A Satyagraha. And its aftermath.

On the morning of the 7th October, at around 0500h IST, a Satyagraha was called in the Bear household. The little bear had, on the previous night itself, asked Alexa if it was going to rain on the said day, and Alexa had offered a probability (28% or something, if I remember correctly), which had been mistakenly interpreted for a sure-shot guarantee of precipitation the next a.m, and it was duly (and I daresay, unilaterally) announced that there will be no running on the morning of the 7th.

Unfortunately, the rain gods decided to well, take a rain-check, and walked away from the promised thunderstorm to open a beautiful, crisp, and dry day as the morning dawned.

Baba bear, unaware of the happenings of the preceding night, picked up little bear in his gogi (for more information on this word, see here), kissed her good morning, and started singing U2’s ‘It’s a beautiful day, Don’t let it get away, It’s a beautiful day’, as he carried her to the toilet, to set her down on her home slippers, which is exactly how every weekday starts in this house.

Now, normally about twice a week, there is a bit of refusal to open her eyes, a bit of pleading to let her sleep, up until the time the toothbrush goes into her mouth. Then, once the count to 100 (it is recommended by dental professionals that teeth be brushed for about 2 minutes) begins and Baba bear starts dancing around and making faces and imitating voices with every number, things look brighter and brighter. The pre-run snack is debated and decided upon (a choice of bananas, toast-butter, toast-Hershey’s, chikki, or some fruit, always cut into interesting shapes by Baba bear), and Baba bear saunters off to the kitchen to prepare the menu as Baby bear finishes her brushing and po-po, changes into her running gear (this prep is always done on the previous night, a good habit that Mamma bear inculcated in everyone at the Bear household), wears her shoes, and comes to the table, where her snack awaits. Baba bear goes back to the kitchen, where he percolates Mamma bear’s coffee, mixes the milk and Bournvita and chills it (to be served during chess class later), and prepares fresh nimbu–paani for the run, all the while sipping his ginger tea he’s made just after waking up at 4. Earlier, Alexa would play either U2 or MS Subbulaxmi (yep, bears have strange taste in music), but nowadays, Mamma bear works till late and so, needs her sleep. So, all of this is done in silence (or as much as one can muster up with all the movement, singing, dancing, and conversation, even if conducted in whispers).

This is how a ‘normal’ weekday starts. Not on the instance of the 7th of October though. On that day, the initial crankiness did not stop, but in fact kept increasing in volume, until Baba bear could take it no more. He asked, ‘What is wrong with you? It’s not raining. It’s a beautiful day. Let’s go running. Like every morning.’, to which the response was, ‘But I do not want to go.’ This response was repeated for any supplementary question asked and it soon became infuriating for Baba bear and frustrating for all parties concerned to keep the conversation going. Baba bear insisted that running shall happen today, and he shall not take no for an answer, to which there was initially a silent stare as response, and then with determined eyes, Baby bear walked into her room and conducted her fourth-ever tantrum (yep, we are counting), or shall we say, a Satyagraha. However, this was conducted less in the fashion of Gandhi or Vinoba Bhave and more like the Russian feminist group, Femen, meaning that the process of lodging a protest was:

(a) take off all your clothes;

(b) stand in the middle of the room;

(d) meet any attempt at conversation with more (and louder) wailing.

Baba bear looked like he was broadsided by the smaller ship with better cannons and a captain who liked to take the fight to the enemy camp instead of running from a bigger, faster ship. Truly, the size of fight in this dog meant that Baba bear had to withdraw in a hurry, clearly outgunned, outthought, and outmanoeuvred. In every department. He was also out of analogies to describe this feeling. Check. And mate.

The battle was carried, and Baby bear returned to the cosy bed to snuggle in the softness of Mamma bear’s embrace. Snooze time was restored and Baba bear left for his walk in a huff, in nonplussed amusement as to what to do against this new-found tactic.

But he needn’t have worried. Apparently, the little one decided to come clean about some ‘issues’ she was having. A major one was that earlier, when she and Baba bear would walk to the running track, she’d get 15m, either way, to talk about ‘big things’ like stars and planets, democracy and voting, horses and chess, books and tv, music and dance, and so on (never about boys or friends or cousins or anything related to emotions, which somehow is reserved for Mamma bear). 15 minutes of monopoly time when there were no other claimants to his time. No phone, no work, not even other walkers around them. Just the two of them.

But ever since the runs shifted to the racecourse, the car was used instead of walking (since the distance is too far to go by foot) and all conversations had come to a halt. As soon as the pair reached the racecourse, the warmup and the subsequent running was conducted separately and in silence, after which it was a quick return to the vehicle, from there to the gym (where, ever since Baba bear started his own exercise, he did not supervise Baby bear’s and they both worked out independently), and from there home again to rush into the bath, followed by a quick breakfast, and logging in to chess. The fun, it was clear, had gone out of the morning routine.

Plus, there was the matter of the nimbu juice which was sold just outside the racecourse (Author’s note: Nimbu juice sold at the racecourse tastes like nothing you can make at home), and which was being eyed by the little athlete ever since the first day, but who never got to taste it for various reasons (aka excuses like, ‘Oh, but I forgot my wallet’, or, ‘We’re late. Some other day.’) and since a protest was being conducted, might as well include all the demands, what say?

Baba bear was shocked. Is that how he was coming across? Was he being the father in ‘Dangal’ (our favourite movie, just after ‘Secret Superstar’) who has no clue that sometimes his daughter is just a little girl? There was thinking to be done. And much to apologise and correct. With immediate effect.

Such was promised. And with that hope (and kisses, and snuggles), the day ended.

We now come to this morning, when Baba bear arose as usual and, finishing his own morning rituals, entered the kitchen to get everyone’s morning beverages ready, only to hear some singing from the bathroom. On inspection, it was revealed that a sleepy-looking Baby bear had woken herself up on the dot at 5, and was brushing her teeth so she could surprise Baba bear, humming ‘It’s a beautiful dayyyyy!’

Though the car was once again used to go to the racecourse, when it was reached, Baba bear told the little one, much to her delight, that the first round of 2km would be run together. And they could talk. About stars and the universe mainly today. But also about Abhi chacha and Ajoba. Because it is IAF’s 89th birthday. The next 2 rounds would, of course, be timed. Baby bear did not disappoint, posting her best time for 5km, a neat 40m:29s.

After the run, nimbu juice was duly ordered and consumed with much relish (it could not be finished though, for it is a rather large glass), and then at the gym, Baba bear gave his baby 100% attention, helping her, encouraging her, and counting out the reps, himself exercising only after she had finished and left for home, where another surprise awaited her: Mamma bear was taking her to Mumbai (where Mamma bear had a business meeting). Yay! This must be the best day ever.

And it is only 0900h IST.