Saying goodbye to the scrooge in me

“The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his
pointed nose, made his eyes red, his thin lips blue, and he spoke out shrewdly
in his grating voice…”

                            Charles Dickens of Scrooge in his
work A Christmas Carol

I felt like Scrooge this Onam, miserly
and uninvolved in any happiness.                                

 We were not
celebrating Onam this year alright, as my 94 year-old grandma (mother’s mother)
passed on this year in January. My mother’s sister who was long suffering her
mother and diabetes decided enough was enough and followed her in March. But
that was not the reason for my “dead to the world” demeanour.

My mother lost her husband (my dad) three years ago (August
17) and this year her mother and sister. Luckily for all of us, we stay
together. Except for her new found addiction to television, I didn’t see any other
signs of loneliness in her and that anyway was not the reason for my grouchiness.

Did I inherit the grouchiness factor from dad? My dad didn’t
like functions and celebrations too much. He had seen too much of them as campus
administrator in the school where he had spent most of his life. He hated the
mopping up and getting the place spick and span again so much, that he was
always glad when any function was over (that is) when his job was done. But
then, he always enjoyed having us his kids around him and all functions
including Vishu, Onam, Deepavali, Christmas, Pongal and so on was celebrated
with due reverence and gaiety. So that was not it.

Was it a sick childhood sans joy that caused this
miserliness of spirit? No! I had a happy childhood, and lots of fun. I remember
some Onams for the new gifts and dresses, some for the pookalam, the sadhya,
and many others for the sheer joy of having friends and family together.

My kids were glued to the tv, computer games, and their own
world. New dresses didn’t ignite any spark in them, the sadhya sans chicken and
prawns didn’t entice them. But what they hated most was having a lot of people
around and saying hi and indulging in small talk to the strangers called family.
Like Scrooge, I wondered if these festivities were created to instill guilt in
me, of not giving my kids a feel for the flavour of our heritage.

But then my kids were not the culprits. They were adaptable
and it didn’t take much to coax them to join the fun. What could they do if I
didn’t want the fun? Was it the television programmes? There were mega movies,
talk shows, interviews and what not. I loved my couch and the idiot box. I
could survive four to five hours without too much movement except to the
fingers controlling the remote and shifting of the limbs to avoid sores.

I really don’t know the reason. So lay it on thick folks. I
need to say good bye to the scrooge in me.