What is the legacy you want to leave behind?
Trevor Noah’s book, “Born a Crime” is refreshing in its honesty and hilarious in its irreverence. It is this irreverence that makes it interesting for me. I am not South African and by his definition, I am not colored. I was born to a ‘crazy in love’ couple from the same caste and subcaste whose stars matched. This last part was an important part of arranged marriages back in the day when being a Brahmin was a badge. I met my spouse through a common acquaintance and it was a chance meeting that worked. I did not get into marriage wondering about the future. I got married because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this person I found interesting. When we decided to have the kids, it was to share this life with two other souls. I have never done anything thinking this would be my legacy. This is what someone should remember me by.
Let me tell you about Dad’s legacy. From as far back as I can remember, music was always a big part of our lives. Dad used to listen to the radio and on special occasions we would listen to the turntable. In the early 1980s, we had a TV, a turntable, and a radio. Between the 7 odd LPs in Hindi and English and the radio, tuned to Radio Ceylon, so we could listen to Bollywood music, and the TV tuned in when Chitrahaar was screened- we always had something playing at home. Mum’s legacy would be storytelling. Even when Mum started working, she always had a story to tell us. The older siblings had their rooms and we used to sleep with mum and dad. Every night she would start a story and we only heard the first 5 minutes because we used to be asleep. Amar Chitra Katha, Panchatantra, Ramayana, and Mahabharata, were her sources. Every night we would have a different story. This is something she continued with the grandkids as well. Stories were something she enjoyed telling and she was a very good storyteller. She enjoyed drama. Between Dad’s music and Mum’s innumerable stories, we lived in a world filled with whimsical melodrama.
Music and stories continue to rule my life. But is this my legacy? I honestly cannot answer that. I have taken a few steps with the kids that were slightly different. Rules and the law were a big part of my life growing up, so it was something I incorporated into my life with the kids. That being said, I feel honesty and humor should be my legacy. The thing with legacies is that you realize something is a legacy only later, at that point in time you are just trying to live your life. And maybe create memories.
My legacies have been under maintenance for some time now, especially honesty. It’s tough, to be honest when your kid is lolling in bed, but they need to be showering so they can board the bus on time. But, we’ve managed so far. For instance, I often tell the kids, to keep it as close to the truth as possible, so they can remember it. I try not to lie, not because I cannot, but because I don’t want to try to remember it later on. It’s the entire ‘you lie to hide your first lie and then lie some more and before long, you have a mountain of lies and no idea how it got so big’ scenario. When I need the kids out of bed and they ask me about the time, I choose to not look at the watch when I tell them the time. Because I’m not good at guessing, so not looking at the watch, ensures I give them a ballpark and it may or may not be accurate. This way, I’m honest. It is very close to the time when the bus arrives. Sometimes it’s 60 mts. And sometimes it’s 30. This only makes the kids keep their clocks accessible, which also works because I would like them to switch the alarms on. A mechanical alarm is always more accurate than the town crier or in this case house crier.
And then there is the humor. I am not a comic. I am not a clown. I am just me. I am hilarious. And I find myself funny. Because sometimes even I cannot believe what comes out of my mouth. The lack of filter between the brain and the tongue ensures that I blurt things as I think it. Sometimes it’s funny. Sometimes it’s awkward. But it is what it is.
I still remember this one time when I was growing up, we had guests staying over. I did not get to meet them when they arrived and I was curious to know who had come so I kept pestering Mum for more information. I was about 5 or 6 years old when this event occurred. I knew most of my relatives and cousins by name. I knew Dad’s friends and Mum’s friends and usually, when Mum would refer to the friends she would suffix it with aunty. But this time, I think I had pestered her a lot and she did not pay attention, so she just said, “It’s Malathi.” And the next moment, I was banging on the bathroom door, hollering at the top of my young voice, “Oi, Malathi, get out fast! How much time will you spend in the bathroom?” This was followed by silence. Dad who was conversing with his friend in the living room stopped talking and I noticed the absolute silence and then the loud guffaws. The door clicked open and out stepped, “Malathi Aunty!” In a billowing cloud of steam. Not Malathy my cousin, but Malathy Aunty. I was so heartbroken. Mum came out of the kitchen looking embarrassed with a frown directed my way. She held my hand and led me to the room, asking, “Who did you think it was?” And when I told her that I was expecting my cousin and not the aunt, she asked me to apologize to the aunt. And I did, from the bottom of my tiny heart. It’s still one of the top favorite stories my parents would discuss when they got nostalgic. And it’s the one story Malathy Aunty also remembered. I hope fondly. Like I said, I’m not a comic. I’m not funny. It’s just that sometimes, things happen. And these things end up being funny. And as much as I would like it to be anything else, I think honesty and humor would be my legacy.
“Remembering mum and all that she used to tell us while we were growing up! She was honest. And her honesty was hilarious.”
Just a little more 