‘The last bubble’
Revathi Raj Iyer
There was pandemonium outside the posh Malabar Hill Club in South Mumbai, which was fraught with men in khaki uniform and cars trundling bumper to bumper. The traffic police struggled to disperse the curious passers-by. The guards hurriedly closed the gate. They were instructed to let in Mr. Tim Cooper and no one else. The club was closed for members, that day. An ambulance was parked just outside the entrance.
Arpita was shattered. In the blink of an eye, she had lost everything.
***
The monthly book club was an intelligent excuse for the ladies to get together for the sanctimonious post-mortem of best-selling books by eminent writers. Arpita looked admiringly at her coffee-table books; an eclectic mix of yoga, naturopathy, anthology by renaissance poets, the platinum limited edition of Vogue, Japanese home décor and Ikebana and the latest addition, Amy Chua’s parental memoir: “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.” She could identify herself with the author so much so that she could hardly wait for her turn to bring it up at this book club.
The spread of samosas, tamarind chutney and lemon cookies that she had baked for this morning meet were laid on the oval breakfast table, along with an array of speciality tea which Tim had bought from London including her favourite Marks & Spencer English breakfast tea. The sparkling tableware was appropriately set. The soft skills and social etiquette that she had learnt at the Good Shepherd Finishing School was amply put to use.
“Perfect,” thought Arpita as she kept the pitcher of lemonade with a dash of mint in the fridge, a much-needed cooler especially when the stimulating conversations turned into a heated debate. “Soccer-mom,” her friends called her - envy, admiration, cynicism; she couldn’t care less.
The ladies arrived, sharp on time: Natasha - a classical singer who performed in close mehfils; Rebecca - a self-proclaimed artist; Geetha - journalist and activist; Sarita - a non-conformist with liberal views; Minaxi - homemaker who loved to cook and feed everybody, except the needy. She had brought some tarts along with her; Indira - an angry woman and hard to please; Nupur - a sprightly young newly married girl trying to fit in; Pawan - the only guy in this inner circle. He was gay who had no qualms in flaunting it and the women loved him. He was Arpita’s neighbour and talked himself into joining this ‘exclusively ladies only’ book club.
They took their places on the sofa surrounding the coffee-table and cast an appreciative glance at the décor.
“I hope everyone has read the book, said Arpita in an authoritative tone.
The ladies sighed. They knew exactly why she had chosen this book.
The aroma of freshly fried samosas filled their nostrils and all eyes darted towards Dana, the Anglo-Indian maid with an expressionless face, who walked briskly to the breakfast table and started preparing tea. Minaxi adjusted her position to steal a glance over Dana to make sure she was placing the tarts along with the samosas, cookies and tea. Tiger mom was the last thing on her mind. She had merely read the synopsis, just to keep up with the debate. Indira had read it word by word, all the time altering the situations and putting herself in place of Amy Chua; wishing that she had led a life like that. Geetha had practically memorised the book. The rest had only skim read it but feigned otherwise.
“You ought to be joining a food club, Minaxi,” whispered Pawan breaking into her thoughts, with a naughty laugh. She silenced him and turned her attention to the conversation.
“Are you not satisfied being a tiger mom?” Sarita remarked as she picked the book. “Don’t get me wrong. I am all for pushy parents. Cut the kids some slack and they go haywire.”
“Yeah, of course, you can say anything you like. If you had children and that too boisterous twins, only then you will realise what raising kids actually meant,” thought Rebecca. She caught Sarita glare at her as if reading her mind.
Rebecca looked away. “I need to keep my expressions under check,” she told herself.
“I would love to have everyone’s take on this book. Not that I am going to change my ways. I reckon children need to be encouraged and pushed like the way Chinese moms do, which is what the author has highlighted,” said Arpita in her defence.
The general sentiment was that Arpita had deliberately included this book for discussion, just to prove a point, that she was the best mom as compared to most of them, in the inner and wider circles.
“Did you all notice that the author Amy has a Jewish-American husband and his views seemed different as opposed to the author? Still he played it the Chinese way,” remarked Geetha attacking the husband.
“Yes, to a large extent he didn’t interfere with his wife’s way of raising the two girls, although he put forth his view, which of course Amy did not consider, until the second daughter,” chipped in Indira as she left that part hang, as if a cue for the next person to pick up.
But nobody did and instead went about ranting how America was full of tiger moms.
“We are no better. I had a tiger mom,” said Nupur and everyone burst laughing, as they gratefully accepted the platter of nibbles and tea which Dana offered politely to each one of them. Their muffled ‘thank you’ was met with a terse nod.
“Whatever it is, this book sold like hot buns all over Asia and America,” declared Arpita holding the book high up in the air. I think it is for the benefit of children that mothers set rules else this generation will get warped with their devices and become useless, mute zombies, incapable of making conversation at the dinner table.”
“I do agree with a little bit of that,” but being pushy is not the solution, said Geetha. Coercion may be counter-productive and can affect the confidence of children. They will never be able to make their own decisions. What do you think Minaxi?” asked Geetha looking directly at her.
Minaxi was taking a large bite of the samosa with the dripping chutney and heavily preoccupied with the stuffing therein, which made it taste better than the ones she made. She heard her name being mentioned and nodded vigorously, not knowing what else to do.
“Raising kids is an art,” said Rebecca, but her comment was submerged under the shrill voice of Arpita that wafted in the air, fiercely defending tiger moms, as if she was the author. The ladies listened in rapt attention mulling over their arguments, waiting for their turn to grab the space. But Arpita was talking non-stop.
“Tim, as you all know is so slack that I have to hold the reins. I finished reading this book in eight hours at a stretch and absorbed each and every word of what the writer had written and empathised with the whole theory of whether kids need to be pushed or not. I take much pride in being a tiger mom,” she concluded.
The chilled lemonade arrived in the nick of time. Dana served with rather swift movements and disappeared.
“The title should have been Tigress mom,” said Pawan and the mood lightened, even Arpita despite her poise cracked up.
The ladies left with unspoken words, well fed and fed up of Arpita’s know-all attitude. Invariably the book club meet ended this way, because the women took everything personally and intimately.
***
Arpita, albeit a control-freak, was a doting, hands-on mother of eight-year old Derek and five-year old Anjali. She assumed full charge of the house and the kids and let Tim intervene only when there was a need. Even then, her opinion prevailed over Tim. She was just that way, constantly trying to get her kids into playdates, hobby classes, swimming, and sports; and wouldn’t mind driving half way around the city and doing as many errands as she possibly could, without complaining. Just as well, parents want the best for their children, but Arpita went overboard.
Derek lacked enthusiasm in anything other than reading. Going to school every day, filled him with unexpressed misery of having to face the bullies. The booing “Derek Cooper Billy Bunter” haunted him, a stigma he wanted to magically erase by losing weight without having to work for it. How the heck could he tell his mom about the bullies? She was no less good, in a motherly sort of way.
Anjali was different. She was curious about everything and Arpita had already made up her mind that she would be a world-class pianist. “Aha, that nimble finger, my daughter is gifted,” she mused.
On a weekend at a resort….
“Derek is terrified of water. Could this be signs of hydrophobia?” She asked as they watched Derek sprawled in a hammock with a book and Anjali engrossed in building sand castles.
“Why don’t you just give up the idea that Derek does not want to be a swimmer? He might be a writer, who knows and what’s the big deal if he cannot learn to swim? I learnt it in my teens, you see. He has inherited my genes. Just let it go. How many kids take to books these days, anyway? You should be happy about that.”
“How can you be so complacent? Our children need to know the basics of life and swimming is a life skill, so why not?”
“Is our boy going to be a life guard, a bay watcher?”
“I seriously don’t appreciate your jokes when I am trying so hard,” said Arpita as she opened the sun umbrella wider and gazed at the ocean.
Arpita had even consulted a doctor who tried counselling her, instead.
“Perfectly normal behaviour, your boy is just not a water person. Give him some time and he will decide what’s best for him. For your knowledge, I am no swimmer,” he added.
Arpita changed the doctor.
“One of us has to be pushy else the children will grow up knowing nothing,” she thought remembering the10,000 hours rule from Amy Chua’s book. No matter what, I am not giving up and will make sure Derek learns to swim.
***
She was relentless and after several attempts, found a coach, as driven as her, who assured that Derek will learn swimming in just four weeks.
Arpita was thrilled.
Derek was petrified.
“I hope you know what you are doing,” said Tim.
The nightmare began after school, with the coach literally dragging Derek into the water. He was too shy to cry out loud and gripped the coach’s hands. The coach allowed him to keep the floats on to free his hands from the iron grip.
He had to get rid of the boy’s fears, so he asked Arpita and Anjali to join them. Anjali happily waddled besides her brother. She looked like an angel with wings. Arpita swam awkwardly, keeping an eye on Anjali. How could she refuse to not co-operate? The coach’s strategy worked. Derek’s fear lurked but reduced considerably. After a week, he let go of the float, but hung onto the shoulders of his coach. He kept waddling and would swallow the water and come up breathless when the coach gently shrugged off the grip.
“Enough, enough for today, please ... he implored,” standing in knee-deep water and the coach glanced at the clock.
“Okay, let’s walk in the water,” he said with compassion and Derek loved him instantly.
“The next week Derek was taught to hold onto the skirting and begin leg movements.
“Just keep flapping and then slowly dunk your head inside the water. Look around, swimming is not that hard,” said the coach encouragingly.
“I cannot breathe, noooooooooo,” cried Derek and ambled to get out of the pool. The coach threw up his hands and looked at Arpita. She was watching the scene from the stands.
“You will never learn swimming this way. Now listen to me… Take a deep breath and dunk 1, 2 breathe out; 3 head out breathe in; keep doing this in your bath tub. Tomorrow we will try together.” By then the boy was out of ear shot.
Arpita was insistent and there was no escape for Derek. So he made up his mind to learn and tried harder. He was not getting the hang of the rhythm but kept trying as he didn’t want to disappoint his loving mother.
******
The following week was the introduction to the deep end. Ten boys and girls were lined up.
“This will be your first exposure/jump into the deep, nothing to be afraid of. When I whistle close your eyes and jump. Keep waddling and try to come up. Hold your breath. Don’t worry, I can see you and within seconds, will pull you up.”
Everyone was excited although quite nervous.
Derek stood quietly and had butterflies in his tummy as he gazed at the water. Anjali was spared because she was three and it was against the rules.
“I wonder what will be there at the bottom of the pool,” said one boy.
“Sharks,” said the girl and giggled.
“Derek, are you alright she asked sympathetically as she saw the expression on Derek’s face.
“No, I am not. I am very scared of the deep. I don’t want to jump.”
“But the coach won’t listen to you. Just do what you are told, face your fear and you will be fearless,” said the girl. “You don’t have to be a swimmer, remember the coach will have you covered.”
Derek felt better and for a brief moment he felt brave.
He heard the whistle. “Go, go, go, go ...,” the students cheered.
The girl jumped. Without waiting, Derek jumped, instantaneously, out of turn. The coach was focussed on the girl and missed Derek’s leap.
He brought her out in few seconds, as she surfaced.
Arpita was watching the scene and was aghast as she saw her boy jump out of turn. She screamed and came running down the stands.
“My boy is there. He is there. Save him save him,” she cried desperately.
The coach was confused because by then he had blown the whistle and the next boy had jumped. As the coach brought him out, he heard her shrieks and dived in. But it was a few seconds too late.
The awe-stricken crowd screamed in agony. It took their breath away; Derek’s breath away.
******
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