There are guests and guests. Some make me feel like a wonderful host and an even better human being. They enjoy the conversation, love my cooking, insist on helping out and adjust easily. The house starts looking larger,airier and full of beauty. My few pots become a garden, there's a song in my heart and a smile on my lips.I feel giddy with happiness. But then there are those other guests--my welcome shrinks miserably at their monosyllabic condescension, their evident lack of interest in my home and company, their disdainful picking at the food I've laboured to prepare. The house looks smaller and darker, and a pall of unnerving coolness descends onto my hitherto happy home.

Strange, isn't it, that the same house can either feel like a palace or start closing in on you, because of another person's behaviour? I must admit that the latter category is not too common in my home. But there have been enough guests of that kind to make me appreciate the happy ones even more.

I realised a very long time ago that the quality of one's bringing up plays a very important role in shaping personalities, but I feel continually amazed at the intricate web of words, events, looks, connotations, attitudes that goes into the making of a person-- and then that person plays an important role in shaping another person, mainly the child at home. Thinking more about this makes me feel nervous-- have I passed on the right things? It also makes me feel grateful to my parents, my family, and all those things that have had a part in making me a person blessed with many loving people around me. 

Its not just what a person says that shapes another; its also what that person doesn't say, what she says but doesn't feel, or what she feels but doesn't say, whatever she does willingly or unwillingly....one casual word at a fleeting moment may turn out to be the life-boat that bobs up when needed, or the stone that leads to an early sinking. As a teacher I am acutely aware of the impact of a careless word, and hope my scoldings correct, but do not hurt, any student. ( Of course, it is impossible to tiptoe gingerly through life all the time. There are bound to be times when we hurt others or get hurt ourselves. So I guess the one quality that we have to develop in ourselves as well as our children is resilience. Each time life gives a downward shove, bounce back up.)

                                                             

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One of the things I enjoyed even as a child was poring over magazines. I didn't always understand what I read but all the same it was great fun. The Illustrated Weekly of India was one such magazine. I remember reading a story in it which surprised and even shook me up a little. A family driving through the ghat section stops to eat mangoes, a child tosses down a well sucked mango seed. It rolls down and lodges itself awkwardly among bushes growing in the side of the mountain. Soon the family drives away. 
Many years later another family is driving by. The driver loses control of the car and it rolls down the mountain- but gets caught in the branches of a mango tree growing at a strange angle! All are saved. So, the mango seed tossed so unthinkingly turned out to be a saviour!

I think this was the first time I grappled with the idea of one thing affecting another after a passage of time, and my 10 year old mind kept going back wonderingly to that story all through the summer.... Who knows or can fathom the impact of one's personality on the others? I can only hope that I prove to be that mango seed for others, more often than not. 

A scream a day?

I dont remember the last time I screamed-- an honest- to- goodness, from-the-stomach, face-turning-red scream, that left me weak and emptied of the anger, frustration or unhappiness within. Maybe when I was five? And lost some game.....or got scolded. But after that? Oh make no mistake-- it wasnt because I never felt upset after age five!

There are so many subtle restrictions placed on girls--this is not to be done, that just isnt done, what will others say-- and all by the well-meaning elders in the family. I get it. We all want our daughters to grow up well, to 'fit' everywhere they go, and so, while encouraging them to be individuals and winners, we also hammer a cover on feelings that are generally frowned upon. I have been no exception-Im sorry, sweetheart, for all the times Ive raised a warning finger and suppressed your 'outbursts'.

Many years ago, a 7 yr old girl said she wanted to dig a little pit for herself and sit in it. Sounded rather cute then but obviously there was something stressful going on in that young mind. And she had already learnt to hide her anger... no temper tantrums. In fact, I dont think any of us has the ability to scream any longer. Specially not alone. I wonder what I would do if I encountered something scary, scream-worthy....maybe just hush up; I find it hard even to imagine myself screaming. 

I am generally happy and do not think about shouting and screaming all the time. But every once in a while I realise how many rights I have lost during all these years of womanhood. 'Small' things that have 'girl' or 'woman' stamped on them, and that slowly drag us down giving us those stiff hard knots in our necks or stomachs or hearts. 

Why is it that we have any number of laughter clubs but no screaming club? Maybe men need to induce laughter; we women manage to laugh for myriad reasons, its the screaming we need. I have nothing against the laughter clubs. Every morning I see a lot of people laughing away under the green trees in the park and most of the times it brings a grin to my face. It is only when I remember the words of a regular there- an old lady living with her children- that I feel a screaming club would benefit her more. She told me once that that was the only time in the whole day she got to open her mouth.

And at least on that first day of the Screaming Club, we would have to gather on the outskirts of the town. Otherwise our screams would burn up the leaves, shrivel the buds and sear the trunks of the stately trees. They would pierce the ear-drums of the men walking around in their branded track-suits and maybe a few birds would fall down mid-flight. 

But what liberation! A scream a day-- to keep the doctor away.