The Problem:
I am a programmer, and I am glad that I am. Because if I were an artist instead, mom would throw me into a cauldron, add some mint, coriander, and a gallon of water, set the flame to high, and boil me until I was soup for cannibals.
She already hates the fact that her son is a programmer. According to her, she can’t look her kitty-party friends in the eye anymore, because wifey took a shiny glossy Engineer-MBA and changed him a…what do you call that thing….a programmer?! Her son who was once eyed by all her kitty-party friends as a prize catch for their convent-educated daughters, is now a buggy-eyed programmer!
The Situation:
Yesterday mom got a call from one of her kitty-party friends. I guess they are starting to miss mom’s dahi-bhalle, her biggest contribution to their monthly get-togethers. When mom’s cellphone rang, wifey was sniffling through pages of “Not Without my Daughter“, Dad was devouring the glamor section of The Delhi Times, and I was doodling on my sketch-pad.
The Conversation:
Mom took the call. After exchanging loud virtual hugs with the caller, She suddenly became very quiet. We could hear only her end of the conversation, which I am faithfully reproducing here.
“Tut-tut.”
…
“Poor Mrs. Mehra.”
…
“No, no. I understand.”
…
“Poor thing.”
…
“And her son was so bright as a child.”
…
“How sad.”
…
“What is she going to do now?”
…
“No no, but it’s really sad.”
…
“Now what can I say? One can’t stand in the way of fate.”
…
“Poor Mrs. Mehra.”
The call ended but for the next whole minute, she continued to make sympathetic clucking sounds with her tongue.
We were curious as hell, but none of us wanted to be the first to ask. Wifey caved in first.
“What happened Mummy Ji?” she said, marking her place in the book with a 3D-bookmark that she had bamboozled me into buying for her.
The Aftermath:
The moment wifey pressed the trigger, Mom shot off like a bullet.
“You remember Mrs. Mehra – the fat one?” she asked, helping us visualize Mrs. Mehra’s girth by spreading her hands a lot wider than what was warranted. (I think I must’ve gotten the genes of exaggeration from Mom.)
Dad neatly folded the newspaper and tossed it upon the center-table. Now all of us were waiting to hear the unfortunate story of a corpulent but poor Mrs. Mehta.
Mom dropped the bombshell. “Her son has told her that he wants to be an artist.”
Dad raised his right brow and allowed a sarcastic smile to play on his lips.
Wifey got bored, mumbled “Khoda pahad nikli chuhiya,” (You dig a mountain and find a female mouse,) and opened her novel again.
I revolted.
The Bloodbath:
“Mom, what’s wrong with being an artist?” I asked, smoldering inside.
“Puttar (Son,) it’s worse than being a programmer,” she said, with a smug smile. Now, on the Successful Moms ladder someone stood a few rungs lower than her.
“What’s so bad about being a programmer?” I asked, trying to keep a lid on my anger that was about to boil over.
“Everyone is a programmer these days. Even our maid’s son is a programmer.” She bristled. The fact that even her maid’s son is a programmer, cut and bruised her heart like nothing else could.
Wifey signaled me to stop.
Dad signaled mom to stop.
None of us took the cues.
“Our Prime Minister Narendra Modi is the son of a maid, Mom,” I said, my voice rising.
“He is an exception, not a rule. Programmers are the rule these days! And you….my son, MY SON”, she jabbed a finger into her chest, “…an Engineer and an MBA – he finds nothing better to do than programming?!!!” She was now a Punjabin in her element, spewing fire from her mouth, fuming from her ears and her nostrils!
Wifey got up and murmured, “I’ll make us some tea.”
Dad picked up the newspaper and said, “Pressure aya hai,” and went inside the toilet.
(Dad’s dialog translates to “Pressure has arrived” – an Indian Euphemism for the need to go potty.)
Mom and I were left sitting, glaring at each other, across the table.
Then mom’s angry face morphed into a smiling one. She reached across the table, tapped my cheek and said, “Puttar, I am grateful that you decided to be a programmer and not an artist. Or I wouldn’t have been able to show my face anywhere. If nothing else, you at least work hard…what does Sonu do? Sits alone and draws. How shameful!” (You might’ve guessed this – Sonu is Mrs. Mehra’s son.)
Conclusion:
I wouldn’t dare to tell her that once in a while I get paid to make funny pictures for a journal or a website, nor that some people pay me for pushing and pulling their features to make them look comical, because she might get a heart-attack wondering how will she ever face her kitty-party friends again – For what greater shame could be there for an Indian mom than to accept that her son has become…an artist.
If you enjoyed this post, find more of my Quirky, Snarky, Malarkey in The QSM Magazine. |
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Love your stories with there fantastic somewhat exaggerated family characters! You noted that you have a tendency to exaggerate! Love it!
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Thanks Oneta. About exaggeration, I was referring to my caricatures…the family is presented as-is 😀 If I exaggerated them, they’d turn into aliens.
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I’ll remember. No exaggeration except in drawings. Ha. I’ll be troubled now at the talk of boiling you in the cauldron and all that reality. You might need my prayers!
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Thank you, Oneta. I am grateful to have you on my side. I think that if she could actually find a cauldron big enough to fit me in, she might go for it.
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That made me laugh out loud. I had a feeling it was an accurate portrayal.
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Absolutely…no, actually, I might’ve toned it down a little 😀
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I have a “colorful” family too, so figured you weren’t exaggerating. : )
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Thank you, thank you, thank you. I appreciate your support more than I can express.
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I like your sense of humor.
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Thank you Impossiblebebong…and welcome to my menagerie.
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Glad to visit. Someone is here reading over my shoulder and considering to follow you, but the person is late for work.
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Thanks, over-the-shoulder guest on my blog – please note that my blog is safe-for-work. I will be thrilled if you visited/followed.
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I’ll tell 🙂
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That’d be great. (As I type this, I am stuffing some doodles I did yesterday in my desk-drawer. I can…oh, she’s here!)
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Ha, ha ha! Have a nice day and say hello to your Mom for me. I can tell she’s a very interesting woman.
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Ok, I will. (Should I add, “Some would call Idi Amin an interesting man…”.) (Sorry for the typo – corrected.)
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Ha ha ha! My eldest sister used to call our mother Rocky Marciano. He was a boxer.
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I like that. My compliments to both your mom and your sister.
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My mother is dead. Died last year. I enjoyed talking to you. Now duty calls. Till next time.
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I am sorry to hear about your mom. Go ahead and attend to work – some calls shouldn’t be ignored.
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I love this! Continue waving the flag of programmers and of course, artists too!
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Ah. That sounds great. We could start a movement called Programmers Against Moms who are Against Programmers (PAMWAP?) I see that you too have put programmers ahead of artists…or am I mistaken?
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I respect both programmers and artists since I want to or I am becoming both.. Yes, we should definitely start on that propaganda and let the whole world know that programmers are significant, and does take a hold of the physical world more than they know, actually.
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PAMWAP is now on the roll…Programmers (wannabe and veterans) all are welcome to signup! The Riddler is already onboard!!!
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It’s time we let the world know! 🙂
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Yes. I am all for professional equality and programming superiority.
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As an artist (and a working graphic designer), my mother struggled with having an artistic daughter, so I am very simpatico to your plight. Very funny–your secret is dafe with me.
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A young artist is an expensive preposition and I can understand how exasperating it must be for the mother. However, I don’t draw or color on the walls, nor do I eat crayons. So my mom doesn’t really have an excuse to castigate me.(Typos will follow me everywhere!)
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Loved the humour in your post Anand! Thank God I am neither!
http://www.specs-buffy.blogspot.com
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Neither an artist nor a programmer, but I see a writer lurking in your blog. I think in Mom’s list, writers are sandwiched between programmers and artists. (Smirk!)
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Dude… 😀 when are you going to draw a caricature and narrate a story with that 😀 your exaggerations has created a very vivid picture in my head 😀
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Ishita, these aren’t exaggerations…but what would you know. You are nice boastable kid. About those caricatures…do you real want to see me become soup for cannibals? Wifey allowed me to draw her caricature (I did it for the QSM magazine,) but if I did Mom’s and published it anywhere – and she finds out that I did…the next you’d see me is in the mortuary.
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😂😂😂😂😂😂
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Decide. You shouldn’t laugh and cry at the same time. It confuses people.
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I am laughing so hard that I had to cry 😅
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Ok…you are Doctor, you know best.
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Am I allowed to laugh? HAHAHA. Your mom and your wifey have really really strong characters! I am glad that you can put up to those two. Patience. 😀
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Laugh away! Laughter is possibly the best thing that comes out of my interactions with my Martian family. And yes, Patience is my middle name.
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Haha. Keep it up, Anand! 🙂
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Not giving up, not giving up, not giving up…
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😀
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Oh Anand! This was hilarious! And sad. Because it is true. But my parents seem to be okay with programmers. As long as I’m working in AC they should be happy. Which is what scares me of the day I’m gonna have to tell them that I want to become a writer!
But anyway, programming after MBA! Bravo man. When many people would consider programming to be below them.
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If you told them that you wanted to be a writer, it won’t be this bad.You at least have one good example of an engineer gone writer – Chetan Bhagat. I have none 😦
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You really have an awesome family! Lucky you…inspiration right at home! 🙂
Enjoyed the exaggerations on this post as much as the others! 😀
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Ms. Menon, what exaggeration? Where? A true incident – a realistic portrait of my unhappy mom – that’s what it was. But I am absolutely delighted that you enjoyed it.
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Haha….so you really managed to make her unhappy with your choice of career, Mr. C!
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She doesn’t think programming is a career. But it’s OK. I believe I must have a hidden spark of creative-madness…She should be happy that I haven’t yet decided to chop off my ear like a certain other gentleman who painted with primary colors and went by the name of Van Gogh.
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Ohh no….you wouldn’t want to do that….ears are pretty important you know especially when you are a man with a wife and a mother 😉
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Yep. Each must have one to twist.
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Tut-tut! What a big shame! Please don’t give Mummy Ji a heart attack 😉
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That heart cannot be attacked. Her family’s hearts are some of the strongest in Northern India. At a deeper level, mom is bothered only about what her “friends” would think of her. In Punjabi English, we call it “Show-shay-baazi.”
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They all usually are. Very funny bunch mothers! HEY! You made me say the wrong thing! I am a mother too 😉
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In one of my favorite Wilbur Smith books “River God” the protagonist Taita says, “Every mother is a lover too.” When her son’s affections are divided, depending upon her temperament, she either bares her fangs or accepts the transformation gracefully. A mother must decide what she must do.
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Beautiful quote. Captures it very well 🙂
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Yes…Wilbur Smith is my favorite – he crosses the boundaries with the innocence of a five-year old.
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I will fish out his articles.
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His novels…read the Egyptian series. It’s fantastic!
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I shall pencil that down. Thanks for recommending 🙂
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Don’t pick any other book by him (other than the Egyptian series) especially if you are not keen on hunting. The Egyptian series is different – highly detailed and very humorous. The last book in the series is a let-down…The River God and the Seventh Scroll are awesome.
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Good to know that too, otherwise I would have come after you 😉
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I had a hunch 😀
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;);)
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As always, you made me laugh out loud. Brilliant rendering of a typical, if exaggerated (maybe not) scene in an Indian household, na?
Love your work, always.
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Thank you, Vijaya. Your afterthought is correct. I am not sure about typical but it was an accurate rendering of the what had transpired 😀
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Hello friend, I am not so sure if you get a ping-back, but I featured this post on my blog post.
Thank you and kind regards
Jacqueline
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Thanks Jacqueline 😀
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You are welcome 🙂
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Ha Ha! That was hilarious Anand. Now I would love to be able to draw, let alone become an artist! At least your Mum can hold her head up high now 🙂
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Thanks, Edwina. My mom is an anti-feminist. She’s OK with women drawing, painting, and dancing…but not men. While you rise about the non-creative ones in my eyes, in hers you are just being a woman. If you are trying to find some logic there…you are wasting your time.
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Oh, I know, logic doesn’t come into it 😉
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You are right – there isn’t any logic in Mom – if there were any, she’d be a programmer too.
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Ha Ha! Well said 🙂
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This hilarious but at the same time very realistic. I love it when you write about your family 😀
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Thank you Nadine. It gives me a reason to trudge on.
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Oh, my. Aren’t families fun?
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ha ha 😀 Indian parents and their streak against anything artistic 😉 you are asked to be part of all extra curricular activities throughout school and college but if you decide to be a creative person for life 😛 …you are gone 😉 you are labeled as crazy and non productive child 😛
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You hit the nail on its head (why does that sound painful?) When their kids are little, parents strut around telling everyone how their little-un is such a fab artist, singer, or dancer!
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True 🙂 In childhood everyone needs a jack of all trades 😛 but as we grew up they need a master of one 😉 upon that the mastering subject should be of their choice 😉
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Mastering subject should at least not belong in their list of black-listed subjects!
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True 😉
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I’ve always thought being a programmer is a pretty good job and I’m impressed when anybody can put spread little bits of pencil lead around a piece of paper in such a way as to make a recognizable face (or a recognizable anything). I’d be a little scared to argue the point with your mother, though, I think I might adopt your father’s approach and run into the bathroom with a newspaper.
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Dad’s approach works but only when randomized with other approaches – such as taking a call that never came, checking phone-messages, feigning a cramp, etc. Using the same approach every time will make Mom suspicious – and you don’t want to make Mom suspicious.
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It sounds like he has both a wide range of particular tactics and also an overall strategy. I have to admire his ability to detect the warnings signs of impending danger and then make sure he’s at the furthest part of the house (if not the city) from it.
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Experience makes perfect 😀
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