Life Lessons from a Little Teacher

I woke up late as it was Sunday. Plus I had struggled to sleep last night after a pretty heavy leg workout. I indulged in reading to avert my attention from the sore muscles (A nice Indian work by an author I know personally; but that's for another post).  I have now made it a habit not to switch internet on the mobile until I’m ready for work. On weekends, until after breakfast. 

The first message that greeted me was from my sister, sent late at night possibly. Sister and my niece are currently vacationing in Dubai, with my brother-in-law, who has recently moved there from the UK. "He is so courageous Su.  He has not just found a great place to live in, but also has bought a car, and has become conversant with driving out here", she couldn't hide her admiration when she had spoken the previous day.  Having been used to right-hand-drive all along, suddenly making the shift to the other side seamlessly isn't mean task. 

Along with the message, my sister had sent a picture too. The picture of a small, red cake. Followed by the story behind it. It was my brother-in-law’s birthday yesterday. The cake they’d bought to celebrate had melted away in the car. While the parents were disappointed the little girl - my niece all of eight - had asked them not to be upset, ran into the kitchen and soon returned with an instant cake for her dearest dad to cut.

She had sliced off the top of an apple, melted a dairy milk chocolate in the one, and poured over the sliced apple. She had gone on to garnish it with sweet chips and crystal sugar. Needless to say the cake was far yummier than the store-bought black forrest.  My sister was all pride when she gushed out all the details when we caught up in the evening over skype.  “We are truly blessed Su to have little T in our lives”.  I couldn't have said it better.

I was reminded of the saying I had heard when I was young - but one which hadn’t made much sense back then. ‘Child is the father of the man’, attributed to Wordsworth, if I’m not mistaken. She had simply displayed what an adult should do in a moment of panic - innovate!  And my mind also wandered back to an incident that took place almost two years ago, when sister and family had come down from the UK for the annual holidays.

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It was August, and the Independence Day was nearing.  My niece would come along with me to the workplace.  One, she wanted to spend time with her favourite 'mama'.  Two, she loved my place of work - spacious cabin, sofas to roll on, a whiteboard to scribble, draw, and write as she pleased, and a 'new auntie' she had befriended. She could order me around, get any colour of marker she wanted to use, cajole 'auntie' to let her play on her system, and help her draw on boundless supply of paper.  She made many cards for me and for her dad - telling us how much she loved us! My joy touched heavens frequently. 

As usual, there were deadlines at work, and I had asked one of my officers to finalise a report that needed to be sent to my Head Quarters.  I had found the draft he had prepared was not adequate, and hence made corrections, and advised him to add a few more pieces of information and bring it back.  The officer returned with the modified draft the next day, and to my chagrin I found he hadn't made any changes as desired or directed.  I lost my cool and ticked him off for not paying attention to what was being said.  Realising suddenly that my niece too was there, I calmed down, and told him again politely to rectify it as needed.  He returned soon, with a suitably modified draft, I signed the same and thanked him and sent him away.  

The girl quietly asked me after a while, "mama, may I ask you something?" 

"Sure darling.  Ask anything".

"Who was that person?"

"He is an officer who works with me".  

"Oh! Why did you tell him off?

"I had asked him to prepare a report.  He made many mistakes".

"Okay.  But do you know you raised your voice and almost shouted at him?"

"Yes.  He made a mistake".

"I know.  But, you still could have told him nicely.  You didn't have to raise your voice".

"Yes baby.  I got angry.  I won't do it another time", I said so I could placate her and move on.  I thought that would make her stop.  I was wrong.

"Do you know he might have felt bad because you told him off so badly?", she continued.

"Yes, he might be feeling bad". 

"If  you shout at someone, they will feel sad in their heart.  You should not do it mama.  You can say that they have made a mistake in a nice way.  And, with a smile. They will learn".

"Okay sweetie, I will remember to be nice from next time". 

With each sentence she was uttering I was realising how mature she was and how immature was my behaviour.  To make amends for having lost my temper in front of her, I said, "Did you feel sad too in your heart?"

"Yes.  A bit".

 "I am sorry baby.  I will not shout at people anymore.  I will tell politely and nicely from next time". 

She was quiet.  And, was intently looking at me.  

"What now? Do you want me to say sorry to the officer too?"

"I don't know.  It is your wish".  She went back to her books with that.

A minute later she returned to me.  "I think you should say sorry to him".

I was stunned.  I didn't expect her to say it so clearly.  "Okay?", I managed to say.

"Because you made him feel sad by telling him off and because I also feel sad in my heart, you should say sorry".  I agreed.  I called the officer, and apologised to him for having been rude.

As the officer left my chamber, my niece came to me, gave me a hug and said, "Now I love you mama".  

She was all of six years.  And, she had given a telling blow to my ego of being the boss.  With insight and clarity beyond her age, she had taught me a valuable lesson.  Of being gentle, humble, and grounded.  It is almost two years since this incident.  Even now if I am angry with someone at work, I remember the words of my niece.  And hold my tongue, lest I speak something I would regret later. 

All children are teachers.  Teachers to their parents, relatives, and even their teachers at school.  They teach us patience, the joy of giving, rekindle our curiosity, and remind us to stay young.  We just have to ask ourselves. "Am I ready and willing to learn?"

Response and Reaction

Shreesha Bhat, of Akanksha messaged me casually one evening.  I had just then seen their message on instagram that the Trust was conducting a week-long workshop for young students on various topics.  Corona and times of social distancing ensures that the workshops are all conducted online.  I asked him if I could be of any use.  And, he lapped up the idea and asked if I could handle one of the sessions, most preferably, Personality Development, on Sunday.  I agreed readily.  I like interacting with students.  I had begun missing my stint at the Regional Training Centre, and those training courses that I'd design along with my other faculty.  

The Sessions (there were two sessions of roughly 1 hour and 15 minutes each, including the interactive, question and answer time) went well - even though to begin with I felt strange to look at myself on the laptop screen and address students that I could not see nor gauge their reactions to my delivery.  One of the enduring line in my sessions was about how we react to a situation, and how we must change from reacting to responding.  There were several questions too from the participants to explain the difference between the two, and how to practice it.  I confessed to them that even though I advice this I too would be caught on many occasions, reacting to a situation than responding, as desired.  Honesty certainly helps, I had mused. I had not known then that I would be facing certain litmus tests soon enough, regarding this.

 Despite the lockdown, slowly I had started returning to a routine with respect to my fitness and even exhorted Sirish, my friend and colleague, to join in.  We would go for walks followed by a session of stretching and strengthening exercises.  After a few days, Sirish became irregular.  He would either miss walking or stretching sessions, and sometimes both.  His blood pressure had begun to be on the higher side, particularly as the day progressed.  He had begun monitoring it every eight hours when he first noticed that something was amiss, and had gone on to monitor it every three hours while awake.  I wondered if it was also due to stress factors, at both home and work. He had not joined me for the stretching session last evening, but had promised to join me for the walk this morning.  

Promptly at 6:30 Sirish called to tell me he was ready for the walk.  I asked him to give me another 15 minutes.  As we went for the walk, I asked him how his hypertension was.  The response surprised me.  "It came down after the walk yesterday, and then slowly started rising up again.  By evening it was pretty high".  "But, isn't the pressure supposed to go up after exercise?", I mused aloud.  Sirish agreed too.  He also said, "If it stays up today too I will consult my friend and start medication for the time being, until complete investigation is possible post lifting of locdown".  The doubts that his hypertension was basically because of stress factors - largely his own creation because of how he reacts to situations at home and work - continued to gnaw at my mind, even though he stoutly denied.

During the regular calls we were exchanging, I learnt my sister, Kumi, wasn't keeping well.  For quite a while she had been complaining of continued body aches, and they had progressed to include small joints (in fingers, etc.).  When today I saw that she was still online at 7:45 IST, I messaged her.  "Why aren't you asleep yet?" And, she responded, "Unable to sleep because of pains".

My sister (and family) lives in the UK.  In Leicester.  Both she and my brother in law are medical practitioners (coincidentally, Sirish is a qualified medical doctor; and his wife Yamini too is a medical practitioner).  Too many doctors in my life.  Apart from these close ones, there is an assortment of doctors strewn in the family and friends circle!  Many times I also notice them talking to me as though I am one too - using every medical term known to them, without bothering to stop and explain in plebian terms what they mean.  Sometimes I interrupt and ask; sometimes I search online for the meanings.  At others it becomes evident as they continue to indulge me with further details. 

I wondered within about my sister's continued ailments.  I thought the reason she battles them frequently was because she is pretty reactive.  Maybe because she was alone with her daughter and found it difficult to manage the fears of a spreading pandemic I was casually judging her within my mind.  That instead of responding to the situation: accepting that she is unwell and calmly dealing with it, she intensely reacts with negative emotion of not wanting to go through it.  I even thought I should write a mail to her about how she is reactive, and not responsive.  

And, then the penny dropped! It was not Sirish nor Kumi that were being reactive.  It was me.  I was easily being reactive to their plight.  I was jumping to conclusions, and passing judgments on their suffering than being responsive to their need; the need for empathy, understanding, and support. It is possible they are being reactive, but it is not for me to judge that or point out.  It is for them to realise; maybe after they have first received adequate love and support while they are suffering.  It also dawned that I was being equally reactive with my parents, and they were being awfully nice by not ticking me off.  I felt silly, stupid, and slightly ashamed at my thoughts.  I understood - for the first time in a long time - what I must do now.  Just be with them, as a pillar of support and strength.  And, not a thorn of irritation and pain.  As a hand that soothes.  Not as the one that points a finger and accuses.  

In the hurry to find fault with others, it was so easy to commit so many of them myself.  All of us are reactive - unless we become aware of it.  And, it is possible we are less reactive in certain spaces, and more reactive elsewhere.  For example, I am less reactive at workplace.  I don't easily bite even the most inviting bait there.  But I am a different person at home altogether.  There could be reasons or excuses for my behaviour - valid and invalid.  But they do not matter.  What matters is the choice we make - to react to or to respond.  To empathise or to judge.  That is a good lesson to learn.  I hope I will remember it and practice it too.  Always. 

Breaking a Jinx

"Hey! We'll soon have a new house! My dad's making plans" I had shreiked to my friend in delight. I was in Class IV or V then. "Will you be in the same school or will you join Seventh Day" he had asked in turn. Soon he and I both forgot about the house. Again in Class VI, we started looking for a house. We even visited one. I saw dad talking to the owner and later in the evening, to all our relatives. "He's agreed for Rs. XXX. I think it's reasonable". I exchanged notes with my sis. "There is more space in front of the house. We can have a garden". "I want a swing" she responded. The house never became ours though.

Many such moments came and went by. With each such episode my mom went a little down. A little sad at first and a lot cynical later. Both mom and Kumi (my sister) always yearned and pined for the house. Being the women they were it was probably only natural. Dad had built one before he was married to mom but he sold it and gave away the proceeds to his sister and brother. Mom hadn't cribbed, I remember.

Even after my education was over, the plans were still being made, none materializing. Many thousands went down the drain in the form of payments to brokers, advances to the house-owners and travel. We'd be close to owning our own home. But never close enough to call it our own. I'd become stoical about the whole thing and hardly paid any heed when mom would bemoan about not having a roof that we could call our very own, very often.

Most of the money parents had earned was spent not just on our education but also on our relatives' wellbeing. Both my father's and my mother's siblings grew up at our place, were educated by my parents and helped in settling their lives. They all had gone on to do well. Including having their own homes. In Bangalore, Mysore and elsewhere. Some even multiple properties. We'd stayed where we had started from. In the same rented house status - the houses changed, so did the rentals though.

My sister used to get very bitter about the house we stayed in. She used to feel embarassed to bring her friends into the place. "I hate it" she would say vehemently. I had no problems though. There were times my mom would quarrel with dad, "Because of you we haven't even been able to have the security of the house". Dad would go off on a different tangent, "IF only my children had listened to me". "I'll die without seeing our home" mom. "Why can't you be responsible for anything?" sis. Sometimes it hurt, sometimes it didn't matter.

When I returned to Bangalore after 10 years, building a house was the priority. However, ever since September 2007 nothing had been done. Even after mom transferred the site to my name so we could get loan easily from a bank. Kumi sent money too. All of her hard-earned money in the UK. Despite the opposition from her in-laws (that almost threatened her marriage) and despite her own jobless situation. Mom once flew off her handle at me. Dad and I blamed each other for the non-starter now. First it was plan approvals, next it was change of the site account. Then it was inauspicious days. Non-availability of a contractor. Phew! There was no end to our excuses.

Something that had NOT happened for 30 years wasn't wiling to happen in a hurry now. Relatives in Bangalore tried dissuading parents to construct the house NOW in hometown (Kolar). They said, "Sudhir would settle anyways in Bangalore. Why waste money building a house that none would later live in?" Parents were horrified to hear. They almost believed that I didn't want to get back to Kolar. My granny offered her own property to us. It was like adding fuel to fire for mom. She hated the gesture and threw a tantrum at us all. For a woman who's self-reliance personified, it was shameful to hear those words of offer.

All sob stories largely have a good end in movies. It happened here too. I, who was least concerned until now, suddenly transformed. I set first a deadline by which the house would be ready. I declared, "We will conduct the house-warming ceremony in May 2009". Dad continued to read his newspaper. Mom looked at me with blank eyes. "Kumi, I'm committed to build the house before May" I called sis to tell her and she changed the topic. None trusted that I'd do anything.

After having been everything - shirker, liar, lazy, irresponsible - I've begun a new beginning now. We broke the jinx. On 5 November, we did the Bhumi Puja. Despite the hiccups before the D-day (father's tantrums, mother's doubts, Kumi's cold vibes, relatives' rues over contractor et al) we had a smooth take-off.

Yes, mom and dad now believe that the house-warming could happen in May! I smile. Even as I worry about handling Kumi's mails of accusations and anger over the construction.