My father would and could be considered plausibly sane in normal circumstances, and most of times loving and at times even a mature, responsible adult. However, having not one but both his grown-up kids laying siege on his house for months, with their own brood tagging along, with no hope of respite in near future is so not a “normal” situation. This wretched man, lured into the comfort and security of arranged marriage years ago, was poised for rude shock as he naively believed that domesticity is docility! You might be able to comprehend the poor man’s thorough disillusionment of “home sweet home” when you know that he actually harbored a dream of warm, calm house with a servile wife hovering around, obedient children awaiting instruction and pets who never shit! How could anyone blame him for looking as befuddled as he is? He learnt that “marriage” by definition do not exactly brook equal partnership. The wives of yester-years apparently sacrificed their whole lives running the “man’s” house, begetting and nurturing the “man’s” kids and rightfully demanding lion’s portion of his present and future earnings. The man in question, in this case my father, for the life of his, could never fathom when he wanted the house and the kids to begin with!! Juxtapose this gentle and ever so non-violent’s reclusive man to a house filled with, not very submissive adults and few rather aggressive little people running around. The TV remote of the house eliciting the “lord of flies” out of each child so easily that William Golding would have re written the book with my parent’s home as the background setting. Like the wise man of from the prayer of wisdom he accepted his marriage courageously but strives to change his parental status as much as he could. My father actually got into Project Management mode, made a project with different milestone and was relieved to find that though long, kids raising was a project which he could see an end to, unlike his marriage. You can imagine the impact on his life and sanity when both his not very successful projects each of which went way beyond the scope and consumed almost all his resources dry, and have been a total drain on him in every way, have suddenly been plonked back into his plate. Ever wary and walking on eggshells, inside the house, my father was happier outside with the Dog and the Cat and, I suspect, even held secret rendezvous with the outlawed centipede. To this army was added the glorious snake which started all the humdrum! The poor emaciated snake in question was a natural empath to my father I presume. Both having been way pressurized by sheer glorification, with a frail frame hardly bearing up the image were in precarious position when a single whiff of wind could topple their glory into comedy! The snake, a frail little pitiable reptile was as far from its magnificent vengeful image as was my mother from the victimized neglected housewife. And my father equally far from the image of the tyrannical head of the household as my mother projected through her countless hints. My mother stood still glaring daggers with the expression that gave the phrase “if looks could kill “an entirely Indianized meaning on a very different plane.
“Oh god! Dada! Why are you playing in mud?” cried my brother, as usual comprehending the heart of the matter in a second.
“Dog… shush... Dog… don’t damage the sprinkler! “ I cried clearly knowing my priorities.
“ Dada is trying to kill the snake. He is trying to protect us!” cried my sister in law half horrified and half exasperated.
Everyone looked carefully at a very nervous looking snake wriggling out of the slush caused due to the sprinklers. The excited Dog too mellowed down with the grace to look ashamed at creating the cacophony and my father wore the very same expression with an uncanny semblance. Yet both barely managed to placate the rising volcano in my mother who was attempting to restrain herself to a dignified silence. My sister in law flew in to ruffle her feathers as she saw herself as the typical “Ekta Kapoor’s Familial Glue".
The concept of Familial Glue is deeply ingrained in Indian especially in southern families which relishes in binding totally different people into a single household and bearing with each other and suppressing each one’s individuality just because one happens to be in a particular family by hook or crook! So complete vegans who graze just the greens are forced to not only share the dining with the carnivores who devour on anything except perhaps the humans, but also the kitchen and actual cooking! A lady who loves working on her computer in the dead of night has to share her household with a early sleeper and another who believes in chanting mantras at the top of her/his voice at brahma-muhurta ie between four am to six am. And just when these sane, civilized people decide to respect each other and their own choices and live their lives separately yet peacefully, in swoops the Familial Glue. Not very unlike the reality show Big Boss, the glue insists on throwing them together like extending family get together, family watsapp group and many other ingenious ways. They usually use the words family bindings, Indian culture, sacrifice and most important “mother’s happiness” etc and blackmails the otherwise sane family members into forgoing their own free choices and in frustrations demand others free choices but sticking together!!
Pardon my digression… but getting back to the scenario of my mother bubbling with anger reminding me of the volcano with hot lava, my brother with that ever puzzled blank look, my son back to his resigned look, that he dons whenever he is dealing with the adults of our family and me trying to comfort the rather emaciated and frightened snake in question. My efficient sister in law again took up the task of setting about the things in order and having convinced my mother that dad was in fact acting like a responsible “dad” and was protecting the whole family from the vicious, venomous, dangerous snake. So enthralling was her narration that both the snake and myself started looking around in search of this “dangerous” creature. Only moments later did we realized she was talking to this overgrown worm donning the garb of snake. So happy was the snake to hear such a description of himself that he actually staggered up and tried to spread his hood. Plonk! The snake’s thin frail body fell down unable to handle this kind of shocking physical strain. I rolled my eyes and tried my best to plop him again at least for the dramatic effect but nay! That spineless creature plonked back again into a puddle and this time with the kind of failed pathos emanating from his eyes, that I dared not try again. I motioned Aryan, my son to bring some milk hoping to induce some form of energy into him and at least prop him and his image in front of my very judgmental family!
Woe betide that Dog which chose this moment to decide to feel all possessive and jealous and toppled the milk in an attempt to regain my affection!
“This Dog … this dog will kill that poor snake.. Thangam save him.”cried my Dad in desperation, springing in.
“You did all this to save the snake from the Dog?” Spluttered my mother rather vociferously .
The long and short, dear readers was that even my super intelligent and suave sister in law failed to restore peace in the house. Even the Familial Glue too has its limitations I guess!!