The Goodliness of Small Things

 What exactly is that we inherit from our parents? Genes, for sure, as medical science tells us. The Y chrosome, or the abscence thereof,  that goes in to the making of our genomic sequencing, and hence the gender identity, is indeed the filial bequest. If, however, that were all that we fall heir to, the whole of the human species should have been clones of each other. Luckily, the reality is different. 

Siblings, for instance, refract the traits of each other , and,yet they reflect each other as if they are mirror images of one another. Where does the unmistakable similarity come from? The way our parents 'design' us has to be the answer to that question, I believe. As we come in to our own, we may try to maraud that mould. Yet the mode makes us beyond doubt.

This mode is made of many a thing, most often small than big. Habits it could be. The desire to be presentable, considered one of the major soft skills currently, is inculcated in us by our parents, right? Remember the way Aai would have to run behind us all over the place just to get teeth brushed? The tap may run dry, but not Aai's constant scolds till the baby of the family would look spic and span, right?

More than merely such physical details (why, we are heir to hair, or loss thereof!), it is the major to minor aspects of behaviour patterns and character sculpting that give us our USP. Initially, at least, our parents provide such paradigms. I, for instance, love to read because Papa would often gift books. I still have all of them. Both of them were very happy that my English teacher gave me a notebook as a special gift as I was the "spelling bee winner" of my batch. Writing a dictation daily, both in English and Marathi, was an additional, and compulsory, item of homework. Scrap books of great quotes, for instance, had to be neat. No wonder, my first ever poem was published in the school magazine when I was a twelve year old, and my transcreations, in "Kishore", in my mid teens. They both loved to write. Even their letters were not typical. Papa used to send me guideline essays as he was posted far away at Solapur when I was an S.S.C.student. 

Why, the three of us had to run a bank of-n-for ourselves that indirectly ingrained in us money management. Aai used to cook hyper delicious stuff, yet it was the family rule that the first serving in the plate (even if one disliked the item, the gourds in my case)  must be polished off that built our health. As for mental strength, we were encouraged to participate in each and our activity. Winning was secondary. Preparation was primary. Why, at home itself, Aai used to conduct all sorts of competitions, essay to elocution. on every occasion, be it Tilak Jayanti or the Independence day, and participation was not an option.  Aai, rather than I, used to be more enthusiastic at the time of the Naavratra "Hadaga".  We were encouraged to know the why's of most all festivals. We had to respect even the maid who would come to clean the vessels at home. Aai used to support her in many small ways, and taught us through example how to care for those not as lucky as us, while the way Papa selflessly helped his colleague who had suffered a fatal accident etched on our minds the generous feel. It is the trickle down effect such small things, minor details  that goes in to the making of all that is goodly in us. No wonder, the least is the best!

Let me sign off with the heart rending song from "Aashirwad"

ek tha bachpan,

ek tha bachpan, 

chota sa, nanha sa bachpan

ek tha bachpan.

Pratima@ goodly great small things