Musings: And Miles To Go

By Cheryl Rao

"A heartfelt and a light-hearted look at life. 

This collection of musings touches on some of the adventures we experience in our everyday life; our relationships with friends, parents, children, pets, in-laws, "outlaws";

the houses and homes we live in;

the wonderful world of books;

travel: both plans and actuals;&n

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Mar 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9789360490362

Book preview

Everyday Adventures

When The Walls Have Ears

H

ave you ever lived in a house just a little too close to your neighbour? Willy nilly, you get to hear exactly what happened when they went to a family get-together and who said what about whom.  None of which has you interested but you’re forced to listen – unless you raise the volume on your own music to drown out the details and risk taking over the title of ‘the loud couple on the block’.  In our wanderings through small towns and army barracks we encountered many thin walls, and learnt to take it all in our stride. Sometimes, we’d turn a deaf ear to the rantings on the other side in the hope that they’d do the same when it was our turn to lose our cool; at other times, we’d stride out into the open air and clear our grievances under the trees or anywhere where there were no eager ears. 

We’d muzzle ourselves, resort to whispers, or not talk at all, which after about a decade of married life, was incredibly easy; but when the son of the house progressed from innocent and happy infancy to demanding toddlerhood, all restraint was thrown to the winds and the silencers in the home were switched off. When he was confined to his corner for not finishing his meal, he’d scream at the highest decibel his vocal cords could muster. We’d ignore it, convinced that his screaming was of no consequence and he’d tire of it in good time – which he did.  We didn’t think twice about it until we began to get suspicious looks from everyone down the line in the barrack.  At last, one of them couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst out when we were walking to the park, So what do you do to the poor fellow? Stick pins in him?

Open-mouthed we stared at him. Here was a believer in what was heard rather than what was seen!  So the din of the small chair being jumped upon, the shrieks of effrontery at being disciplined – two and two had been put together and the sum was totally out of proportion to what actually happened on a more or less daily basis. Who but us knew that this was just the early morning anti-breakfast protest, after which our toddler, the noisy episode in the corner quite forgotten, went about the rest of his day happily while our neighbours looked at us and wondered, When do we call in the cops and get them arrested for child abuse?

There were other kids on the block, but none of them seemed to have the same lung power as ours.  Our morning show began to get talked about and we knew it was time to do something about it.  Short of giving in to the toddler we couldn’t come up with a solution – until we accidentally murmured an endearment at the time he was being most vocal.  The noise stopped.  He wanted to hear what came next.  The relief to our ringing ears loosened our tongues and endearments flowed out – one more appealing than the other.  The little one sneaked a spoon into his bowl and began to eat, totally engrossed in this tale of wonder where he was the super angelic star. 

I won’t say that the rest of his childhood was a breeze – arguments were loud and long and frequent – but at least the lesson of the thin walls was learnt.  Sweet nothings disarm listeners on both sides. 

It only remains for us to learn how to use them when we have no one to impress or bring over to our point of view. 

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Our Longest Day

A

s the longest day of each year dawns, we often go back in our minds to other interminable days in our lives. Most often, those are times when we have to struggle through an ordeal or learn to accept tragic news.

As youngsters, many decades ago, our first ordeal was a flood in our riverside hometown. It was monsoon time and it had been raining incessantly for some days, but we went as usual to our school on the banks of the river. Halfway through the day, however, the school authorities packed us into buses and sent us homeward. As we were herded out of our classrooms we noticed that the level of the river had risen alarmingly.

Our home was on the other side of the river and while crossing over the bridge to get there, our eyes were drawn to the angry water beneath us. We were terrified and imagined the bridge giving way and all of us getting swept off, along with the furniture and other things that were swirling by.

The bus took a roundabout route and when we reached our house, about 500 metres from the river, we saw that the water was approaching it, almost like the river had changed course and decided to explore new territory. We raced indoors – and in the safety of our mother’s arms, learnt that the dam outside the city had burst and swollen the river to unmanageable proportions.

For the next few hours, we made innumerable trips to the back door with Mother to check where the water had reached. The river had overflowed its banks, leapt across the road and then it started to fill the large open field behind our house. The field was a kind of trough, and as it filled with water, it began to resemble a lake. But that trough was able to take in a lot of water and curb the fury of the flood. It was no longer approaching us at breakneck speed. Instead, the water began to creep slowly into our garden, approaching the house like a cautious thief, taking its time and building up the tension for us. Would the water cross the threshold or would it stop short of climbing into our home?

Our boxes were packed. Radio alerts and those 500 metres that separated us from the river had given us time to choose our most precious belongings and load them into the ‘escape’ vehicle that stood ready in the driveway to take us to safety. Mother picked her most expensive saris; we went with our favourite dresses and dolls. None of us thought that if we really had to abandon our home and everything in it to the ravaging water, we would surely not be able to spend the next few months clothed in our Sunday best!

Our vigil at the back door continued for interminable hours – and then suddenly, we noticed that there was a water mark on the step where the water had been earlier. The water was receding! Our relief was boundless – but that day was not yet over. Rumours flew fast and furious. The other dam was in danger, we heard. If it gave way, the water level would rise again...

There was no rest for anyone on that day – or in the days that followed, when the entire town had to pick up the pieces of their lives after the massive destruction to public and private property.

It was a trial by water for all of us. But, given that lives were not snuffed out by the dozen, as they were in the more recent Beas tragedy, I think that we were lucky.

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Nosy Neighbours

A

re you one of those who has always disliked nosy neighbours? Do you believe people should mind their own business? Have you strived over the years to do your own thing and leave others to do theirs?

As young adults, nosy neighbours sometimes gave us a hard time. Most of them were more conservative than our parents and frowned upon our comings and goings and parties. They would stride up and down in front of the house casting angry looks inside when there was any sound of revelry and they would grunt disagreeably at us the next morning, making it plain that we had disturbed them and we needed to apologise – even grovel – and should certainly not repeat it.

But we were blithely indifferent to them like all other young people – and we resolved never to turn churlish and ill-natured when we reached the other side of the fence.

So now we try to be accommodating to our young neighbours – who party more often than we do. We stick our heads under our pillows, we stuff our ears with cotton or we just go with the flow and enjoy their music and their laughter as much as they do – and we are not above creating a significant racket of our own when friends and family get together.

For decades, we consciously practised what we believed good neighbourliness was all about: turning a deaf ear to noise, keeping out of each other’s way, trying not to intrude, but lending a hand when requested. Poking our heads out at every sign of activity next door, peering out of the window to keep tabs on who is coming in or going out and with whom: that is not for us.

In a gated community of blocks of apartments, everyone living cheek-by-jowl, this has stood us in good stead.

Then something so out of the ordinary occurred that all of us were taken by surprise. A neighbour was attacked in her home in broad daylight by her own employee. She screamed for help. Definitely, her voice (very familiar to us as we can hear almost everything through the thin walls and the few feet that separate our apartments) was loud enough.