Curiosity Sandwich

Being a father of two and a half children, most of my musings have tiny origins. While majority of my time at home goes in answering queries of my two children, my heart also houses a carefree half child, despite my being an adult. I am as keen on dancing in the rains as my children, I am as excited to watch Tom and Jerry as my kids, I am as zealous on enjoying a swing as my little daughter. Neither do I know the cause nor do I intend to discover. The half-child has encountered many onslaughts and curious eyes from the society. Yet it survives!

  

Sometime ago, a media house announced a one-day workshop on acting for children – No entry fee! My son was keen to join but my daughter was not. No one asked me but the child in me was also eager to attend. I expressed my desire in the family on the appointed day. A long debate prevailed - my kids trying to convince me that I had no purpose or eligibility to go there - not being a child. What will everyone think about you, dad?

Is age the only determinant of childhood? I pondered.

My son decided to attend. My daughter was double minded. My temptation poked me. As I reached the venue to drop my son, I also attempted to get an entry. The host – a firm lady – refused; saying that parents were not allowed. However, during the brief interaction she had with us, she was impressed by my daughter and wanted her to attend the workshop.

My daughter was, however, reluctant. I tried to convince her stating that this was a nice opportunity to learn from a professional actor in a small group. She did not budge. I threw bait saying that if she attended, we shall get her a new dress. Her refusal was cemented. I assured that I would wait outside and if at any point of time, she felt bored, she could come out and we would drive back home. She responded with a scornful look – rebuttal reinforced.

I was muted. As we sat back in the car to drive back home, I looked at her – the eyes were profound but derisive. I glanced aside. Pensively, as I positioned myself to start the car, a tear of thought rolled down my eye.

Am I forcing my curiosity upon her? Are my latent temptations finding a vent through her?

I recalled Kahlil Gibran, “Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you.” I reconciled and decided to return home. As the mental conflict settled and I switched on the ignition, the left brain jumped into action. Passion varies from individual to individual and there is no reason why my daughter should also like what I am fond of. However, without adequate exposure, her curiosity would remain half-baked and remain confined to a narrow world. For a passion to be born, for excitement to be eternal, for thoughts to travel and ideas to be immortal, the person ought to be exposed to an unfettered environment with diverse options. By impressing upon my daughter to attend a one day workshop I am only trying to introduce her to a possible new dimension.

I switched off the engine. I told her – a bit firmly - that she would get refreshments if she attended the workshop. Her eyes opened wide. That was the first time since morning that my arguments could perhaps penetrate her mind without refutation. I looked at her eyes again – profound again but shining with hope now. I sensed victory. I garnished my offering. I told her that I would request the host for an extra burger for her if she agreed to attend.

She opened the door of the car and started walking towards the venue waving her hand smilingly. I could see the extra burger in her eyes. I was left to wonder whether the burger was too heavy for her.

Both acceptances and refusals are transitory for a child. She refused because she was not keen at learning that art. She agreed because she was tempted to an extra burger; nee, perhaps, she agreed because she was overpowered by her father’s eagerness.

Curiosity is a state of mind which ought to be devoid of age but not experience. By forcing an opportunity on her to get new experience, did I stamp a seal of my passion on the raw dough or did my persuasion have merit?

As I pen this, I remain inconclusive whether it was her temptation for the burger or my spirit of inquiry that won?

The truth remains sandwiched between two buns.

Anxious.