The Quiet Between Two Rings of a Landline

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A rotary phone – the slowest and somehow the most peaceful form of communication. This was the early nineties. Most homes didn’t have a landline. Mine didn’t either. And strangely, nobody thought it was a problem. If my father came home late from work, the family didn’t panic — we simply assumed: traffic, work, or he met a friend, in that order. My mother didn’t have a “Find My Kid” app. Her version was: divine trust and a loud voice. My brother and I would disappear into a gully or a friend’s apartment complex for hours. We walked to the library, roamed three streets away to play cricket, and trekked half a mile to Malleswaram 18th Cross ground — returning home at 6:30 or 7, covered in dust and joy. Parents assumed kids would eventually wander back home the way cows return at dusk. No drama. No helicopter parenting. Just life moving at its own calm pace. Postcards and inland letters — the original long-distance messaging apps. With no phone at home, the only wa...
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Hike or no hike

 It was Sunday evening. As usual, things were not on a level plane. The kids were yelling their throats out as though we had not provided them food for days. They had eaten an apple just about thirty minutes ago. At one stage, I had given up trying to understand these three feet creatures. They had their way with almost everything in our lives. I turned to my wife. 

"What now?", I asked.

"They have not had any outdoor activity. They need to exercise, run, and go around. We can't just keep them at home", my wife said with so much confidence that I thought if I had ten percent of that confidence, I would be successful with anything in life. 

I shook my head out of habit before I recomposed myself to actually understand what it was that she said before shaking my head orthogonally in all directions. 

"Next week, we go hiking", I said to everyone and no one in particular.

So, this weekend, I took the kids for a hike in the morning. 

My wife said, "No point in both of us going out with the kids today. Let me finish up some chores. Let me bring some sanity to the place." 

I said, "Sure, no problem."

To be honest, the hike was a lot of fun; Akhil and Sahana really enjoyed the hike. I structured the hike to be at a sweet spot around three or four miles. I thought that would be the optimum limit before the parents start throwing a tantrum (when the kids throw a tantrum, it's just a matter of time before the parents join the humdrum).

After we come back home, with the kids pretty much exhausted, I was expecting them to have a rather subdued rest of the day. But, on the contrary, they were more active than ever. By the end of the day, we were pretty much famished.

Now, my wife with her confidence maxed out says, "I don't think you should have taken them out for a hike. They are exhausted."

Again, I nodded, as though in a trance and this time so exhausted that I didn't even care whether the content had any merit.

Ultimately, this is what everything transpires to. Kids are restless all the time food or no food, hike or no hike, toys or no toys, rain or sunshine, happy or sad, tired or fresh, friends or no friends, school or no school - really like that Prahaladan story where Hiranyakashyapu poses so many conditions to Brahma).

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