Silver Lining

Ever have those days when you feel the walls are closing in on you? When you arrive at the point where you feel everything you do, anything you do, is futile; that the world is still a cruel, sad place to be living in? That all your endeavors as a parent may just not work out?

Well, I did have a day like that. A day when I wondered if anything we did as parents was enough to make good people out of these little projects we have called children.

Why do I call them projects? Well, because they ARE - they live with us, they thrive on what we give out to them, but they don't BELONG to us. They are handed over to us by providence, or nature, or God (if you aren't an atheist) to nurture and place, when they are ready, into the world - much like a project.

Anyway, going back to the realization that we have so little control when it comes to raising them; how do we actually know that we are on the right track? Well, we don't know it. We can only take subtle hints thrown in by the great Sensei (yes, am a Karate Kid fan) called life.

We must be in the right direction if we see signs like these right?

• Kiddo aged seven, in all earnestness, wants to bring home every stray dog he can find. Though he was crestfallen when we told him dogs do not like to be kept indoors in his room, he decided he was going to feed them every chance he got.
• His elder sister, all of 11, wants to donate her books to a kid who cannot go to school. We have gone to great lengths to un-label, put in fresh covers and re-label her old books to give them out - all at her insistence.
• When the adults in the house (that translates as me and hubby) fight over things that matter little to them, the brother-sister duo spare no words to let us choose between being "sent to the Principal" or "shake hands and be friends again". 
• They call up their grandparents to tell them how much they loved the biryani they ate at their place. (And then promptly proceed to tell them embarrassing truths of my home!)
• Little fellow comes home from cricket match one day singing "Chikni Chameliiiiiii, Chup ke akeliiiiiiii, Kowa chadhake Ayi"  When we explained to him that the song was not really about a pet crow (Kowa) - and that kids don't actually sing these songs, he promptly replaced the song with "Jungle jungle baat chali hai......." (You know the rest!)
• Little one propped his pudgy little hand on my cheek and asked me how mosquitoes knew the blood group of the people they were drinking blood from. (we had just filled out his medical form where we had filled out his blood group as well)
• 11 year old wears a dress, but looks at the mirror, and decides she looks fat. However, she changes her mind when the little fellow looks at her closely, and gives her the best compliment she has ever got - "You can sit with me in the birthday party." 
• After a PTM meeting (let me assure you, its more stressful than business meetings) that went particularly well, little one asks, "Mom, are you inpred with me?" (that is 'impressed' in baby talk)
• Elder one comes home one evening upset that a friend spread lies about her in school. So when I asked her what she wanted to do, she said she would ask her friend about it. Because, "she is my 'bestest' friend!"
• On another occasion, when she found out that our domestic help could not understand English, she was distressed and started tutoring her. Watching the elder sister tutoring, the little one promptly brings out his crayons, and declares to the bewildered woman, "Now I will teach you coloring!"

Amidst laughter and tears I realize how maybe, just maybe, we are doing it right!

copyright @Pinterest

Rituals of Life

Life takes a full circle, and comes back with a lesson or two…

This profound truth found its way into my conscience when I started insisting on certain rituals during the course of the day with my children. When I was growing up, my relationship with these seemingly silly rituals enforced by my mother, ranged from gleeful giggles when very young, to rebellious questions when older.

The rituals my mother enforced on us, and the ones I speak of here, are not rituals that are written down in religious scriptures. They are simple, day-to-day activities made closer to the heart, so that we carry comforting memories of it through the trying times in our lives.

For example, we have a “Greeting rule” at home – both when we wake up and when we go to bed. No matter what – whether you are tired, or angry, or have had a fight with one another, the rule stays. Sometimes, it is this simple “Good Morning” or “Good Night” that chips away the differences, and brings the siblings closer to each other.

Another rule enforced rather strictly at home, is the “Hug before you leave” rule. As the name implies, we have hurried hugs, even if the school bus is honking angrily at the gate. Needless to say, the kids run smiling into the bus, even though the early morning routine may not have been entirely to their liking.

Choosing their bed-covers every time it’s time to change them, is another ritual we love to do together. Ofcourse, choosing it extends into helping me with tucking in the washed, crisp sheets and putting in the pillow covers to match. Thus, an activity which would have been considered a chore, now becomes family bonding time, leaving pleasant imprints in their minds.

Laying the table for the family dinner (the only meal we eat at the dining table as a family), picking out the crockery when we have guests over, deciding the menu for parties, or the venue for a celebratory dinner, are all “rituals”. And the rules remain the same: Everyone participates. (Even if you are sulking!!)

We have our ugly days too. A ten year old who thinks her mother is just not ‘cool’ enough to hand over an expensive piece of gadget to her, or a five year old who has just been reprimanded for pouring water all over the living room rug. Mom and Dad have just had an argument about the broken tap. Just like any family, we have our shares of sulks and fights.

But over the years, we have, as a family, evolved into a collective habit. We set aside the sulks and the fights to accommodate these seemingly silly rituals.

This, perhaps, will train them for the future; a future where they will have emotionally, physically and mentally trying times. But also a future where they realise that the tiring times can be set aside to give time to more important things – like a hug, a greeting, for a loved one; or a bed time story for a little one.

This post was originally published at 'Parentous'

When I write....

* Rant alert!!!
** Writer's block
*** Bad combination! What you still doing here?

I found a treasure recently - an old dairy, with yellowing pages and folded edges.

Yes. Yours truly was the kind who poured her sappy heart out into fresh, crisp sheets with narrow lines, of a dairy..... Lines that barely contained the tails of the 'g's and the heads of the 'T's.... just as it could barely contain the emotions that poured forth from the much chewed reynolds pen.

I read them again and again, with flashes of visuals coming in spurts and bits. I laughed at some of the pages, amazed at how much joy the little things in life gave. The flutter of a heartbeat when a glance lingered on a little more than it should. The sense of pride in hearing one's name being mentioned alongside obvious 'excellent' students in class. The hurt in finding that not everyone saw things in the same light as I did. Uninhibited emotions that could only be shared with the best of friends..... sometimes only a dairy could take on that role.

Remember the simple joy of writing? Not punching impersonal, cloned alphabets into the keyboard of a swanky laptop; but the sheer genius of creating words, sentences and stories through a pen. The joy of seeing one's personality flow out of the pen into beautiful, pristine sheets of paper.

When was the last time I had to change the refill of a pen? I don't remember - pens no longer ran out of ink before we lost them!

Remember how our growing up years were, to a great extent, focussed on perfecting this very art of transferring thoughts to paper. We put in years of practice - of holding the pen at that perfect angle, of keeping the thumb positioned at the best position to leverage the speed of the mischevious nib, the tilt of the index finger and the agility of the wrist. Years of parents of toddlers tightly holding their little fingers wrapped around pencils, coaxing, threatening, bribing those little minds to replicate letters, words and numbers.

Remember how we could determine who the owner of an essay was, by just looking at the writing? Or the hours spent thinking who the 'secret admirer' was - and then comparing all the handwritings in class to try and arrive at a blissful conclusion? Remember how parents proudly held aloft notebook covered in brown paper to show off the handiwork that lie within? 

Years of aching wrists and fingers, not to mention the agony of lost or stolen pens, pencils, erasers and sharpeners; years of ink-smeared fingers, ink smudged shirt pockets, ink cartridges and refills - today, are all just a page in the story of  each of us.

pic courtersy google images

 

No More Kanya ‘Daan’

I was in a wedding, the kiddos in tow. My kids love the extravagant Delhi weddings. Of course, the fact that they get to guzzle all the soft drinks they want, and binge on the array of desserts does have something to do with it, but I suspect it has to do with the music and the dancing too.

Weddings are also a place where relatives by the dozen, meet, exclaim on how much the kids have grown, and give them a tight hug, or a pull of the baby cheeks. This is also a time when my ‘ideal bahu’ (daughter-in-law) avatar makes a guest appearance, as I touch their feet in respect.

As the kids grew up, they picked up the habit from us, the parents. It began with the grandparents, and then to all and sundry who seemed to be people we did the exercise (pun intended!) with. While the grandparents are a very enlightened lot, there are relatives who are yet to accept concepts like gender equality.

Thus, in this particular wedding, I greeted an elderly aunt with much respect. My son, being the energetic five-year old that he is, immediately took on the game of ‘feet-touching’ too. Needless to say, the elderly aunt was ecstatic to receive this token of respect from him. Not to be left behind, my daughter, all of nine, decided to garner some brownie points too.

But the moment she bent down to touch her feet, the aunt gasped and said, “Oh, but girls in our family don’t touch feet.” A perplexed nine-year old was not able to understand why she was not given the same blessings.

A little later, a conversation between the still-confused none year old and the relative in question (yes, I have a persistent daughter ):

Little G : Badi Dadi (Elder Grandmother) why didn’t you let me touch your feet?

Elderly Aunt : Because I love you very very much.

Little G : But you let my brother do it....dosn’t you love my brother ?

EA : Oh, but in our homes, daughters are like Devi (Goddesses)…. So you are like a ‘Devi’ for me.

Little G (still thinking hard): So that means no girls should touch feet right? What about Mamma? She is also a girl. Why can she touch your feet?

EA : Well, you will not touch our feet – not your parents or us. Your brother can, but you can't. You see beta, you will touch the feet of elders in your home. (Noticing the perplexed expression on her face, Dadi clarifies)…. When you get married.

This is where I had to interfere and take her aside to prevent any further conversation on the same topic. But some damage had already been done – I discovered that Little G was not very happy with the way things were. She looked at me through spoonfuls of the ice cream, and said, “But this is my home!”

I assured her this most certainly was her home, and she could do all the stuff her brother would – including touching feet if she so felt like it! She hugged me and rushed off to play, the worry out of her mind, the ambiguity no longer visible to her.

While I discussed this with my Mother in Law, she was sympathetic with my concerns, but she said that ‘this is how the world is’. When I question further, on why the world is such, she patiently explained to me that every societal norm that was ever made, revolved around the fact that girls would be married off one day, and would cease to be part of their birth family.

Hmmmmm………. So, they were pampered to bits in their families, only to be treated like second grade citizens in their ‘married to’ family! Wow – that certainly made sense!

But this set me thinking – why do we have rules that create differences in two children?

- Dowry for one, property for the other

- Family name for one, soft corner for another

- Education for one, ‘Training’ for another

- “Budhape ka sahara” for one, “Paraya Dhan” for another

So, are we saying that we have differential rules to facilitate the roles of our sons and our future daughters in law - so that they are 'conditioned' to be care-takers as son and daughter-in-law?

Who gave us the right to decide our childrens' role in our lives? We stay with our sons and pine for our daughters, while cursing our daughters in law. We stay with our in-laws, while wishing for the company of our parents and envying our brothers.

At the end of this angry rant, an ancillary to all these ‘rules’ – do we have kids so that our ‘Budhapa’ is taken care of? Well, I know that for many of us, it’s a vehement ‘NO’. So then, why can’t we do away with differentiating ‘rules’ for the little ones?

I leave you with a beautiful piece from the Lebanese poet Gibran

“Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams”

Thoughts Please .......

This was originally posted in "Parentous"

Oh for the Love of Love!!

You can hate it, you can love it, you can scoff about it, or you can be wistful about it. But there's no way you can ignore this mush-in-your-face-festivities called Valentine's day!!

Who cares that it actually is in memory of a martyr? Just like Mother's Day (another festival where the person who championed the cause , actually spent her entire fortune fighting the commercialized version of her dream), Valentine's Day owes its popular existence entirely to the geniuses in the marketing department of card companies.

However, like I said, one really cannot ignore V-day, can we? Whether its the lovestruck couples around you, or the trying-to-get-lucky-in-love variety, or the I-hate-this-day-coz-I'm-so-lonely people you encounter, each one only reminds you that today my dear, is Valentine's Day.

My love-hate relationship with V day began the year I started college. (Yes, yes, laugh all you want. When we were school going kids in a little town tucked away in the hills of Kerala, we had no clue 14th Feb was any different from other days!) 

The shock came by way of being suddenly confronted with different kinds of hopefuls - some were shy and endearing, some haughty and confident, some funny and clueless. (The funny and clueless variety were my favorite!). But as freshers in college, V day was far from pleasant - you had no idea who would spring forth from the corner of the cafeteria to thrust a rose and a chocolate bar at you!

However, at the height of pheromone-driven love, V day syndrome reached a different level - this day was yet another excuse to suffocate the person you love with an overdose of gifts and romantic words stuffed into a card. (Honestly, does anyone remember the Hallmark cards with pages and pages of poetry written on them?). But truth be said, one did not, even for a moment, allow common sense to over rule the heart. Thus, all the ridiculously priced roses, all the unbelievably juvenile gifts did seem to make complete sense to the hormone crazed hearts, didn't they?

The first few years of commitment in love, or what they call 'marriage' brought about a certain saneness in the way we celebrated V-day. I mean you see the guy every day! So of course you are not gushing your heart out in a clandestine meeting over ridiculous candlelight and a teddy bear that cheekily says 'I love you.' But a peer-pressure induced romantic evening was certainly a welcome change from the daily monotony of work-home balance.

As the years go by, and the relationship has moved on from 'I-wonder-if-he-still-loves-me-as-much' phase, love, and everything that symbolizes it, takes on a new meaning. Let me try to decipher what 'love' means to me on this V-day

• When he starts a conversation with, 'I don't know if you will like this........' I know I am going to love the new book, or the new scarf he has picked up for me. (No, there has never been uber-expensive surprises. We prefer long discussions and opinions and choices when we want to spend like there's no tomorrow!)
• When he walks out of the room to have a long conversations on the phone, I don't have the urge to overhear his conversation
• When I cook something special, he urges the kids to yell "Very yummy Mom!" - which the kids comply willingly
• When I have a ridiculous incident (read that as falling flat on my face while walking on perfectly aligned plane surfaces) he tries very hard to hide his laugh.
• When I have a flat tire, even though I know there's no way he's going to be able to help, I still call him. And he, after appropriate sympathetic tut-tuts, tells me the obvious - to call the helpline.
• When I have to take an early morning flight, and I tiptoe around the house getting ready, he will wake up, switch on the living room lights, plop himself on the sofa, and sleep with his eyes open till I leave.
• When we fight over who switches off the light at night, he teams up with both the kids to blackmail me - "Mommmmmeeeeee ....... please switch of the light. We loooooooove you!"
• I reach out and hold his hand in the movie theatre. Sometimes the kids are in between, but we negotiate with them to change seats ;-)
• I like Chinese and Continental food, and he considers only Indian cuisine to be 'food'. So we usually go to multi-cuisine restaurants.
• He smiles indulgently at the daughter when she explains how the silly guy in school does not know chlorophyll helps in photosynthesis. And then he points at me and says 'Did you know Mum was Head Girl in school?'
• His chest visibly swells in pride when kiddo 1 tells kiddo 2 that "Papa's biryani is better than even Mom's!". Truth be told - he does make a mean biryani (an Indian Rice dish)

Maybe this is what its all about -  all the evenings we've crashed out on the couch with the TV blaring well into the night, all the days we have stood in the balcony watching the rain, all the silly games we've played with the kids on the living room carpet, the companionship in this weird unprepared journey called life that we've ventured into.

Maybe there is a method to the madness called love.

Apt quote huh? Credit Birthdayquotes

Happy Valentines Day y'all!! :-)

Mother of a Son

Yes, I have a son.

When he was born, there were joyous celebrations to welcome him. My elder child, a daughter, welcomed him with love only a sister can have for a brother. All the ashirvads (blessings) of “Doodho nahao puto falo” (bathe in milk (ugh!!!) and give birth to sons(!)) had apparently worked its effect well.

Before my son was born, my daughter was my entire world. I would glare angrily at anyone who even remotely suggested that my second one (I knew I wanted two!) had to be a boy to “complete the family” (whatever that meant!).

I was certain that my second one would be a daughter too – because I felt I would never be able to love a son as much – yes, that’s how much I love my daughter.

But when he was born, it ceased to matter that he was a son. For me, it was just love all over again. I remember how some indignant relatives (angered by the fact that I preferred to have healthy babies to “puto falo”) told me that bringing up a daughter was a difficult task in this terrible world. How the daughter would prove to be a huge responsibility – even a liability (“Paraya dhan” – somebody else’s 'property' - WTF!!)

But today, what prompted me to write this post is not how my daughter is my blessing (which she is!). Rather, it is to explain why I am glad I do have a son.

No – not because my family is “complete”.

Nor because I feel he will set fire to the pyre when I die (frankly, I care two hoots what happens to my body after my death). Neither is it because I think a son is insurance to an easy retired life, or because of a dowry that he traditionally is supposed bring in.

No – not even that he may act as a bodyguard to my daughter…..

After all, these are the traditional reasons to have a son, right?

My reason is something different. The way I see it, raising a son is way more difficult.

See why,  in my post at Parentous.

Walking "The Talk"

I thought I'd just shut my eyes and ears, and maybe I'll be able to breathe with lesser difficulty. I was wrong. Every time there is any woman I know, who does not come home by the usual time she does, I panic.

When it happened in Guwahati, it was because 'she was drunk'.

When it happened in the various villages across Haryana, it was because the poor young boys had too much chowmein

When it happens in the city we just love to hate, it is because they wear clothes too short or too tight, or too bright. Or maybe it is because they party too much, go to all the wrong places, or are dressed too well.

When are we going to realize that in all the statements that we make about such incidents, anything that comes after "because" is exactly what these demons in human form bank upon. It is all the 'because's that help them go scot free after having taken away, horrendously, from an individual their right to live fearlessly.

When I was moving out of home to a hostel closer to college, my parents had 'the talk' with me. All young girls know 'the talk'. My mother first sat me down, and went into the details of what was 'right' and 'wrong' for me. She overcame her embarrassment to tell me all about staying safe, and about wearing right to stay safe. She reminded me that I had to remember them - her and Dad, before I did anything that might cause them pain.

Then Dad sat me down to tell me his version of what he thought I should be doing so that his little girl was not hurt. He too, in his own words, conveyed the message I already knew. I had already been groped, pinched and leered at in crowded buses, in trains and in market places.

When my sister was ready for the same move, this drama repeated itself. She too, got her share of 'the talk'

I do not have a brother. Which means I am not an authority on what parents tell their adolescent / young adult son. So let me ask you readers, especially the men, or women who have male siblings out there, something...

How many will have 'the talk' with their sons?

Let me tell you of a relative who did sit his son down and give him a serious talk. The talk went something like this:

"Son, I know you will have fun. Colleges are meant for that. You will find girls too. Sexy ones (a whisper here) too. Its ok to have fun. Just remember that you can have all the fun in the world, but you will marry the right girl who we choose."

This is not the talk I meant. How many parents of future men have sat them down to teach them to respect women?

How many will tell their darling sons that women are not objects, are not meant to be leered, groped or pinched, no matter what their clothes are.

How many will actually overcome embarrassment (yes, mothers and fathers) to tell the Alpha male that all women, like the person who gave birth to them, have to be treated with dignity? And that the choice of who touches the women's breasts and bottoms are entirely their choice?

How many will tell them that rapists and molestors are a reality, and may even be their friends?

How many will tell them that no woman, irrespective of religion, caste, creed, age, skin color, deserves to be treated the way the girl in Guwahati was, or the girl in the moving bus was, treated?

How many will tell them, "Son, there will come a time when peer pressure will look you in the eye and tell you to do something you know is wrong. When that happens, promise me you will kick peer pressure in the ass, and do the right thing."

I have a son. Embarrassment be damned, I, for one, will tell my son as much, when the time is right. Will you? 

The Money Tree

The seventies (probably even the early eighties) households reverberated with healthy doses of words such as ‘responsible spending’ and ‘saving for the future’ and ‘when I was your age…..’

But somewhere along the way, we lost these words as we got caught up in the race to get better jobs, bigger cars and grander homes. But more zeroes in our monthly paycheck did nothing to increase the happiness quotient, as much of the extra income went into that jazzy new phone or that funky new hangout that everybody was talking about!

Spending and living luxuriously, on par with the Smiths and the Jones, became the aspiration of every bright-eyed collegiate from the first day he stepped into his first job. The path to instant gratification had already been set all through school and college, where guide books with exam questions replaced conscientious teachers, Google replaced libraries, and Facebook replaced canteen frolics.

One of the biggest challenges G and I face is to distinguish where that illusive line needs to be drawn; the line that differentiates responsible providing of reasonable luxury, and blatant mollycoddling. Both G and I are products of the seventies, when the world was yet to see the information explosion that todays’ kids are exposed to....

See how we approached the problem at Parentous..... a platform for sharing tips and tricks for the most challenging job in the world - parenting!!

Bias and Opinion

When my daughter was all of 6, she adored a certain Bollywood star to bits. She had very famously declared that she would ‘marry’ the star, and go to play in the snow with him. Till, one day, when the actor was on TV, she ran to pick up the remote from the table (as a rule, we don’t keep the remote in our hands – its common property) and changed channels! The conversation that followed went something like this:

Me: "Sweety, why did you change the channel? He’s your favorite actor!"

Little G: “No he’s NOT!” There was a certain distress in her voice which made me sit up and probe further.

Me: “Why? You used to like him so much….”

Little G: “Because he’s a (religion).”

My face must have given away my shock. G (the husband), who was sitting a little away, looked at me and shook his head. I understood what he meant – Not now. No reaction. Probe, and discuss later.

Discover what G and I did after this ....... an article published at Parentous.
 

The Gift of the Question Mark

‘Make a sentence with the word “Grass”

That was the question for the 6 year old in her exam. She loved making sentences. She scrunched her face in concentration, and finally wrote a well thought out sentence, remembering all the rules in grammar that she had been taught.

The test paper came back with a zero for the sentence. The red circle around the selected words explained why.

“I saw a lion in the garden eating grass” was what the sentence read.

‘Lion’ was underlined once in red, and ‘eating grass’ was underlined twice by an irritated adult – the teacher.

The girl came back home, and showed the page to yet another adult.

“Hmmm…..” said this adult. “The lion likes to eat grass?”

“No. A lion only likes to eat what it kills. This one likes to eat rabbits, like the one in the story.” Her lips quivered in sadness while she saw the red lines on her test paper.

“Sweetie, then why did this lion eat grass?"

This adult was not angry; just a little surprised with the answer that the six-year old gave. Evidently, the child knew that lions did not eat grass. Was this child a tad rebellious, a little care-a-damn for her own good?

Read why the girl's lion ate the grass at Parentous, where parents exchange views and ideas.

Parenting without Tags

The first question I am asked when I go to a gathering with my two brats is whether I am a working mom or a ‘housewife’. This question, I believe, is the first step to ‘tagging’ me – by people who are biased towards or against my way of raising my kids. Either way, I am usually always irked by the question, to a point where I have even ignored it a couple of times.

Firstly, if there were to be a profession by name of “Stay-at-home-Mom”, it would be researched as the most skilled of all professions – after all, it is akin to raising the future of the world! So anyone who scoffs or suddenly loses interest in your conversation after you have declared thus is someone who doesn’t have much foresight.

In the other end of the spectrum, you’ll find (more often than not) people scrunching their brows in disagreement when you say you pursue a corporate career full-time. And God forbid you answer the most obvious question with, “They go to a day care….”!! You are then branded as a career minded woman who tortures the poor kids and husband for material gains. Something I have encountered as a working mother

Read the complete article at Parentous, a community of parents.

Published at 'Parentous' ..........

"I am ‘Mommyeeee’ to an intelligent, almost-rebellious 9 year old, and an innovatively naughty, hyperactive 4 year old. While I am mostly a ‘cool’ Mom, there are days when I throw all caution to the wind and resort to the earliest form of discipline known to mankind – also known as ‘Because-I-told-you-so’

More than once, I have caught the siblings enacting their favorite dictator; namely me. My daughter perches a pair of glasses precariously on her little nose and in a high octave that would put an opera singer to shame say, “Because I told you so, and I am your Mamma……” to her brother literally ROFLing in pure glee.

While happy that both my kids show such a bias towards fine arts, I would definitely not like to be the villain of their lives all the time! That’s when I decided enough is enough, and their father would not get away with being the good cop forever.

Evening saw me sending the kids into the living room, with a treat that was rare in our household – Maggi, Coke and Chota Bheem, with a smiling threat to “stay in front of your cartoons till you are called.”

As an incredulous husband watched on, as I proceeded to shut the door of the master bedroom..........".


Read more of my article "Dad Learns to Discipline" at Parentous.com where parents discuss all things about the most important job in the world..... Parenting!

Things You Didn't Know You'd Say in a Marriage

Well, there are a hundred in this list, but I thought I mustn't be the one credited with the extinction of an age-old institution, so I put forth here only a 10 pointer.

•  Statement 10 : "I wonder where he gets his stupidity from. Not my side of genes, I assure you." - A statement most commonly used when an offspring gets bad grades in school, beats up other kids, makes embarrassing statements in public, or all of the above. Of course, this statement is only relevant to partners who have children and does not count for the ones who are still in the process of being conned by various relatives into being parents.
• Statement 9 : "You are 3.2 centimeters closer to the switch, so why don't you get it?" - This is the climax of a very mature conversation involving very high analysis and decision making skills. The said conversation begins when any one of the spouses tells the other one to switch on/off an electrical appliance such as a light, fan, AC, TV etc. Can also be used when it involves things like shutting the door, answering the telephone etc. A direct co-relation has been established between the frequency of usage of this sentence, and the number of years of marriage.
• Statement 8 : "Of course I liked the gift." A simple guide to understanding what it most probably means:
• 'I hate that color. Will get it exchanged once he forgets about it.'
• 'I will never use that. Wonder where she gets these weird ideas from. Maybe there's a refund policy.'
• 'When will they stop showing brainless ads of these on TV.... as if real men used them!'
• 'Hmmmm...... maybe, if I turned this inside out, I could learn to like the color.'
• 'Red? Again? The guy needs to go through a crash course in colors.'
• 'Wonder if that stupid secretary bought this one too.'
• Statement 7 : "In a meeting, honey." Yup! A guide to what it means - again:
• The obvious; you know - the thing almost all Ekta Kapoor Serials are made of.
• 'I did not check if the movie tickets are available - lemme get out of this one alive!'
• The final over in an India -Pakistan match. Wait - I'd rather not even pick up the phone
• The jerk! He forgot our anniversary - let him grovel!
• Maybe - just maybe, in a meeting
• Statement 6 : 'I woke up the last time......' usually accompanied by a whine, found among specimens that have mutated into something called 'parents'. Most commonly used when they have to deal with national emergencies like soiled diapers, refilling of the feeding bottle, or just plain play-with-baby-at-midnight regime.
• Statement 5: 'Whoa! You're gonna eat that?' Extremely suicidal tendencies may cause a spouse (usually the male) to use this statement to the other, who in turn, may turn homicidal.
• Statement 4 : "Who ate that last gulab jamun?" (or pizza, or chocolate bar. Never, never an apple, a salad or a bowl of sprouts) - Self explanatory.
• Statement 3 : "Lets get this straight - you asked me to marry you." Sometimes this statement may resemble a broken record - interspersed with bouts of crying. Other versions may include 'I should have listened to my mother / friends / neighbour / pet dog....." (no, fathers don't make it to that list, and mothers top that list)
• Statement 2 : "But you used to like it ....." could be used in varying intensity depending on usage - from a personal quirk (like a snorting laugh, or an a nasal twang a la Reshammiya, etc.)to food, item of clothing, or bedroom moves.
• Statement Numero Uno : 'You've changed.' This little bomb demands special attention from the listener. Things you should not do if you want to live to see your next birthday:
• Statement 7 
• Statement 5 (Ensures torture before death)
• Statement 3 (Ditto)
• 'So have you!' (Most commonly used, and proof that idiots still exist. Will secure the talker a position on the couch.)

Any additions?

Book Review - Just Married Please Excuse

 

There were some rules I had made for myself with regards to the kind of books I would read. I promised myself that I would read very selected desi books. No, please don't judge me - its just that after a certain point, there was nothing that I would remember about the book, if someone were to ask me about it. Not many pages out of the book stayed in your head for long.

I was at a blogger meet recently where a charming young woman named Yashodhara Lal was helping us with writing tips. The book titled 'Just Married Please Excuse' was doing quite well among young readers, and she was letting us know how the book came about. Her talk was not 'gyan' and felt genuine. I got myself the book and settled down to read it, as usual, after the kids had been tucked in.

In my usual style, a review

• Plot : A city bred girl decides to get married to a diametrically opposite guy. The story revolves around the actual course of events through coutship, newly married days and the newly attained status of parenthood. Nothing new. But wait! Most books leave out the embarrassing moments of truth. This one thrives on it.

Give me an honest answer to this question - when was the last time you had tears in your eyes from laughing so hard after reading a book? Not recently, huh? This one scores hands down in the humour quotient. I had a concerned 9 year old come and check on me becasue of all the guffawing.

But you know what takes the humour to another level? The fact that it is so damn truthful!!

• Writing style : I am a short story writer, and I couldn't write a novel to save my life! So I have immense respect for writers who write a novel in the same pace as that of a short story. This one has break neck speed. So make sure you have every distraction tucked away before you sit with this book. A few burnt dinners guaranteed otherwise :-).

 I finished the book in one sitting (finished it at about 4 am). A few strategically placed Hindi words and a few dialogues in the 'conversational' English that we love to use only makes the book easier to comprehend. Again, the triumph of simplicity over enthusiastic use of big words.

• Character Development : This is where the author seems to have put her observation skills to good use. There are a handful of continuous characters, and these characters are for me, now people who have a face, a voice, a dressing style (hell, even a quirk!) in my mind. Even the random walk-by characters have their space in the book. Kudos!

• Words and Print quality : Its a Harper Collins - period. No typos, no editing goof ups, and certainly no grammatical errors (other than the ones the author wanted to bring in for effect). Thumbs up here!

• Final Verdict : I now possess a book that I will go to, when I have had a particularly bad hair day, to remind myself that marriage and kids are just another window to open up and take in a breath of fresh air. A book that couples can read and laugh together - you may even have wide eyed 'OMG! Thats so true!' being doled out in good measure. Also a book I have recommended to friends who share a sarcastic streak. A definite read!  

Surprising things Moms say.......

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When I was struggling with teenage emotions, acne and hormones, I couldn't care less if my mom spoke in Latin - I was barely listening. But as time went by, and fate granted my mom her wish of me ending up with brats that are worse than my worst avatar, I realize I am digging my memory cells looking for "How my Mom would have done it" solutions.

In the process, I remembered something she told me when my daughter was a drool-dribbling heart clincher with a killer smile. She said "Listen to your words sometimes - you'll be surprised at yourself" - this was to tell me that everything I say will be for eternity in my daughter's mind.

So for the last few days, I have been 'listening' to what I say to my kids. The result is here for all to see -

"If you ask 'Why' one more time ....................."

"No. You cannot beat up smaller kids. Or I'll beat you up - get that?"

"How many have I told you not to leave things around? Give me all your balls. Now!!"

"You threw my phone in the bucket? FFF...ish!"

"Check what the maid is doing" A little later -  "Why the FF...ish did you have to tell the maid you were checking on her?"

"I don't care what the damn password is - OPEN the door!!"

"Why are you staring at the ants? Go do something important - stare at your books!"

"Why? Because I told you so....... that's why!"

"Did you do potty today? No? Now the monster will grow inside your tummy."

"You shared your sandwich with your friends? OK, then what did they share with you?"

 Of course, I have said a million things right to my kids before, but notice that there's something eerily wrong / hysterical in each of these statements.

I guess Mom certainly was right - will have to start actually 'listening' to myself more often. Sigh!

How to throw a Surprise Party

Yes, I did it! Me, the most cynical, no-nonsense and absolutely non-fuss types, threw me ol' husband his big 40th (haven't stopped rubbing in the age since!). What's so special, you ask? Let me lay out the challenges here:

• Am married to a hotelier, whose entire social circle comprises of hoteliers - both family and friends!
• Been married to G for 12 years, out of which I can barely remember any significant flurry of activity for any event - birthday or anniversary! (to put that in simple words - large parties were never our thing. Kids parties we have, but the other events are much more private)
• G is somewhat a difficult guy to get hold of - erratic work days, and hectic schedules. Not to mention my own work and travel schedules!
• Am terrified of cooking large numbers. Let me explain : I can make a mean biryani for four. But tell me to double the quantity, and I swear I can ruin it. It is plain simple math, right? Its jinxed, I tell you!
• Then why cook you ask? Oh! The pains of having a gourmet living in your house!! Eating out is a scary thing for me - more on that in a later post. But it would suffice to say that home cooked party food for G is the equivalent of a super excited boy opening presents for Christmas.

So I get all 'wifey' this year, and decide that for once, I would don the 'romantic' hat, and cook up a storm for not only my soon-to-be-forty (yup! rubbing it in again) husband, but also for the extended family and his good friends. Not an easy task, considering that the whole family is like the desi version of Masterchef Australia (minus the accent and the drama) when it comes to critical analysis of food! But with a deep breath and a lot of prodding from my sister who is some kind of a wizard in churning out awesome (not to mention delicious) parties, I decided to give it a shot.

The first thing ofcourse was to get the guest list right. I wanted all the closest guys in, and the ones who would ring in the party. Getting the telephome numbers out of G's blackberry was not an easy task, since he is usually with it all the time. This is where a wily nine-year-old daughter can do wonders. Got the numbers of the school time buddies (who we haven't met since our wedding). Called up everyone, invited them for a secret party, and made them swear to secrecy.

Next was the menu. Knowing the way we love to eat in Delhi, snacks are as important as the meal itself. Sometimes more than the meal - because in cocktail events, by the time we actually get to the meal, taste buds would have been sleeping away in intoxication. Snacks are also a way to ensure that the guests are in a happy, sing-along mood in time for cake - cutting.

A few quick tips for surprise parties:

• Paper napkins and toothpicks are a better alternative to plates and forks, but leave prominent dustbins for disposal too (else you'll be fishing them out of their well hidden crevices days after the party is over)
• Easy to assemble, but colorful snacks are a treat to the eyes and the palate. I had a 'papdi canape platter' and cheese pineapple cherry sticks.
• The ready to fry variety offered by McCain is fantastic for the kids - the smileys ofcourse being the best one
• Vegetable sticks (I had carrots, radish and cucumbers) and toasted pita bread triangles with dips are a superb snack option (also keeps finicky eaters happy) I had a curd and mint dip, a coriander and pomegranate chutney and some cocktail sauce (equal quantities of bottled mayo and tomato ketchup - a hit with kids)
• Sheekh kebabs are an easy, yet satiating option for non vegetarians. Get your supply from a trusted source though. I prefer the half done variety which I then shallow fry at home.
• Ofcourse the usual bowls of masala peanuts and potato wafers did many rounds
• While the drinkers were pretty much at home thanks to G's bar, the non drinkers had Appy fizz (which in a champagne glass, looks exquisite) and a fruit punch in addition to the fizzy drink options. Setting the bar counter with the right number of glasses and ice is also important.
• A good way to ensure you have enough ice cubes for the party is to start freezing ice cubes a day before. Empty out the ice cubes from the trays into a cleat plastic bag, and refreeze. Keep filling out the trays and removing the cubes into the plastic bag till you have the required quantity.
• If your fridge is not large enough to hold bottles of cold water for all the guests (believe me, in summers, you end up needing quite a bit), have one of those picnic water coolers - the one with the tap. This keeps cold water cold, and all you need to do is to put in water and ice and you're done! Also saves the million times someone will open the fridge for water!
• I use the microwave to heat up the food before laying it out for the guests - this ensures that the food is warm for a considerable amount of time - including refills
• For desserts, I usually have one cold and one hot - this time it was kulfi and hot malpua.
• I had a floor seating for the kids, separate unbreakable glasses and snack plates, and an unobtrusive corner for them, so that they stay out of trouble, and they too enjoy the party without too many 'rules'.

The result : By 3 am, G was ready to crash, after thoughtfully helping me clear up the table and put away all the perishables into the fridge. But he was grinning like a child, and clearly, it was a birthday he would remember for a long time. Happy birthday G!!

Why this Guwahati - di?

This post has been picked as a "Tangy Tuesday Picks" by Blogadda.

The whole country is raving and ranting about how the kids on the street are getting more violent than before, how they turn into molesters or rapists at the drop of a hat. How being called 'sexy' is quite okay, and how we should be conditioning all our menfolk by having a few 'slutwalks'. The whole world and their aunt was stunned into awakening after an incident in Guwahati.

The next flurry of activity was everyone getting into the shock-relieving therapy of 'discover why'. Many theories, and among all the various ones that came out, the most reasonable seemed blame-the-parents.

We begin with the parents of the girls who dress provocatively, or the ones who dare to go into a bar at night. We then move on to the parents of the youngsters who were there that night, and then the others who displayed all the empathy of a door knob.

We all thought in our minds that the parents were either the 'broad-minded' buffoons that entertainment channels have so vibrantly shown, or they were the senseless village folk who by some mechanism, trained all their sons to be the modern equivalent of Genghis Khan.

Lets take a closer look. A closer look at how we unwittingly change the way a male child in our society thinks he is Gods answer to everything in the world.

It begins with the birth of a male in any of the households today - urban, rural, rich or poor. I have heard all kinds of smug remarks from the less acidic "Good, now the family is complete" to the more nauseous "You Lucky woman - you have only sons, no liabilities!" being said in various circles of extended family and friends,  to brand new mothers and fathers.

No - this is NOT rural India, and this is not uneducated, illiterate India either.

It then moves on to take subtle hints at regulating what good and bad behavior is - especially for the girl child. Example dialogues are slightly sexist "You should not leave things lying around.... you are a girl, and should be organized." to disgustingly sexist "Girls don't answer back to elders" - while, notice that its perfectly fine for the male progeny to do so. In fact, it is indulgently looked at lovingly, declaring how brave the child is. Not necessarily always by parents, or only by parents - the whole brain-dead society contributes.

In the case of a girl child, it is normal for the whole family to have a say in what she wears, where she goes, when she goes, when she is going to be back, and of course, who she goes with. Oh yes, I do hear you mumble something about your concern for her. I'd do the same too, when she steps out into what obviously is the jungle.  Just one look at the smiling Piggy Chops in an add, tells us that all of this is ok - this is how the world was meant to be. Why'd Piggy be so happy about the court martial is something I don't get, though.

My only question, why don't we do it with our sons? Aren't we unwittingly telling them that they are not accountable? Have we even for a moment thought, that these are the boys who then grow up to think women are meant to be indoors, cleaning and cooking, in domesticated avatars that have been glorified by Ekta Kapoor? Aren't we, at some level, agreeing that assumptions made by the molesters or rapists that 'she asked for it' is true?

Lets take a look at the ridiculous circus we call marriage in India. We bribe the mothers and the fathers and the sisters and the fourth cousin of the uncle of the groom; we also pay the groom in gratitude of his marrying our daughter - isn't that what you call Dowry? We imply here that its a huge favour they are doing us, by taking the daughter - a liability, off our hands. Even educated families. In urban India. Don't believe me? What about dialogues like "Do what you want in this house. Once you get married, your in-laws decide whether you work or not." Why? Do you decide what your son-in-law will do after marriage?

Or just go through the matrimonial columns in the paper. "Wanted : Fair, beautiful, homely girl for 30 year old man working in MNC." And this, by far is a regular requirement. Even young men I seem to encounter in office spaces, when discussing a future wife, say 'homely' is a requirement. Ask them what 'homely' means and they'll tell you "You know, the kinds who do not party too much, or the kind who do not have any boy friends." Prod a little more, and they'll give you definitions such as "The kinds who will be comfortable doing all the housework, even if they are working women."

But ask these dudes who they'd like to fall in love with, I can assure you the name that they come up with is not 'homely' at all! There is usually a mile long list of men who pine for the attention of that over-achiever woman in the office, but when marriage is on the cards, they know this is not who they'd be comfortable married to - and even if they were, the parents would reject them - coz' they are not 'homely' enough. That however, doesn't stop them from lusting after them.

It is not only our daughters that we harm in this social branding; do you really think the young minds of the males in our society is not flawed when we create such clear bias in their formative years? And what happens when a favoured child (favoured only due to the sheer coincidence that there was an extra appendage in his body) does not get any special treatment in the real world? And under all circumstances he would be pitted against someone he was brought up to believe is a second citizen - a woman. God forbid if the woman is able to perform better!

The joke is that most such male members in our skewed society actually believe that they are superior by virtue of their sex. They then look for excuses (let me assure you, we all know people like this) -

• "The lady climbed up the ladder by sleeping around"
• "The dame dresses like a slut so she deserves it"
• "The wife/gf is popular with men so she must be a slut"
• "The co-worker doesn't mind a few drinks so she must be 'easy'"
• "If she earns more than me, she is not wife material" (this one was a shocker, but i actually heard it)

Where do we start? By throwing 'notional' equality out the window. And get into non-negotiation for the real sense of the word. Beginning with ensuring rules of the household are the same.

• If the daughter cannot scream at elders, neither can the son.
• If the son is tired after school / work/ games, common sense tells us that daughters / daughters-in law will also be so. So either we don't fuss around a son, or we fuss around both. 
• If there is only one piece of the choicest dessert, split in two
• Have meals sitting together - even if, as Mother fuss-a-lot, we like to hover around the table stuffing everyone's plates with food, realize that the son's expectation from a future wife would be the same. For a change, ask the son to serve a few bites or clear the plates. (Believe me, it does wonders to teach them dignity of labor - we learnt it in Hotel Management, and I am thankful for that)
• Teach daughters and sons to fold clothes, iron them, stack them and hold them accountable for a missing sock. (Simple rule: since you fold them and stack them, you ought to know where that sock went). Not scream at mommy dearest for not tidying up the sock drawer. Ditto for the wet towel.
• I like festivals - including Raksha Bandhan, for the colorful threads and the sweets. But never, never tell the daughters that you need the brother to protect her. Or the son that the sister (and all girls generally) need 'protection'
• Never tell the son that 'all this is yours' ...... big mistake!
• Remind the son often that in the world, the only thing they got free were their parents - they need to work for everything else - just as their female counterparts do too.
• Remember also to never generalize women or men basis their clothes, language etc. Kids pick that up fast, and will most certainly form early biases.

That's all I could come up with - as my son grows older, maybe I get wiser too. Anyone has any more ideas? We could all do with them.

From me to you, woman to woman

Dear Daughter,

Another birthday, and poof! Like magic, you are nine years old!

No, I will not tell you how fast time has flown by, because you would have heard the same thing from a lot of people lately. You will continue to hear it from all the loved ones who have watched you progress from a bulge in my belly, to a cranky, colicky baby, to a toddler with the curiosity of an award winning archaeologist ...... to now, when you can knock anyone down with a charming smile and those soul warming eyes that you claim are your Dad's (I am quite sure I know who put THAT into your head!!)

How I will always think you are...... yup! Even at 30

You remember the proverb in the English book - 'Do not put all your eggs in one basket'? I think you know what that means.... While I was the one to teach you the meaning of those words, I discover now that I have done exactly the opposite.

You, dear daughter, are the one single basket that has all my 'eggs'. I look at you growing up, and I want to hold on to your baby years. I realize how much I see myself in you. I know I can be a bit over-conscientious with you, but you should know that it is only because I am terrified to see you stumble, lest you get hurt. I know I suffocate you sometimes, with all the rules I impose...

"Do your homework before the TV", "have your bath before your dinner", "brush your teeth at night" (even when you can barely keep your eyes open for another second), "You can only play in the vicinity where I can see you", "Don't talk back when you are being 'lectured'", and many more I am sure you would love to add to this list...

I also know you hate it when I tell you what to wear, and how to wear them. Another thing I think you want done away with is when I sneak a peek into your 'personal' stuff - including your diary and your trinkets drawer. You don't know it yet, but I do realize you have been shifting your hiding places more often these days.

I also understand that you don't like the way I tie your hair up in two pigtails, and why you change it to your favorite 'grown-up' pony tail the moment you are in the school van. I am quite impressed at your ability to manage your hair, dear. And I am happy you think of doing things only to please me; but it will be a little while before I completely let go of your hair yet. But tell you what - lets have a deal here. I'll tie up your hair the way you want, and you can try sharing more of your 'personal' stuff with me.... Sounds good?

No, don't get me wrong. I trust you completely, and I most certainly second your sense of independence and accountability. And you have more than once proven to me how responsible and sensible you are - as a daughter and as an older sister to a very irritating younger brother. I have never for once doubted your ability to choose your friends, your activities or your hobbies. Neither can I complain about your attention to your studies or your behavior - they remain one of my most cherished blessings.

But I need time to adjust to your independence too, you know! It does come as a shock to me when you don't need me anymore to get you ready for school, or when you don't need my help to open up Google and look for a new word in wiki. Or like the other day when you warmed up the milk on your own in the microwave - I didn't know whether I ought to be happy or sad. So I've drawn out a pact for all the things I promise to do, now that you are nine

1. I promise to discuss our 'going out' plans with you instead of just expecting you to tag along - you have stuff to do too, right?
2. I shall take you along when we shop for you - no more surprise frocks... and we start the lovely tradition of blowing Dad's credit card - together!
3. I shall refrain from hunting out your diary, and we can talk about all that stuff instead
4. You want a pony-tail, you get a pony-tail. Or a short blunt cut. Provided we are clear on the tattoos and body piercing rules.
5. You don't want a nagging mother or a really naughty brother when you go to play with friends - point taken, and we stay put. But the rule on playing at a visible distance from our balcony stays - for now. 
6. I will stay clear of the accessory matching too. But I step in with suggestions now and then - ok?
7. We stick to our wake times and sleep times as set, but I promise you can set your own alarm clock as soon as you reach high school.
8. We go out on mom-daughter ice-cream trips, and we can discuss about anything in the world. Yes dear, about anything at all.......... we are friends too, right?

See? No problems with temporary tattoos too!

Happy ninth, daughter.

The Homework Saga

While originally Wordsworth might’ve had many connotations to the ingenious statement "The child is father of the man", I get whiffs of the poet’s sentiments when I get little snatches of my childhood through my children.

The last weekend of a fast depleting holiday season saw us scrambling about to put final touches to the holiday ‘homework’.... (Ugh!! how I detest that oxymoron!), which resulted in me racking my brains to understand the 4th grade questions.

Just for emphasis on the fact that I am not joking about the word 'racking', let me share with you some of the questions (while reading the questions, please remember that the said paper is for FOURTH graders!):

But first, what do we hope to accomplish by the holiday homework?

Do we want the kids feeling grossly inadequate while sitting to write the answers out? Or is our primary aim to gather exceptionally skilled artwork made by the kids’ parents and adorn the school walls with them? Or better still, is the aim to take the parents back to their high school days (ofcourse I meant high school - this definitely isn't primary school stuff!).

A corollary to this question – so are we teaching our kids that it’s okay to take credit for someone else’s work? There are kids in higher classes who have now started paying professionals to create project work; I think I know who did their homework for them in the 4^th grade!

Read the complete post at Parentous.

Borewell Shame

The father of the 4 year old girl said she cried for help for two hours after falling in. Authorities, however, claim that she would have died due to lack of oxygen, half an hour after falling in. She would have, they claim, cried and used up all the oxygen. Stupid kid! Didn't she know that if you fall into a borewell, you have to conserve oxygen, energy and optimism?

80 hours - that's how long the parents had to wait to confirm that their daughter was dead. To confirm that the child who had just celebrated her fourth birthday, would not be celebrating her fifth. And the authorities are, in the meanwhile trying to establish time of death so that they are not questioned on their one-and-half hour delay in reaching the spot of the accident. Or the fact that after having spent billions on their 'Emergency Preparedness' trainings abroad, they were not equipped with the most basic of amenities to save life - oxygen!

Mahi, all of four, paid the price of lethargy and apathy of 'grown ups' - with her life. Were the parents to blame for overlooking such a hazard in their backyard? Or the authorities who turned up, UNPREPARED, a whole hour and a half later? Or the landlord, who dug the illegal borewell in the first place, or the people who removed the cover to the borewell, saying it 'obstructed' a vehicle? Or yet, the whole nation, for holding the value of human life at pittance?

Mahi - age 4

Yes, my blood boils today, as do many others'. Yes, I will forget all about Mahi, and her little body stuck in a borewell tube. As will you, as will everybody who hung around the TVs or the accident site, waiting to know what will happen next. Till the next incident will remind us, that since 2007, borewells have created nightmares for 9 children and their families, of which only 3 live to tell the tale.