Parents Got Swag

I like walks on the beach and chocolate behind glass counters and used leather diaries with frayed yellow edges. I also like texting words like, "quintessence."

I know, I'm a bit outdated. I like to think of it as classic or "old school," but I think the harsh truth of the matter is that I'm still living like a kid from 1995.

My parents, on the other hand, have unintentionally functioned as the foil to my [lack of] youth and modernity. They have subverted the notion of age, of generational gap, and have created with vigor a new sense of the word, "cool." They're hip.

Most people find it amusing when their parents discover the Google. Sometimes, amusement concedes to frustration when their parents text their children blank messages, with false hope that the apparatus will convey messages in the same capacity as telepathy. Most people, however, do not have parents who can build and program computers, who look thirty years younger than their age, and who use "lol" the way it was intended--not when they're actually laughing, but when they don't have time to humor me.



The Young & the Restless (25 years ago, "lol")

 Last week, I had my usual mid-May, half-birthday break down, and I reached out to my parents for emotional support. Our basement is currently undergoing renovation, so our home phone has been acting a bit shoddy, and my sister's phone got rained on, so I was left with my parents' cell phones. I first texted my mother.

Rucha: Hi. Miss you!
Mother: mu
Rucha: What's mu?
Mother: miss you

I then tried my father.

Rucha: Hi. Love you!
Father: luv u2
Rucha: [insert blank text of exasperation]
Father: u try2 send pic?

I subsequently ate a $15 salad topped with veggie burger strips and watched Parks & Rec on my iPad (extent to my connection with Gen Y). I then got ready for bed. When I'm home, right before I go to bed my mother smiles at me, strokes my hair, and with a sincerity unparalleled, one that can only be produced by my parents (Gen Y's guests of honor), will say, "Jai Sri Krishna." It's a blessing, something that my parents sort of automatically chant without much heed, or at least, one that I usually receive without much heed. It never mattered much to me, but it's the entire practice around it--the smiling, the warmth, the genuineness--that touches me, that subverts the indifference of the world.

After I burped up some veggie burger meat, I texted my mother again.

Rucha: Love you! Good night.
Mother: lu gn beta
Rucha: gn?
Mother: good night
Rucha: how fitting
Mother: lol jsk

It took me about 12 seconds to realized "jsk" refers to the aforementioned blessing. I audibly sighed (to no one in particular.)

Rucha: Quintessence.
[no response]

the invention of shoes (a mother desai fairytale)

Once upon a time, in a distant land enveloped in glistening waters teeming with schools of bright yellow and purple fish, there lived a King who loved his feet. He washed his feet everyday in rose water, scrubbing them with pumice stones, and oiling them with almond oil. In this distant land, with shimmering blue rivers and rainbows streaking the evening skies and mango trees peppering the fields of Love and Hope, there was one slight problem--dirt roads. Whenever the King wanted to visit the fish or nap under the shade of a mango tree or skip stones in the river, his feet would get dirty.

One day, after the King got dirt in his recently oiled right big toe, he decided to take action. He called upon his wisest and oldest advisors to formulate recommendations for this issue. "No one shall sleep until all of my people can walk the land without getting dirt on their feet."

After one sunrise and one sunset, the committee came up with a solution. They washed the roads with water from the streams. Hundreds of workers filled buckets of water, some of them with frightened fish, and threw them on the ground. The King looked out his window and was pleased. "I will now walk to my favorite mango tree for a nap." The King stepped outside, and his feet suck into three inches of mud. The water had mixed with the dirt, and the damage was worse than that of the dry soil on his feet. The King roared. "No one shall sleep until all of my people can walk the land without getting dirt on their feet."

After two sunrises and two sunsets, the committee came up with a solution. They covered the roads with Persian rugs. They spent 4% of the King's treasury on importing textiles from the Middle East and the Orient. By lunch time, the entire land was covered in plush violet, red, and cornflower blue rugs. The King looked out of his window and was pleased. "I will now feed my dear fishes." The King stepped outside, and once again his feet sunk into the rugs, which had mixed poorly with the viscous mud, and did not provide any protection. The King bellowed. "No one shall sleep until all of my people can walk the land without getting dirt on their feet."

One young man, who was born in the village, had left to explore the world after his hands and feet stopped growing. He travelled to the deepest cavities of the Earth, where he could feel the heat reverberating through his bones; he voyaged to the highest points on the Earth, where he could feel the stars grazing his head. He came back home to find his sleep deprived family and friends and goats trudging through muddy rugs.

He studied the committee's vain efforts and offered his assistance, his knowledge of the policies of other lands. The King's wisest and oldest advisors laughed and waved him away, and refocused attention on their new idea to sweep up the roads with a broom made of unicorn hair. The young man threw a stone at the King's window. The King looked out and was not pleased. "I will walk out and punish the fool who dares disturb my peace."

The young man was patiently waiting at the castle gates. The King's face looked like a large radish or a ripe tomato or a juicy pomegranate. "Who dares to disrespect the King?" The King shouted, even though the young man was two inches away from his face.

The young man smiled. "I have a solution to your problem." The King's face softened, and his face creased with confusion and anticipation. "Who are you? What do you know?"

The young man pointed to his feet. The King followed his finger to see two strange contraptions covering the young man's feet. They were brown, covered in mud, with traces of purple Persian feathers stuck to the bottom. "Try them," the young man urged, as he took them off, and placed them near the King's feet. The King's curiosity had completely taken over his initial shock, and he delicately, nervously placed his beautiful, smooth feet into the containers. "Walk," the young man instructed. The King walked to the stream and watched his fishes play hide and seek; he then walked to his favorite mango tree and picked three of the ripest and largest fruits, the ones that exploded in juice upon touch. The King strolled back to the young man. He took the items off his feet, which immediately emitted a fragrance of rose and almonds. They were smooth, white, and shimmering in the sun, just as they were before his walk.

Tears streamed down the King's face, into his long white beard, and he put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Thank you, my friend. You have freed us all from the binds of dirt, from the oppression of uncleanliness. Everyone in the land will be given this protective equipment. I appoint you as my most trusted advisor." The young man bowed his head, and graciously accepted. That night, the kingdom slept, everyone wearing protective gear on their oiled feet.

From that day forward, the young man and the King traversed the kingdom together, and everyday visited the fields of Love and Hope, or the rivers reflecting the rainbows in the skies, or the mountains from where they could see all the mango trees on the land.

And they kept their feet clean.