disturbance.)

Still, I (leave out A because he has to attend a 24*7 emergency job) decided to play cooperative-modern-voiceless-computer educated-devices possessing mother of two. I thought I could connect (older) N on my tablet and the little (S) on my phone. Worth mentioning that after six months of persuasion since A took over this place, he finally managed to retrieve and share the wi-fi password for seamless connectivity. As instructed in the mail, I promptly downloaded ZOOM and installed on my devices. Yet it occurred to me that since teachers too were operating from home, each subject teacher would have a distinct username and password. On reading the fine print of school mail and repeatedly pestering the (virtual) class teacher, I was enlightened about student email and received the login and password for the same (please do not confuse this with the subject teachers' zoom id and passwords) only hours before the first class. Its important to clarify that all correspondence was mailed on student id, and only as and when the teachers deemed fit on one or both of the parents email. And since all assignments were to be viewed and submitted through Google classrooms and Google Drive, I had no option but to bite my lip and curse the heavens, while deleting my account and configuring the tablet with N's email id and specifications. Lastly, it was also not as if all teachers could get Zoom going on their ends the very first day and at least one had sent the link of google hangouts, which again had to be downloaded and installed.

Complicated as it may sound, so far each and every word of this post is true. Now on the D-day, we managed to stuff breakfasts into the little mouths and the first class for both could be connected somehow. I had failed to take the credit for bringing up my kids without any exposure to screens of any sort- TV, mobile, tablet etc. Only now I may not be given any, since N constantly fumbles with the mute-unmute feature and I have to rush to her aid, every time teacher announces her name. Also, to our horror, after each class, we had to help her key in the username and password after copying from the mail. And till date, sometimes we are just unable to connect at all.

While I considered myself deft at technology, how do you excel when the rules of the game (read username and passwords) are changed every day. S refused to sleep soundly for nearly a week and we gave up on his class for the last week. Yet, N had to join and learn and grow. Every night before sleep I prepare a primer of each subject username and password to help her navigate if I am temporarily stuck (inside the bathroom or in the kitchen). But all of this is nothing compared to the deluge of mails we receive in our inbox. (Sometimes, I even smell patriarchy when some teachers decide to write to A alone.) One could have helped writing this post, if there were only assignments to be submitted- there are rules on how they are to be submitted, then there is advice for parents on how students should submit, further there is further advice for sending a notification once the scanned pages of the notebook are uploaded and there is a deadline. In addition, there are videos to be made and uploaded (Trust my internet to (fail to) support anything above 10MB). Still, the teacher gets N's name wrong (say N became some random M) while reviewing her work online- so much for the child's recognition! 

And while I write this, I realize teachers too are moms and/or perhaps have loads of household work to deal with just as well. Also, the school S and N attend was chosen specifically for its no stress curriculum and it has been a beautiful journey so far. Despite the overwhelming goodness, I can not see a single mail from outside school contact in my inbox. Of all the things I hate about Corona, and its multifarious invasions into people's lives, the invasion of my inbox is what hurts me the most. It seems that my identity has been erased by my role as a mother of two school-going children. And while I had indeed erased my identity from my android tablet, the computer science resource sheet tells me N is supposed to be learning Windows!

Of three recipes and Sitapur Days..

"When I'm older I'll understand" said Lucy, " I am older and I don't think I want to understand", replied Edmund” 

― C.S. Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia

Life can be strange. We put down roots when we least expect and we become uprooted when we least desire. In a profession, where part of the job is to remain detached and move at the moment's notice, and yet, when it is required of you to nurture a place like your own kid, often it is the places which grow upon us. The invisible layers of dust and the grime we accumulate each day become difficult to unravel for the rest of our lives. Sometimes when I sleep, I do not remember which house I am in, and I do not remember what it would be like when I wake up. The houses, the long shadows of the evening, the chirping of the birds, the noise of cicadas become imprinted like childhood memories.

There are places and stories I wish I could write about before they evaporate. Sometimes I shut my eyes tight to keep those pictures alive. For me each of these 'stay' is like stumbling upon Narnia in some forgotten wardrobe- too difficult to conjure living in a box apartment in a city but every bit real because a slice of my lifetime belongs to that place. Sitapur was a Narnia-Wonderland rolled into one. So many lessons. So many memories. But in the end the decision to leave did not even take more than a minute. And once the decision is made, everything that seemed to fit into a pattern, seems like a chore, a burden and lastly, no longer one's own.

Of the innumerable indelible imprints I will carry upon my soul, I will hold the recipes of Khichdi, Pasta and Sooji Kheer most valuable. I have waited a long time to write these recipes down for the interesteds. However, with the passage of time (and more importantly age which is inversely proportional to available time and energy), it seems more important being able to let the memory stay alive first. It has been a year since I left and now I find it hard to even believe all of it existed.

To put it simply, I may never set foot in our Sitapur house again but every time we prepare these three dishes (Sooji Kheer being the breakfast staple of my little one each day), we will remember you Durga and Bishan. We will remember the countless meals we savoured. Of all the things I learnt in Sitapur, these three by far have rendered the greatest happiness and satisfaction. While you may never know, both of you will live in our family recipes for a long time to come.

"You can't just eat good food. You've got to talk about it too. And you've got to talk about it to somebody who understands that kind of food.” 

― Kurt Vonnegut, Jailbird

Rain on the roof

We live in a house that's no less than 150 years old. Yet the roof of the western wing that we occupy was recently done by one of the previous occupants. And while the original part of the house remains well lit and airy, our part was poorly ventilated and dark, till we forcibly modified it to make way for some air and light.

Yesterday was the first time this season we decided to put on the air conditioner for the night (With better air circulation we could have perhaps managed longer. The days are pleasant when the doors and windows are wide ajar, and the evenings outside still have a slight nip in the air.)

I woke up with a start to the sound of water. My worst nightmare was a burst pipe drenching 'precious' somethings somewhere. (And the house has had enough of these to thank my stars amongst others for children saved from a burst geyser pipe not once but twice, a short-circuit that could have well been a full blown fire.) 

A groggy me opened the door of the nearest ante-room to find big drops of rain beating hard against the parched earth. It was the sound of the rain on the roof that woke me up in the first place. 

As I quickly tried to close the window shutters, I couldn't bring it upon myself to do the same. I found myself awash with the fragrance of dry earth soaking its soul to the pelting rain. In that sleepy moment, I realized the meaning of PETRICHOR. In that dazed instant, I  realized why it was the most expensive itr. Something tells me it's the way our souls connect at the end of separations. 

And then the clock told me it is five in the morning, that my colicky baby allowed me to sleep only an hour before, that my phone is still in wind-down-mode and I can't seize the moment except in thoughts, and that I must let it roll over like a dream and get some sleep before my daughter's online class begins in a couple of hours. There's only as much for the life we live but so much more for the ones we LOVE.