'There is an art, or rather a knack to flying. 
The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss'.
                                                                                                                       Douglas Adams

 There is an art, or rather a knack to parenting. 
The knack lies in learning how to turn a raisin back into a grape. 
                                                                                                                     Me

       A few days back I got a call from my son. It was from California, where he had gone on a month long vacation with his friends. It had been years since he had last been there as a kid with us and he excitedly filled in the blanks about the recent changes that had taken place in the usual attractions. A little bit of this and that and then he asked me to watch two ‘highly recommended’ movies. 

‘Highly recommended by who?’ 

‘By me’ he said. Although I couldn’t stop smiling, there was nothing to laugh about because I fully trusted my son’s judgment. One was ‘Taare Zameen Par’. I smiled again. Not only had the acorn not fallen too far from the tree, it even tasted the same.  

‘The other?’

‘The Kite Runner’. 

       This was news to me. I never knew this movie was already released. I had read the book, was mighty impressed by it and therefore was looking forward to seeing it. ‘The director has done an amazing job’ he gushed. ‘And I’m sure you’ll love it. And yeah, I want you see one more thing mummy’ he added casually. It sounded casual. Too casual! 

‘Another movie?’

‘No, just check out my latest Blog’. 

     Like I said the reference was too casual. Normally we never ask each other to read our Blogs. In fact not many know that my son blogs here. He’s not an active Blogger but sometime back he was chosen as one of Darden's Student Blogger and his Blogs are now linked to their homepage. Since it was a specific request I knew something was amiss. When I asked him what the blog was about he just gave a throaty chuckle. When I pestered him further there were still no hints. However another deep but meaningful chuckle followed.

 ‘It’s a surprise’ was all he said.    

    I love surprises. But imagine my surprise when I realized that my son urgently needed lessons from Flimflam because he was naïve enough to confuse the word shock for surprise. Yes, I was shocked! No, not because he was informing me through a blog of a secret marriage. I mean that would have been a little shocking considering he had gone there to study and not to find a soul mate, but that kind of shock would eventually have turned to pleasure. Instead, what I saw were a few photographs in a sequence of a thrilling adventure that he had recently undertaken.

   There’s only one thing worse than a son rising in the East, settling to study in the West- him wanting to try out a crazy kamikaze act in his mother’s absence. The moment I opened the Blog, my eyes were glued to a flying photograph. Then I saw the title of the blog. Free falling at 13,000 feet! What on earth….I mean what on mid-air was this? Taking my eyes off the pictures posted there was like pulling out nails from the walls. 

   I always knew of my son’s intense desire to try out stunts even as a kid. He was always the first in line to experience all the blood curdling, stomach churning rides that Disney and every other crazy land had to offer. In Pattaya, while his father kept cheering, I stood there, a smile plastered onto my frozen face, watching him soar like a kite in a sport called paragliding. I also remember his craving for Bungee Jumping. But no rope in the world was strong enough to guarantee my complete maternal trust. So that lesson never took place. 

   But now my son was grown. He was no longer attached to my apron strings. Unfortunately mothers don’t grow and since worrying only comes with the territory, the distance hardly matters. So as I scrolled down from picture to picture, I started my deep breathing exercises, simultaneously chanting the mantra ‘Just Chill, Chill, Just Chill’. As he kept free falling lower and lower in a movie like motion, his smile in the photographs remained constant. However, my blood pressure had decided to do a bit of mountain climbing and my smile was slowly getting replaced with a frown. Wait a sec, why was the seasoned instructor in the photograph wearing a safety helmet? And why on earth…err I mean mid-air was the wet behind the ears diver not wearing one?     

    I took another deep breath and began to read the content. Nothing could cheer me up, not even the fact that he had nonchalantly autographed a green form fifty times before attempting this suicidal sport. I remembered the time my fingers had faltered and frozen when I had to sign just once for a minor operation he had to undergo as a child. I remembered the time I used to be on tenterhooks every time his dad or a crazy uncle would toss him in mid air. But I also remember the wild abandon, the joy and the trust all reflected in the infant’s tiny face. 

      Immediately after my kids were born I had turned into a Cashew- A nut with a back problem! But all my nuttiness had evaporated with time. My back problems had eventually been solved with exercise. But from a cashew I had slowly morphed into a raisin. Why so, you may ask….well, just like a rose is a rose, a grape is also a grape. But make that a worrying grape and it turns into a raisin. 

    Out of the two categories in this maniacal sport, Tandem (which included flying with an instructor) and the other called Solo (where he had to drop down alone) my son was at least sensible enough to choose the former. I sincerely hoped the Tandem was not a random decision but pondered over with great prudence and forethought. Moreover, Solo performances look good only on stage. Not dangling in midair with the sky for a backdrop and a parachute for a backpack.   

    It is not about what money can buy. It is not about what affection can buy. It is about what they both can’t buy- something called a feral freedom. It is about planting trees, watering them with care and then watching them shoot up, bloom and burgeon on their own. All from a distance! It is about letting them weather their own battles and experience their own little thrills in life. For sometimes the heart does things for reasons even reason does not understand. 

    However, one thing is certain. Just like every other mother in the world, now that the raising of my children was done, if I wanted I could continue to be the raisin mother. Or I could try hard to turn myself into a grape. The choice is entirely mine.  

                                                                                                                                Nargis Natarajan