Achilles' Heel

They say parents want to give their children a better life than they had.
But how does one do better than the best?

What is a good life?

Is it more means to meet ends that come in golden hardware and jacquard prints? Or maybe a bigger arsenal of European automobiles?

But how does a Merc compare to school rides in a 3 Tonne? Or the pride of walking into a lobby graced by insignia compare to fresh-cut gardenia and bespoke chandeliers at the Ritz?
How can smoked salmon defeat fish fingers? Or the humble Old Monk not rise to Japanese whisky?

We speak of providing our children with more exposure, more happiness, more love, more joy.

But I think a 2-year posting to Thoise gives you more than a 2-week trip to Thailand, and childhood should look like scraped knees, tipsy pudding and five cities a decade.

I want my children to learn etiquette visiting the mess kitchen, as they thank the cooks for their dinner.

I want them to know that Horsebit monogrammed tracksuits hold nothing against my father’s good old Shiv Naresh printed T-shirts.
And not a thousand cold plunges compare to the cadets’ morning runs, no matter the weather.

I want them to be chagrined by the most cumbersome accommodation, so that 15 years hence, when they come back to a bungalow for summer break, they can smile at the irony of life.

I don’t want bone china or pastel-hued linen. I want the olive, white and blue; I want the 1915h cocktail; and all the people we love and call family, dining in messes over the nation that have probably looked the same since 1994.
And we eat proper and we eat slow,
in white plates, with just a little gold to show.

What I’m really trying to say is… it’s Sunday tomorrow and some very lucky kids will have dosa for breakfast.

To the best kind of life,
Cheers

Achilles’ Heel

The Olive, White and Blue

Serenade