My family stands by me

Note: There are a million (maybe more) times that my family has stood by me. I'm just recounting one incident which clearly highlighted this fact and double-underlined it, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

There was a stike in my college (CSI CE, Ketti) in February, 2005. I was in my third year, and I was in the thick of things - including being a part of the student committee (selected by the management) shouldering the responsibility of working things out with the management. When third year completed and I was waiting to get back to my final year at college, a bomb dropped. The college sent a letter to my Dad asking him to meet with the Principal regarding my "admission" into college that year. They also spoke to a close family friend in Ooty, and informed him that they should look out for me in other colleges. We were like "Huh, what?!" So Dad, Mum and I made the trip to Ketti. Sam joined us along the way (from Bangalore) and the three of them went in to meet the Principal. When I was called in a bit later, it was not me in the hot seat - our dear Principal was being asked questions by my Dad, my Mum and my brother (with all his knowledge of corporate functioning, he had some choice questions for the Principal). Basically, the Principal was hurt that I had asked him a few honest questions and informed him of a few honest student opinions. Little did he know that calling my family would give him bigger, more questioning versions of me. I'm not gloating or boasting. Simply put, this incident left a strong sense of "My family stands by me!" inside me. My parents didn't scold me (atleast as much as I expected them to) and they did not mention even once that they had been called all the way to college and that this could have been a shameful affair. When you comfortably know that your family is rocking right beside you and with you, everything else in the world seems small. Thanks to Dad, Mum and Sam for being that rocking family. Yaiy!

The extreme of not wasting food

If you've eaten with me in the HP Cafeteria or the CSI CE Hostel Mess (or pretty much any other place on earth) you might have noticed that I literally clean out the plate. I myself didn't realise this till some friends started pulling my leg saying that the plate didn't need to be washed because I had cleaned it up. Being the thoughtful, introspective person that I am, I reflected on why I do this. Amongst memories of my childhood friend, Paul Deepak, getting irritated with me for slurping up every last drop of a bottle drink, I discovered a possible cause - my parents encouraged (read: lovingly forced) me to not waste food from a very young age. Dad's most famous dialogue at the table was "Whether you like it or not, you must eat everything" and if we kids ever dreamt of waiting till Dad left the table and then tried sneaking off some veggies to the garbage bin, our Mum had ever-present statements of the pitiable plight of the millions who go without food in India (and the world) every day. It was pretty difficult as a kid growing up with such immense pressure at the dining table. From where I stand today, though, I'm thankful for all the pressure that was present back then - I have learnt to eat almost everything (I can't stand even the smell of watermelons, cucumbers, the taste of bitter gourd and other minute things like that!) and I actually don't waste food. There are times when I overeat many times over to ensure that food doesn't go to waste. I'm so thankful to both my parents for imparting this small but awesome truth into my life. Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad.

Kill the fatted pork sausages

When my bro went off to college, every time he came home, he was treated like a royal personage on a visit. I didn't feel jealous about it - but I felt the fuss was unwarranted. When I went off to college though, my Mum started something new entirely. Pork sausages. Pork or sausages were nothing new in my house; what was new, though, was that Mum would move heaven and earth to ensure that atleast 1 pack of pork sausages were in the freezer if "Dan is coming home". Sometimes, if my visit was a long one, there would be two packs, plus bacon, ham, salami and so on and so forth. But whatever happened - that one pack of pork sausages would be there in the freezer. What felt better was that this pack was completely at my disposal. I've fried those sausages and devoured them at 7 am in the morning, after jumping off the Nilagiri Express (coming back home from college) at times, and I've patiently waited till 3 in the afternoon to cook them, too. The best part? Mum never mentioned a word such as "I'm doing this for you" or anything. She just would mention that sausages were in the freezer, and that was that. For those of you who've been to a hostel which is nearly 700 km from home for four years, you would know the priceless value of such a simple gesture when you walk into your house (Mind you, I had tonnes of other things going for me at home; the pork sausages was the only factor that was unchanging, ever-present and a cherished memory of coming back home). For this, and all the other stops pulled out when your sons returned home from hostel, thanks Mum.

Hanging out with the Elangos

I still clearly remember this - I was on the phone from Ketti (where I went to college) with my parents in Madras sometime before I visited home in March, 2006. We were making plans to catch The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe at the Satyam theater during my visit. Suddenly, I heard the most unbelievable thing - we were going for the film with the Elangos. My mind went WHAT?! I mean, these outings to the theater were a family tradition - our family has seen tonnes of films in the theater as a family, and we rarely have gone out with other families during these outings. To include a group of four people that I barely knew, was slightly too much for my college-going self to take. Sure, Mrs. Elango (Joan miss) had been my teacher and all in school, and she was a great teacher and my parents visited their house once in a while - but since when did we start hanging out with the Elangos?!?!? Thankfully, I just went with the whole idea and I'm glad I did. More than five years later, there have been numerous hours shared and bits of lives exchanged between the Herberts and the Elangos. If you know how "together" two guys can get in hostel (find one, you'll find the other types), then you'll know how "together" the Herberts and the Elangos are generally. What strikes me is that my Mum and Dad, in the waning years of their lives, have what it takes to invest in a full-fledged, family-to-family intertwining relationship. Them having what it takes to do that has given me (and the rest of the Herberts) four unique and love-to-spend-time-with people. Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad.

Me and My Hindi Words

I was in college and due to my love for speaking and my affinity towards the Prayer Cell, I naturally took to delivering "The Word" at times. After one such meeting, Jaison from Bombay came up to me and said "Dan, waaa... full Hindi" I was wondering what he was going on about. Apparently, I'd dropped a "Chalta hai" (English: Don't care attitude) somewhere between my speaking. I then said, "That's normal, dude. I also know the word naam-ke-vasthey" (English: Name sake) My friend was fully taken aback - this was Dan, who doesn't know anything in Hindi apart from "Mujhe hindi maalum nahi" (English: I do not know Hindi). It then hit me like a lightening bolt out of the sky - my Dad uses these words in his messages and preaching. Dad studied his Bible college post-grad degree in Yavatmaal, Maharashtra. He picked up a pinch of Hindi from there and I just absorbed it without even him explaining it to me once. It became such a part and parcel of my life, that I didn't even realise I knew those Hindi words. Wow. Thanks, Dad.

Me and My Many Words

If you know me at all, you'll know that I can't stop talking. And when I talk, I talk in long, lengthy sentences. I simply have to explain every single thing to every single person - the full thought behind the concept has to be conveyed to the people around me all the time. Be it technology, physics, biology or the working of human minds - I always explain everything, and then I go overboard. This verbosity comes from my mother. Her explanations for situations and incidents run like epic films from the '30s or '40s. But the underlying theme is - ensure that everyone who is listening to you got every little detail that matters. Somehow, this has filtered into me. It makes me good (I think so!) at explaining concepts from the Bible, from my college textbooks, to take training sessions, to handle sessions with school kids... Basically, me and my many words come from my Mum. Many have made fun of me for these many words - but me, I'm proud of them. These words make me me. Thanks, Mum.

Lateral Thinking That Begets Smiles

On the morning of my birthday while in the third year in college (I was turning 20, for those keeping count) I was greeted by a couple eggs being smashed on my head, courtesy my beloved Prayer Cell gang - which included a few seniors and batchmates. Later on when Mum called to wish me, I told her of this and her response stopped me in my thoughtflow. She said "Aiyaiyo... Why are they wasting eggs? An egg cost Rs. 1.50 per day, and it could be given to the poor!" I was like, "MUM! I'm your son! You're supposed to be mad at them for smashing eggs on my head!!!!" Like this, there have been several times in my life where my Mum's lateral (I'm not sure that's the word to describe her totally different and awesome thought processes!) thinking has tripped me up completely. Unexpectedly. And has then gone on to give me plenty of smiles over the next few days and years. For being so different that it evokes a smile on my face every now and then, thanks a lot Mum.

Of Pickles, Pork and a dash of TLC

I love pork. It's my favourite meat. After I went off to college, my mum's cooking reduced greatly - simply because there was little reason for her to keep cooking stuff when neither son was at home, and my dad used to travel all over the country (and the world). It was with great surprise when I suddenly discovered that my Mum was making "pork pickle" during a holiday stint at home (between 3rd and 4th semesters). There were two-and-a-half bottles of pickle that were sent with me to college when I returned. Wowee. Pork pickle, made by your mum, is one of the best things to have when you're in a college hostel which served terrible food 6 days in a week. Truth be told, I rarely used the pickle as pickle. I doubt my mum would have minded. I still remember the pork pickle, the making of, the carrying of it to Ketti (met a senior chaechi - girl - on the bus and asked her if she ate pork) and the consumption thereafter with friends (and discovering that most Keralites eat pork, sadly). That pinch of TLC was well-timed; it went a long way in making me feel close to home and family. Thanks, Mum.