Cloud Nine, on Valentines

My daughter is 16, and on Cloud Nine because Valentine’s is around the corner. Ever since she turned 10, Radhika has been collecting gifts, cards and sweet nothings that fill the air around the 14th of February.

According to her, the generation gap is a convenient excuse to say “NO” to just about anything she wants, or wants to do. She also thinks 50-year-olds can be light years away from teenage crushes and fond glances that find their way into greeting cards.

So, even before I can recover from the recessionary spiral of January, we’re headlong into month two, running smack into Valentine’s. The girls are like goggle-eyed teenagers surrounded by fireflies, and the jabber-jabber on the phone threatens to spike my phone bills once again.

Each girl in their group is profiled with the most attention she’s likely to receive from suitable boys. And their probability assessments could teach analysts of the presidential elections, a thing or two. This is when the applied mathematics they learn is put to the ultimate test – much to the discomfort of their teachers.
 
But there has been one aspect to Valentine’s Day that gets me tuned in. Unfailingly, every year, there’s one close friend of Radhika’s who patiently answers all my questions, and nudges my understanding of teenagers to a new level of enlightenment.

This year, Ritu had a new story. She told me about a friend in her neighborhood whose grandparents were separated for years – at least thirty years from what she gathered. I presumed Trevor and Edith were around seventy and wondered how tortuous it must be to remain decidedly distant – for years on end. I then learnt that for the last ten years Trevor sent a huge mush of roses and the biggest cards money could buy, for Valentine’s. He did that year after year after year, only to draw a blank.

Ritu then let me into another secret; the girls were planning to bring Trevor and Edith together for Valentine’s. First, they would design ten return-cards meant for Trevor – for each year he had so fondly wished that the tide would turn. Next, they worked on at least 20 ways to coax and convince Edith to relent – just that teeny, weenie bit.

This was so touching, I found myself numbing to the growing lump in my throat.

Their plans included a cozy candle-lit dinner at a restaurant nearby and a specially decorated car – arranged by one of the girls – to take the couple to an ice cream parlor they liked to visit when they were first married.

While their game plan was praiseworthy in terms of good intentions, a negative response could be devastating for Trevor. I had to play my own little role to ensure that all of this wasn’t merely child’s play.

I secretly obtained Edith’s address and went over on a surprise visit. She was a good math teacher and my excuse to go over was to ask her if she could help my daughter improve her equation with the subject, if not her grades. Half way through a discussion on the lack of concentration among teenagers, I guided the conversation to what the girls had planned and how they were innocently treading on thin ice.

I told Edith that I was obviously trespassing private space and was risking her wrath and what the girls had in store for me, if they knew I had let the cat out of the bag. I also explained to her that this was one concerned adult who wanted to prevent a rebound of emotions, if something went wrong.

For all that I said, there was a deathly silence. Edith had a pained expression on her face that seemed to look far into the distance. When she regained composure, Edith took me aside, to open a large brown box with a crisply ironed wedding dress that had retained its vintage pride.

 “I knew something like this would happen this year and have my answer ready,” she said. “NO. I won’t be a stick-in-the-mud, this Valentine’s.”

(That evening, I announced a special party for the girls on the 13th of February that was on the house. And the boys were welcome.)

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Sharath Bhat is a freelance advertising writer from Bangalore. He blogs at www.indianink.in.