Waist Not, Want Not

I am the type of person that can completely self-destruct if I put my mind to it. The irony is that I come across as one who is completely sane, mature and often a preachy know-it-all. Well that last bit is true actually. I had a wonderful childhood, I felt so as a child and I feel so now. There were one or two bad experiences that have scarred me, but I managed to lock them away in the dark recesses of my mind when I heard the stories of others. When put in perspective, what glorious, blessed lives we lead! In fact, the only thing that truly troubled me during my teen years was my parents' constant fighting and bickering. There have been times when I would pray for them to get divorced - such was my distress. I would have to say that it was this one incident that lead to my various actions, influenced my decisions, paved my way. I do not regret any of my actions as it has made me what I am today. If I did not do so badly academically I would have never been sent to India. I would have missed out on my friends, the experiences, the "Indian-ness of me" and most importantly, I would not have met the love of my life. How ever, my actions have hurt others and I constantly berate myself for it. My better half says I have yet to forgive myself and learn to let go. I LOVE wallowing in self-pity, and reflecting on what made me the way I am. So before I let such negativity take over my world, I feel it is necessary that I share and record the good times.

In my worst moments, and in my best, it was the world of books that I retreated into and for that I have to thank my father. My earliest memory is at age 6. I am not sure if Dad's intention was inculcate the habit of reading in us at such an early age - but he was stuck with us after school and he loved his books, so off to the library we went. In our small town we had only two public libraries and we had membership in both. Of course I had access to my school library as well. Thus began a love affair with Enid Blyton, Roald Dahl, Beatrix Potter, Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, and later in high school it was Judy Blume, Sweet Valley High, Danielle Steele, Mills & Boon, Jeffery Archer, Sidney Sheldon, Frederick Forsyth, the list is endless really - so I won't even venture into the comic books! Let's just say - it was Betty's Diary (Archie Comics) that inspired me to be a writer - perhaps one of the many inspirations. My Dad's voracious appetite for books had some how passed on to me (my brother was completely unaffected much to their dismay but he wrote some brilliant poetry lemme tell you) and he would often say with deep regret, "Even if we read one book a day, and lived to be a 100 years old, we can ONLY read 36500 books in our life time."





My obsession with books, according to my folks, was the reason I was failing academically in all the IMPORTANT subjects (maths and science mainly). Thus, books were banned. They stopped my dance classes as well for the same reason. The things I loved most were taken away and I rebelled (very silently). I had a complete mental block in all my subjects with the exception of English and Afrikaans. The fact that I was doing really well in English didn't seem to make any difference and the constant pressure to win a Nobel Prize for Science or at the very least become an Engineer took its toll. It came to a point where it was doubtful that I would even pass high school. My poor folks finally succumbed to the fact that I had had a mental breakdown and begged me to see a psychiatrist. Keep in mind I wasn't a raving lunatic. I was merely withdrawing deeper within myself. And my only consolation had to be indulged in secretly. I would keep my Science textbook in front of me and my novel inside it. Then Dad caught me because he said he was surprised to see my intense concentration. I would read novels by torchlight under thick woolen blankets, in the loo, any where! I even told them I had extra classes and stayed back in the school library till the school gates were about to shut. I used to keep some novels in the washing machine under all the dirty clothes and move them on laundry day. But I was caught there as well. Dad, whilst shaving, made a passing comment as I walked by, "You know, girls who read Mills & Boon and Barbara Cartland turn out to be very stupid girls." I knew then that my Message from Nam (Danielle Steele) had been discovered. I didn't agree with him then and I certainly don't agree with him now. I definitely enjoy the older M&Bs when compared to the modern ones. Even the cover images having changed from paintings to photographs have put me off completely - killed the fantasy. The ones I used to enjoy often had adventure, culture, the dashing hero and a very spirited heroine. Most importantly, it exposed me to a world unknown to me. Today, I can probably recognise a person's country of origin simply by hearing their name - be it Greek or Japanese - all thanks to M&B. That kind of awareness and knowledge doesn't come easily you know? A child's concept of love and romance is mostly grasped from what they see in their parents - reading a million Mills & Boon will never change that.

My most favourite memories are that of the Saturday morning library sessions. Dad would take me and my friends Priya and Deepa - and between us we had 6 library cards. That's 6 books every week! When I was banned from reading, I used to borrow from them secretly. Being close family friends were were always at each other's house. This one time I wanted to borrow two M&Bs and had no idea how to take them without arousing suspicion. It was Priya's idea (I think) that I keep them in the elastic waistband of my skirt and zip up my jacket. This was a brilliant idea as the jacket would cover any bulge. I could place them side by side on my abdomen secured by the waistband, zip up my jacket and keep my hands in my jacket pockets "to keep warm" but also hold the books in place. Then I just have to sit in the car and when we reach home, rush to my room and throw them under my bed. The brilliance of this idea dazzled us so that we had no idea my folks were taking us to church right from their house!!! I was sitting in church and sweating in fear, scared that the books would fall out under my skirt, that too an M&B in the most sacred of places! I don't know how many confessions I would need to get out of that one! Then when it was time for communion Mum started glaring at me to get up and go. I accepted the Body and Blood of Christ whilst having my hands clasped together in prayer over my ABDOMEN - you can guess what I was praying about.

It is these memories that makes a song in my heart. When I meet my good friends even today, all we do is talk of our childhood days - our bond is entwined with memories such as these. With time and experience, I have come to realise that my parents' fighting is no indication of their love, or lack of love for each other. My better half and I are EXACTLY the same. Perhaps what I experienced with my folks will help me to control my tongue in the presence of my children. I have an acid tongue, especially when I have PMS. I really don't know if this post is about my love for books or about parenting. I DO know that I have grown enough to question my folks about their prejudices, as well as to be more open to their wisdom. When I was young I questioned NOTHING, and rebelled against their well-intentioned advice. I know that parenting is probably the HARDEST job in the world - but I am told it is also the most rewarding. Most importantly, I dedicate this post to my Dad - for instilling in me a love of knowledge. I do realise that reading doesn't always make a person right in their judgements or their understanding of the world, but it does give you perspective, the ability to see another point of view, one different from what you have been conditioned to believe. Look out for more outpourings of my childhood and my tormented teen soul :O)

*The images were taken on a visit to my old primary school in 2006 and are of the books in our school library. Some of them, especially The World Atlas, The Wind in the Willows, Hardy Boys and Paddington Bear, are the SAME copies we read almost 20 years ago.