Soaps, souls and diminishing fizz

  Among some more crystal clear bubbles , effervescent as ever, surfacing, resurfacing, ever so often, are the compassion and concern bubbles, as I choose to call them, after all these years of experiencing both.

                        It is said, whatever happens in the early growing up years, does not require any kind of photographic documentation; the mind itself is an extremely powerful tool that is eidetic till the age of five, primarily. Though this ability to trap visual images, sounds and smells, stays till a later age too, due to the innumerable images constantly bombarding the brain, some become fainter than the rest and some just evaporate, whereas, some are just etched there forever.

                        Brought up on a near daily dose of tales: some homespun, some woven through time, some culled from family sagas; most manifested as tiny crystal droplets, glistening in the mind’s eye, some sunk in deep!

          We had our very own treasure house of stories and tomes aplenty, with a sprinkling of Indian and Western literature. Exposed very early to the reading club, in our impressionable minds there was rarely a crevice or chink that wasn’t chock-a-bloc with wonderful anecdotes of valour and love, of loyalty and chivalry, of friendship and honour, of compassion and concern, of the need to do a right turn.

           These two bubbles are, however, intricately linked with sacrifice, another bubble, that makes life apparently difficult at the outset, but takes one to higher levels. As my father was in the Army, sometimes my parents had to attend certain social functions and parties. On one such occasion, we were left with the maid; this was in Bangalore, three of us siblings with my sister being the youngest and about two years old then were convinced about staying home. Parents had given us three bars of Cadbury chocolates, just as a small incentive. My brother and I ate them promptly after dinner, but my sister didn’t and insisted on having it after the parents returned.

           When the parents came home that night, both were in for a tiny shock, my sister was curled up in bed fast asleep, just like us, but my sister’s hand tightly clutched the half melted chocolate. Of course, the rest of the episode was related to us by our mom. Mom adhered to the decision she took that day for the rest of her life, kids were and always would be top priority: in the bargain she made huge sacrifices.  

           Never saw dad buy anything more than he needed. We lived a good honest life, but it often revolved around doing a deed that would benefit society more than us as individuals. Sometimes I fail to fathom, how the feeling of self-esteem and philanthropy was inculcated in us at a very young age. We took pride in who we were, what we represented and what we had. Rare was the occasion when we coveted what another had.

              Of course there were other tiny, nascent bubbles, simmering in the background, vying for attention. Reflected on them were images of witches and black guards and of conniving shrews. But, the take home were visions of Samaritans, loyal friends and hard working souls.     

              Bubbles, frothy soapy bubbles, surround me even today, as I try to glean from the lather, smothering the surroundings and sometimes my being. But, the soap suds of modern day values and the society at large sadden me no end. Not that change, is not something I do not appreciate and accept, but the avalanche of negativity around makes the noxious, effluent froth, seem like inviting, harmless lather from afar.

             Just like industrial waste, has slowly made inroads into our daily lives and we presume that we are unaffected and the cancer thereof, will plague someone else, similarly the value rot, scab, has set in and is creeping slowly, but surely into our souls, killing them softly. Is that what we bargained for? Well certainly that isn’t my cup of steaming hot stuff, so I would rather continue, looking, hooking and spreading the bubbles of my childhood and my dreams. Perhaps then would one discover somewhere beyond, at the farthest end of the rainbow a cache of good values, and at the starting point of the rainbow, a group of at least five human beings different from the corrupt, two-faced, deviant, cold bloodedly competitive, soul-less creatures of today.