If Gods are crazy, fellow beings are no less. The summons to the ‘Challenges’ in the virtual world rain like there’s no tomorrow. Promptly post the lockdown, I unwittingly find myself on a silent steady diet of challenges, where dissent is not only looked down upon but failing to tow the line is criminal, inviting not just contempt but virtual social ostracism.
Time and again I find myself tagged to at least a dozen if not more to the so called Saree Challenge posts. It’s pretty harmless, all you need to do is drape a six yards saree and flaunt your draping skills preferably complemented by a curvaceous body with plenty of fillers thrown in. I adore women who are good at it, seriously I do. Unfortunately I neither have a collection of exquisite sarees and even if I have, I lack the skills to drape and even if I manage with the draping I don’t have a curvaceous figure to flaunt which pathetically reminds me I’m much beyond any form of redemption with respect to my god forsaken fitness programme. The easy way out is to haunt the old family albums to get that ideal picture that meets all the prescribed parameters. Needless to say, I do so, and play along, but just as quickly lose interest in this particular challenge, and voila I learn to untag myself from such posts.
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Next is the primal trial of survival where you end up exhibiting your expertise in churning up frugal recipes which leaves the viewers drooling. Among the innumerable tasks I dislike to the core, cooking is what I dread in this blessed world. I envy my full blown foodie friends, who in most cases incidentally or coincidentally happen to be great chefs too. From stale rotis they can churn out mouth watering tacos, or from leftover chapattis delicious Mexican Quesadilla. I idolise such masters who in a jiffy can produce a jazzy makeover of leftover foods. But, rather than inspiring me, they leave me green with envy. I quickly learn to shun this challenge on the grounds of finding it extremely unpalatable. I also learn to ignore the same, refusing to give in to their uncanny gastronomic inhuman demands.
Now comes the Motherhood Challenge, where you and your offsprings should be in one frame. Fortunately I have only two kids but it was a hair wrecking exercise to find them in one frame. I ravaged all the family albums to get that one picture which meets the criteria. It’s a dreadful moment, where I am balancing a wretched smile along with a restless toddler on my lap, while another equally edgy infant is all determined to kiss his sibling, refusing to pose for the camera, nonetheless captured together for posterity. Surprisingly, there are not many pics where the three of us are together. Impulsively I ask my kids who are now teenagers – Well, do you think I’m a good mom to you’ll? Instantly and empathetically there’s a unison response “NO”. Their response ensured. I dare not take this challenge, not now not ever.
Tired of virtual challenges, I have gone ahead and challenged myself of keeping my mouth shut. A challenge that will certainly make lockdown more bearable to the less fortunate trapped with me under one roof. Make that 24×7 a chorus that keeps ringing in the backdrop.
