Notes from an almost-empty-nester
Hello hello dear friend we meet again. It’s been a while and there’s much to catch up. Not that anything earth shattering has happened since the new year but when friends sit down to talk there’s never really a shortage of things to talk about, is there?
Continue reading “If we were having coffee – 13”
I’d tell you that I’m not really a coffee person at all. It’s tea that floats my boat. When I wake up in the morning, after I put the children to bed, when I want to hang out with friends, even when I’m bored – it’s a hot cup of tea I reach out for.
Coffee is a little like a chic new friend – the one whose company I enjoy when I’m in the right mood, the one I like to hang out with at restaurants and cafes, the one I like to have around with a plateful of large chocolate chip cookies, a trifle overpriced but delicious.
Coffee, to me, is like a chic new friend while tea is an age-old chum. Share on X
Tea, on the other hand is a familiar childhood chum. Our friendship began long ago, when my grandmom first spiked my milk with it, behind my mother’s back. I don’t know if it was the tea or the thrill of having outsmarted my mother but the glass of milk went down in a single breath. Many more followed over the years.
I’d tell you of the long dark nights when exam anxiety hung upon me like an ominous cloud. It was the hot mug of ginger tea that sat by my side reassuringly, keeping the sleep monster at bay.
I’d tell you of long days at work when the daily deadline loomed close and the right words eluded me. That tiny glass of kadak cutting chai the canteen boy got me was enough to rejuvenate my creativity.
Oh and how I could I not tell you about the kullhad-wali railway platform chai? I’d tell you of freezing mornings, as I sat bundled up on my berth, with daggers in my throat from the perpetual infection that dogged me through winter. As the train would chug into Delhi station, there really wasn’t any sound sweeter than that of ‘Chaaaeee Garam’. A sip from that kullhad felt as deliciously warm as my mother’s hug, the one I had just left behind.
I’d tell you I wasn’t quite sure I liked this new trend of tea going hip – changing colour from a comfortable familiar brown to black and white, green and yellow. I’d wonder why it should feel the need to move from dhabas and canteens to insanely overpriced, stupidly urban tea lounges and tea rooms.
We’d wonder together, you and I.
Perhaps it just got tired of being slotted as the poor roadside cousin of Starbucks and Barista, I’d muse. Perhaps it was its quest for respect, because sometimes being loved isn’t enough. You’d laugh at me for getting sentimental about a cup of tea and I’d laugh along too.
But it’s true, I’d insist.
As for me, I wouldn’t spare a glance for the Chai Lattes as long as I had my hot cup of ginger cardamom tea with a couple of rusks. And I’d ask you your favourite chai memory. Was it on a cool rainy day or a hot summer evening that you fell in love with it?
A few weeks ago during the kids’ exams as we sat struggling with Math problems, I got a call from a friend/associate. He needed copies of some official documents – quite a bunch of them, actually.
If there’s anything that stresses me out more than math problems, it is paperwork. The mere sight of forms to be filled and documents to me signed sends me in all kinds of petrified panic.
As if those percentage problems weren’t bad enough I had to now, not only locate the entire bunch but also scan them/copy them and mail them. I went into a tizzy opening and closing drawers, rifling frantically through my wallet looking for IDs, bills and lease agreements. I found them all – except one. I was sure I had it as a soft copy in my inbox but despite several searches I couldn’t locate it.
As panic kicked in well and truly I ran all kinds of searches, cursing the wretched paper work, the idea of needing soft copies, at my cleanliness drive (during which I assumed I’d deleted the said document), at my lack of computer knowledge, at the man who invented computers and at the Husband (of course, always the Husband).
And then…..
…. there appeared a cup of tea at my desktop. On a tray. Along with my evening biscuits.
“Mama,” said N, “I made tea for you.”
As I sat back on my revolving chair I felt the panic ebbing and began to feel really really stupid for over-reacting and for needing my ten-year-old to bring home the fact.
And I was grateful and a little at awed at how grown up N sounded. I was amazed at how she’d read my panic and did what she thought best to help. I realised I don’t say ‘thank you’ often enough for this daughter of mine.
After that tea, the situation didn’t seem as desperate at all. I called up the Husband (yeah the same one I’d been ranting at) and of course he had a copy of the document. Also, as I discovered the documents weren’t even as urgent as I’d imagined in my stupid state of mind.
Do you ever get panic attacks? You’ll know then, how overwhelming they are. It cannot possibly be good for the children to be witness to them. Once logical thinking returns I find myself feeling sorry for putting them through it all. It might not have anything to do with them (like in this case) however with just the three of us at home and nobody to diffuse the tension, the entire house seems to be on an edge till I cool down.
It’s not right, I know.
Unfortunately we cannot control ourselves all the time. Nor can we avoid the kids being part of the mess. So how do I teach the children to handle their stress if I cannot even handle mine? Sigh. Another one of those parenting toughies!
The only thing to do, is to learn from your slip-ups and to teach as you learn; to talk about it once you’re sane again, accept that you overreacted and discuss ways in which you could have handled it.
While I do all of that I continue to be grateful that the children are becoming sensitive to my stresses and hope they learn to extend the sensitivity to everyone around them.
Linking up with Nabanita’s #MommyTalks
Mackenzie at Reflections from Me.
