"She was pregnant. Seventh month. This was where I could start writing about her. A very rare, yet fictitious, but I couldn’t help to keep myself away from it, for the kind of haunt I was living with, simply made me write down this piece of life.
Her name is Jenny. Normal and well read, working woman. The first time I met her was that incident in hospital where all this began to grow up into a following. She was like any woman, happy to bear a baby, and dreamt of beginning a new life. Her husband was busy enough, yet rich to keep the ends meet in their relation. In the middle of her seventh month, she said she happened to acknowledge the baby responding to whatever it was listening to, from mashing of mixer to hissing of cooker to Jenny’s own voice. She wasn’t that good enough to explain me the mode of communication she shared with her baby, but was very much finite enough to tell me what they were talking about all the time.
“I know somehow it could listen to me. I mean the baby. And more surprising is its responses.” Jenny explained.
Now the appeared-to -be -fiction part, which Jenny alone could be render. She told me that her baby’s first statement was “Mother, I thank you for getting ready to bear me. I know I am months away from the delivery. I am more happy and little curious about how the world around is. For it is the place I am going to share with you. Please talk to me about it.”
And Jenny was happy listening to this reaction. She paused a little calculating what to show him. And then she made her way to the garden and translated everything she could see. The flowers, the grass, the butterflies and all. The baby listened to all this quietly. She told the baby how tender the roses were, and how the creepers climbed up to the terrace. She picked up the morning dew and translated its taste. The baby nodded for everything. The she moved in to the hallway and put on some good music and told him about the happiness it brings in, and the book she collected and the toys she planned for and the cradle space. She told the baby that it’s going to live in a beautiful house. And then she climbed up to the terrace and asked the baby to listen the birds chirping and translated the blueness of the sky, and green fields, the sun and all. She spent that whole Sunday talking to the baby. It was evening when the baby stopped nodding and answered for the first time.
“ Mama, you know I was with you since a while, and I had interpreted enough to my best of what I could at this tender age. But I was little disappointed for all my acquired knowledge is very much different from what you told me about today. Was I wrong in knowing it or was it you who is wrong in translating it to me?”
The mother stalled to silence for she couldn’t guess where it went wrong. Finding nothing, she moved on to ask the baby more about what it’s all about.
“Mama.” The baby began “Every day I could sense that you stop by some place where beggars knock the car window, asking for a penny or two. I could also sense you scolding them, cursing them, feeling irritated. I know you don’t like those fellows, who were poor for all the time, when you scold them i see the pride in you of your status symbol. Poor guys must have been dead by now. I fear how you can teach me to love. I would end up being supercilious .You said just now about the good home, but all the day while you were out, I just could breathe in through you the polluted air, I feel suffocating sometimes and fear if I could live in a place like that. But I found that we always keep our homes very neat and tidy and neglect the streets, leaving it to others’ responsibility. I could sense you backbiting someone or your boss in your office timings, I felt you weren’t happy ever what you were at. I fear if it could be my destiny to be so. You said about the family, but I hardly felt love in our home. You and dad were unhappy about something always, quarrel with each other but you say we are a happy family. I fear even I should act while I love you. All I could hear was not the good music you played just now, but the television set playing the dirty politics and adultery around. I fear Mama, I fear. There are many reasons to be so. But I should know, if I was wrong about all this or you just manipulated it very nice to me?”
Before she could answer to this, the baby came back. “I fear to come out of your womb. I fear to be a hypocrite anymore like you. You aren’t preparing me to face the reality. You are making something else which I might not be good at. All I can say is a goodbye.”
The hallway suddenly dropped to silence. The mother waited, but all she could hear was just that very silence.
The doctors reported the baby died that night.
I was just listening with this blank face of mine. Jenny rose up and left the room.
Are we preparing the generation? Are we blinding them to be lame forever?
Are we showcasing the reality of world or just pushing them to fill our desires just by manipulating the world around?
Are we good parents or just a bad DNA?"
-Aroon Che
Her name is Jenny. Normal and well read, working woman. The first time I met her was that incident in hospital where all this began to grow up into a following. She was like any woman, happy to bear a baby, and dreamt of beginning a new life. Her husband was busy enough, yet rich to keep the ends meet in their relation. In the middle of her seventh month, she said she happened to acknowledge the baby responding to whatever it was listening to, from mashing of mixer to hissing of cooker to Jenny’s own voice. She wasn’t that good enough to explain me the mode of communication she shared with her baby, but was very much finite enough to tell me what they were talking about all the time.
“I know somehow it could listen to me. I mean the baby. And more surprising is its responses.” Jenny explained.
Now the appeared-to -be -fiction part, which Jenny alone could be render. She told me that her baby’s first statement was “Mother, I thank you for getting ready to bear me. I know I am months away from the delivery. I am more happy and little curious about how the world around is. For it is the place I am going to share with you. Please talk to me about it.”
And Jenny was happy listening to this reaction. She paused a little calculating what to show him. And then she made her way to the garden and translated everything she could see. The flowers, the grass, the butterflies and all. The baby listened to all this quietly. She told the baby how tender the roses were, and how the creepers climbed up to the terrace. She picked up the morning dew and translated its taste. The baby nodded for everything. The she moved in to the hallway and put on some good music and told him about the happiness it brings in, and the book she collected and the toys she planned for and the cradle space. She told the baby that it’s going to live in a beautiful house. And then she climbed up to the terrace and asked the baby to listen the birds chirping and translated the blueness of the sky, and green fields, the sun and all. She spent that whole Sunday talking to the baby. It was evening when the baby stopped nodding and answered for the first time.
“ Mama, you know I was with you since a while, and I had interpreted enough to my best of what I could at this tender age. But I was little disappointed for all my acquired knowledge is very much different from what you told me about today. Was I wrong in knowing it or was it you who is wrong in translating it to me?”
The mother stalled to silence for she couldn’t guess where it went wrong. Finding nothing, she moved on to ask the baby more about what it’s all about.
“Mama.” The baby began “Every day I could sense that you stop by some place where beggars knock the car window, asking for a penny or two. I could also sense you scolding them, cursing them, feeling irritated. I know you don’t like those fellows, who were poor for all the time, when you scold them i see the pride in you of your status symbol. Poor guys must have been dead by now. I fear how you can teach me to love. I would end up being supercilious .You said just now about the good home, but all the day while you were out, I just could breathe in through you the polluted air, I feel suffocating sometimes and fear if I could live in a place like that. But I found that we always keep our homes very neat and tidy and neglect the streets, leaving it to others’ responsibility. I could sense you backbiting someone or your boss in your office timings, I felt you weren’t happy ever what you were at. I fear if it could be my destiny to be so. You said about the family, but I hardly felt love in our home. You and dad were unhappy about something always, quarrel with each other but you say we are a happy family. I fear even I should act while I love you. All I could hear was not the good music you played just now, but the television set playing the dirty politics and adultery around. I fear Mama, I fear. There are many reasons to be so. But I should know, if I was wrong about all this or you just manipulated it very nice to me?”
Before she could answer to this, the baby came back. “I fear to come out of your womb. I fear to be a hypocrite anymore like you. You aren’t preparing me to face the reality. You are making something else which I might not be good at. All I can say is a goodbye.”
The hallway suddenly dropped to silence. The mother waited, but all she could hear was just that very silence.
The doctors reported the baby died that night.
I was just listening with this blank face of mine. Jenny rose up and left the room.
Are we preparing the generation? Are we blinding them to be lame forever?
Are we showcasing the reality of world or just pushing them to fill our desires just by manipulating the world around?
Are we good parents or just a bad DNA?"
-Aroon Che
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