Family together time

Dad. And Mum. On the 250 cc Yezdi. Taking two little kids (Sam and me) out on a long ride. To the Madras Airport. And just spending time there - watching planes land and take-off. Awesome! It fills me with a sense of pride when I look back on such whacky "outings" my parents have provided us with. In today's world, where all people can think of for "hanging out" is a mall, this thought-train seems quite far-fetched. But it's something that Smitha and I have learnt to do quite well - going out doesn't necessarily mean dressing up, pulling out all the stops and a reservation at a fancy restaurant (we do that too, occasionally). We have long rides on the highway with a stop for chaai (tea) from a roadside shop; we've got paani poori outings and window-shopping trips. We also throw in the freak, impromptu 10.00 pm film watching routine into the mix. Walking around in Mathikere for Kulfi, just simply chilling on the terrace are also part of the deal. All this - cos Mum and Dad showed us by example that time together for a family can be had through a variety of means. Dad introduced us to the Litchi fruit during one of those outings. Dosa from the Dosa King (instant dosa making machine!) at the Central station was a must-eat if we went to the station. There are many, many such instances and "things" which became "stuff that the Herberts do". Most of such things have ceased to be today; but their memories linger in the warmth of our hearts. And hopefully, this warmth would remain as long as we remain on this mortal plane and provide us moments of comfort during the cold, lonely storms that life tosses in our direction. For these memories - all of them - thanks Mum, Dad and Sam. I am blessed.

Family film time

Our family has been one that has unabashedly watched plenty of good films in the theater. Right from ancient classics in the late 80s to many family films in the 90s - our parents would take us to the theater. I can clearly remember watching Aladdin, Jurassic Park, Dennis the Menace and several other films in the 1990s and the 2000s. A story I've repeated numerous times is worth repeating once more - two nights before my Higher Secondary Computer Science exam, my parents took my bro and I for the night show (10.00 pm) at Satyam theater (it was well worth it; we watched The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring). There have been plenty of relationships that have been forged and melded during these theater times - our "bro" family, the Elangos, started becoming what they are to us today (in my opinion) with the viewing of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. There have been film marathons in Maayajaal with Sam T annan and Remo annan and other such "together" times with other friends and family. Time and again, somebody raises the question "Isn't it wrong to watch films?" or the perfectly nonsensical "Isn't it wrong to go to the Theater?" I'm not going to debate on that right now - I just want everyone to know that I really have cherished those family film times with all that popcorn and coke that's been consumed. I've had a pretty amazing childhood, and many of these family film times are part of the fondest memories of that childhood. So thanks to Mum, Dad and Sam for making up these memorable times.

Love expects greater responsibility

I've covered how light Mum's punishment was in Hitting without hurting and I'm not going to go into Dad's means of punishment (which involved physical pain, and was well-deserved). However, I must mention a character trait of Dad that's proved very benefitting in many ways. Dad has this sense of extra caution when it comes to his own kids. If other folk need to cross a line by a mile to get reprimanded by him, his kids need to cross the line by just half that distance to be reprimanded. When that reprimand comes, mind you, it can be quite unnerving. I remember times of metaphorical trembling and withdrawing into a shell, much like a tortoise. I used to completely dislike my Dad at those specific times. For what I thought was public humiliation. Until Kiran Pio happened. Yes - September 2001, the first Volunteers' Training Camp away from the SU camp site (at the Coramandel Country Club), an incident occurred that changed the way I perceived this side of my Dad forever. I don't remember exact details other than my Dad sternly reminding me that I should be with my books, and I should not be out chatting and fooling around (which I was). Stunned into silence, I went away to find my books and comfort in my solitude. Years later, Kiran Pio (who was near me during that incident), informs me that this incident had a profound influence on him. Apparently, he was shocked that someone could so meekly take a Father's reprimand. God apparently used this incident to help him out. I just sat open-mouthed in awe at what miniscule things and hurts our God uses to help the folk around us. I never again felt hurt or bitter or even sad when Dad reprimanded me for mistakes made; I knew there was a purpose behind each reprimand, and God was thick in the midst of these reprimands. Thanks Dad, for all those reprimands. They've brought me here today.

Buying stuff in bigger packs

Mum always bought stuff in bigger packs. Family pack? Double-pack? Triple-pack? Seen them all, bought them all. Toothpaste was always bought in a 250g or a 200g tube (the 250g tubes became increasingly hard to find!). Single- or double- packs of Maggi Noodles were seldom bought in our house. Why would we buy them when they had four- and six- packs? This attitude translates into my own grocery and provision shopping with Smitha these days. We go in for the larger packs, the larger bottles, the larger everything. Is there a right size for stuff? Is it better to buy the smaller or the larger packs? I've no clue. But I cringe at even the thought of not being able to buy Shampoo/Conditioner in one of the standard-sized bottles (we get them humongously big, imported bottles from a Spar Hypermarket). This may not be a big deal for some of you - but for me, it's the way I live - it's how things work for me. For putting this integral buying sense into me without even trying, I have my Mum to thank. Thanks, Mum.

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!

Die Hard Dad

Our family crashed to an accident with all four of us on the bike - in November, 1996. Fortunately (should I even be using that word while talking about this tragedy?!), we were almost right in front of the Apollo Hospital (with the emergency ward) on Poonamallee High Road. We were rushed there in an auto, and the situation was pretty grim; Mum had her face scarred and marred beyond recognition - it looked like a minefield after the enemy has attempted to cross it multiple times. Sam, who had been dragged by a passing auto-rickshaw had a huge ghastly "wound" on his knee. His back hurt, and that needed an X-ray. Me, I was the least hurt - I had scratches on my palms and elbows. Dad had blood profusely pouring out of two deep gashes - one in his forehead and the other near his elbow. There were other scratches and bruises for him. So the Doc and the nurses are fixing us all up, injections, stitches - the works. And my Dad asks the Doc "I've a programme in Tambaram tomorrow. Can I take the bike?" Sam T annan (friend of the family) who was there said "This man is die hard!" It stunned and shocked me. Accident, hurt, wounds, crashed bike - all could be damned; the work that he had a heart for, was what was most important. That, my dear friends, is a near-impossible role model to live upto; a target that I can only hope and pray to achieve by atleast 50%. While God works on me to get me to that 50%, I've simply got to say a "Thank you" to the real-life die hard hero I've got - thanks, Dad.

Late Night Mum

Mum began her Ph. D. in Theology in 1995. The computer entered our house in early 1996. Slowly yet steadily, Mum became more and more of a night owl. When I was in school, I used to wonder what made her sit back so late and work on her thesis and stuff. I got to college and I understood. There've been nights when I've yakked away my time till midnight, and then sat down to work on some project (read: awesome animated intro) or finish up my notes - which could go on till about 4 or 5 in the morning. I surprised myself at such times, because I'm generally quite lazy by nature. However, I also understood why Mum used to sit up so late - the brain finds it easier to crank at high speeds when there's nothing/no one else around. I still loving sitting up at night, yawns and sleepy eyes in full tow - to get that article done, to finish up that email or to just devour the latest news on technology's greatest. You may think this is wrong, but I think this is an invaluable part of my  life and I feel hugely indebted to my Mum for leading the way, lighting the path ahead and raising me to these heights. Thanks, Mum.

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.

Bring home the tasty pastry

This was another well-loved staple in our house. Whenever Dad went shopping (with Mum or alone), he would come back with some tasty treats for the "kids". This would range from some of the costliest, mouth-watering chocolate truffles to the simple yet satisfying sweet-things such as those delectable "choco balls" sold by FoodWorld. There would generally be two of everything, with a few extra ones here and there (Mum and Dad also needed to eat something, right?!). For me personally, it was always very exciting to dive into the shopping bags brought home to find the one that contained the "immediately eatable" baked goods and partition it for everyone and start eating it right away. My love for those choco/rum balls, the croissants, those incredibly rich "Japanese" cakes - all started right there in those shopping bags. Whatever one can say about my Dad, this is an undeniable fact - he knows what his kids like, and he brings that home. 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.

Understanding the kid in me

Over the years, my Dad and I have had plenty of disagreements - some of which have been extremely heated and unbecoming of us. Most of my frustrated screaming fits were due to me thinking that "Dad doesn't get it" or something along those lines. And it tends to be that the mind thinks that people my own age would understand better, especially my brother Sam. There's one undying memory in my head, though, that's contrary to such notions and it stands out like a beacon in the darkness of such thoughts. I'm guessing I was somewhere between 12-14 years of age when this occurred. I fell totally in love with a song (the first song that I fell for) from a children's cassette - The Amazing Book - called Letter of Love. I loved everything about it, and so I carved the words "Love Letter" on a fat stick that was lying around the room. When my bro found it, he started questioning me with a mischievous look "What's this da? Love letter, huh?!" Without batting an eyelid, my Dad shushed my bro "You guys listen to that song so much, know? Must be from that." I was stunned. Normally, things should have been the other way around with Dad questioning and bro stepping in. There have been many more instances of my Dad fully comprehending and understanding his two sons. But none are so indelibly burned into my memory such as this one - thanks, Dad, for the understanding, insight and wisdom.

Accommodating the kids

Another little known fact in current friend circles: Sam and I, each had our set of plastic (and other material) toys (teddy bear kinds) with which we've spent loads of time playing around. I had my set of non-living friends, and Sam had his. We treated them like people within our own imaginary games. Although Mum seldom joined us in the fun, her full support was with us at all times. She helped us sew tiny pillows and other things for these inanimate people that we kids loved. We eventually grew out of those toys, but I'll fondly remember Mum being the epitome of encouragement and help for our little selves' imaginary world. Thanks, Mum.

Sam: Elder, Better and Bigger

Seriously - how can I go on thanking my parents for the littlest things that matter most without thanking them for my bro sometime?! I can say with full conviction that Sam came into my life on day 1, and has been in it till today. And he has brought with him loads of fun (right from wanting to name me Goliath!), loads of material things (still remember him going for one-day school picnics and buying me some tiny knick-knack or the other even then), loads of fights (verbal, physical, egoistic, electronic, long-distance...), tonnes of knowledge (he's a walking, talking Encyclopaedia), plenty of chances for me to take a dig at him (getting that sly blush from him is a super reward) and of course, multitudinous instances (from camps, retreats and life itself) for me to learn that my elder brother is better and bigger in almost everything I'm good at. For all this, and plenty more littlest things that 27 years on this Earth have brought into my life, I just gotter thank my Mum and Dad for my bro Sam. Without their upbringing skills, and their inputs into his life - he wouldn't be the brother that he has been to me. So, thank you Sam, thank you Mum and thank you Dad.

Hurting and loving

You've read my previous two posts about my Dad, about being in the thick of things and about taking care of the emotionally needy, and you know that Dad can take quite a bit. There have been instances when his patience has worn thin (most of these instances were when I was going from 15 till about 21). However, Dad has the capacity to absorb many of the challenging situations that the three of us (Mum, Sam and I) put him through. They way Mum and Dad brought up my bro and me was for us to think and come to decisions/conclusions on our own, and also to run the family as a democracy - this worked well for everyone concerned, except one person - Dad. The decision-making still rested with him, and the three of us would present him with three differing, yet equally valid and strong arguments. We used to do this quite a bit. Reminiscing now, I can see that Dad was unofficially the punching bag - because he offered himself up for that role. He could take the hurt and the pain, cos he had the love and everything else required to make one heckuva Dad. Really, thank you for taking all those "punches", Dad.

Hitting without hurting

A little known fact about Mum. She hates "conditioning" or "scolding" little kids. So when Sam (my bro) and I were kids, and we did something "bad" (which happened quite often, if my memory serves me right) my Mum would try hard to discipline us. I say try because her strongest form of discipline (short of complaining to Dad!) would be to use an inverted comb (a thin, long one) to whack our outstretched palms. Really. At times, it did sting quite a bit; but mostly, this punishment wasn't sufficient for crimes committed. People who've worked with Mum and worked for Mum can tell you simply - Mum is very strict. She would discipline her college students who bunked college for Ministry, though her heart was for Ministry. That being the extent of her disciplining, having her mete out "punishment" to us in the most mildest form possible was something that proved beyond doubt that her disciplining was not without love. I never understood this as a kid - that she provides mild physical punishments because of love; but looking back now, it's pretty clear that her tender heart and immense love is what made us escape multitudes of possible punishments, as kids. Thanks, Mum.

Emotionally scarred and wanting

If you've been following closely the stuff I write in this blog, you can make out that my parents are generally "nice" people. Where my Dad has gone the extra mile, in his ministry-related work and in his relationships with people - is to literally pour himself out for someone in need. As his son, I've seen plenty of instances of such things over the years. There have been urgent calls for him in the middle of the night; there have been calls for him to come to another city totally, to help with situations and emotionally encumbered persons; there have been school principals calling on him for assistance; there have been scary "fight" situations that he's been called to defuse; there have been broken relationships that he has been called to mend; there have been families that have taken his advice and help to bond together. For every single call or request, my Dad responds with full force. It's like the Indian Army appearing in full force to save just a single man caught behind the LOC across the border. Every time. All the time. It's never been easy being the son of such a man - but it does help when I look at my own life and see tiny tiny bits of me being poured out into others' lives. I don't run to others at midnight, or get called away to other cities to solve intense emotional issues; but what I do do, is try to address the emotional needs of people around me which I see - as best I can. For this, my Dad is the cause. Thanks, Dad.

The Industrious and Hard-working

We worship a God who wanted the Israelites to not tie the mouths of the domestic animals that were used to crush grain - so that they may eat whatever they wanted while they worked - and for land-owners to not gather all the grain from their fields - so that the poor and needy could have something to gather and eat. This attitude of being nice to the less fortunate takes a slightly different benevolent streak in my Mum. She looks out for and staunchly supports the "less fortunate" amongst us who are industrious. I've seen her buy many homemade things from door-to-door sales folk, just taking pity on them. There've been exhausted women, aspiring MBA graduates, little boys begging for a sale and plenty others. Many have benefited from their plight tugging at my Mum's heartstrings. Frankly, this nature of Mum has filtered into me to a great extent - simple stuff like I can't stomach the fact that people have to travel like animals cooped into unreserved coaches in our trains while I travel comfortably in an air-conditioned coach (not all the time, of course, but still...). I simply can't bear that we all are not with equal disposable incomes and equal opportunities in life. Call it being kind, call it being impractical - whatever it is, it's something I've picked up from Mum, and I'm actually grateful to have such a heart-rooted sense of being. Thanks, Mum.

My Dad, the all-in-one person

If you know my Dad - J. Herbert Samuel, you'll know for a fact that the only organisation he has ever served with is Scripture Union. He began his career as a staff worker in the 70s, moved to Madras in the 80s to handle English SU work, took English ministry nationwide in the late 90s, took over the newly launched Training department in the early 2000s, and then became the Ministries Director (handling all the departments of SU such as Training, Camps, English, Bible Reading, etc.) some years ago. The best part? My Dad doesn't stick to his job description. Anyone in his organisation who approaches him for help in many different areas - technical expertise, releasing a DVD/audio, clipping some home-made movie clips, developing a publication, launching a new event/method for the ministry - is never turned away. Fortunately, my Dad is not a jack of all trades; he's a master of many trades with knowledge of many more. To be the son of such a person is... at times, jarring and at times, exhilarating. My Dad being the all-in-one person that he is has meant that I get to experience life at various different levels in various different activities. A smorgasbord of stuff happening all the time - and my Dad in the thickest of things. He's where the action is at, and me, being his son, have become that way to quite an extent. I take things upon myself in the intent of helping others out - and there's a whirlwind of activity surrounding me at most times. It's good to have a full life. Thanks, Dad, for providing me that fullness of life.

My Mum, the prolific brainiac

Yes, my mum - Mrs. Beulah Herbert - is a terrifyingly awesome brainiac. Right from her days of teaching Physics, to being the first lady missionary with the FMBP organisation, she has dived into and fully devoured many avenues of living. This awesome property and capacity to just get into a field and be fully submerged in it is something that's often understated and misunderstood. It doesn't communicate well to the onlookers - but if you closely analyse Mum's life, she's really been a star at everything she's taken on. The aforementioned Physics and missionary notwithstanding, I could wax eloquent about her desire to pick a little-known or little-advertised topic for her theological doctorate degree. There are things I ask her (from various topics ranging from Biblical anomalies to cooking disasters) even today, and her answers are never succinct - there's just way too much information in Mum's head to give out simplistic answers. This brainiac-ness has hopefully made it through into me in some way. Even if it hasn't, I am blessed beyond measure in just being a son to such an amazing lady. Thanks, Mum, for being who you are.

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.