Amongst my many failings and inadequacies as a teenager was an extreme reluctance to run minor errands for the family. I would have just settled down with my favourite story book when mother would say, “Bhashyam, run along to the corner shop and get me a match box.” After much procrastination, I would set off, my displeasure at being hauled from my book writ large on my face. The idea would always be to complete the task in as short a span of time as possible and get back to my book. The result — a job poorly done.
Sometimes the match box bought would be damp, sometimes the seal would be broken and a few sticks missing, and sometimes the brand would be that of an inferior one. I even remember one occasion when, in a hurry to get back to the programme on the radio that I had been listening to before I was dispatched on the errand, standing on the threshold, I had slid the match box along the floor of the kitchen to where my mother was sitting, and to my horror, the silly object had burst into flames and destroyed itself. While luckily no major damage was done, I had to go back to the shop, this time much-chastened.
If errands involving single- item purchases were a problem, lists were a nightmare. Those were the days when lists were carried in the head, not on a piece of paper, and certainly not on a smartphone. And head-in-the-clouds Bhashyam would invariably miss an item or two on the list. Things got so bad that I started being compared to a character in a Marathi lesson we had in school called Visralu Vinu (forgetful Vinu). I didn’t like it one bit, but instead of trying to change my behaviour, I kept playing the victim card!
In time I grew up, blundered through college, got a job, got married, raised a family, etc., etc. Through all this the errand-run continued, albeit with a difference. There was no one to admonish me for a job poorly done. I guess my wife must have tried, during the early days, but I must have bawled at her for being a poor communicator, and she must have learned to put up with forgetfulness, inefficiency.
The upshot of it all was that I started feeling that this failing was but an adolescent aberration, and I have now become lord and master of the house, always in charge and always right.
Until yesterday, that is. You see, we are visiting our daughter who lives in the U.S., and one day while leaving for work she told me, “Appa, we are going shopping in the afternoon. Do sit down and make a list of the things we need.” Within 15 minutes of her leaving the house I had got the list ready and was back at my book.
Her first question as she got back from work was, “Do you have the list ready?” I triumphantly patted my pocket, “Not only is it ready, I’m all ready and set to leave too. Let’s go.”
Her first question floored me, “Did you consult amma? Are the items she needs in the list?” Seeing the sheepish look on my face, she had me take out my list, and after a quick glance pointed out half a dozen items I had missed out. “Oh those?” I ended up saying lamely. “Those were already in my head. They were the obvious ones, you see, didn’t need to be listed.”
The look on her face said it all, and I was brought down to earth with the sad realisation that I hadn’t changed one bit from what I had been as a teenager. It was just that my failings had been hidden from public gaze for the most part of my adult life!
srinivasan.bhashyam@gmail.com
