How much is Too Much!

After a terrible spell of winters, towards the end of Jan when we almost concluded this was the end of chill, Rain God yawned back to life and started showing his wi(e)tty presence every now and then, with some relieving sunny days sprinkled in between. This has been a pretty cold February so far, with every second day rains rushing in to give company. The other day, I and my daughter went for a walk after a fresh round of rain, when she made a very thoughtful observation, "Mom, whenever there is a big shift of season, God sends rainy season in between. Like when we go from summer to winter, we have a season for rains. Now we are going from winters to summers, again we have season for rain." My immediate reflex was to correct her that it is not a rainy season, but then I stopped short.  If it was not a rainy season, what would you call such a long spell of rains? It was a very sharp observation on her part and I felt a little trifled. Why didn’t it occur to me? Why because my mind has long accepted that rainy season only comes after summers. Because my mind is now expected to behave on preconditioned lines. Whatever we have learnt, observed, experienced has become our limited frame and we unknowingly refuse to acknowledge things outside that frame. 

Putting this conversation in context, I was wondering, to what extent kids must be tutored and to what extent they should be left to make their own observation and draw their own inferences out of them.

If we keep ‘correcting’ our children and push them to base their knowledge on accepted norms, aren't we goading them into thinking on the same pre-conditioned pattern.  Does too much ‘correction’ suppress their natural urge to explore the world from their own fresh or, at times, naïve point of view? They might see things from a perspective that has remained hidden from our sight. We may laugh off their hypothesis as ‘she doesn’t know yet’. May be what we call a naive attempt at decoding the mystery of world is the revelation we never knew. I would like to hear your opinion on this topic.

These days, my daughter is in a hurry to learn everything about poetry. It amuses me at times that the last lesson she would learn in this regard, shall be that you cannot learn ‘everything’ about poetry…ever! Anyway, here is her definition of haiku, in the form of haiku.

Feeling Expressed

In three lines, guess what

It's a haiku

One more haiku:

Aged woman

Attacked by diseases

Still a mother

Errr, still one more (I told you she is in a hurry)

Variety of colours

Magenta, maroon, mauve

God’s creation

She insists that my blog should publish all her poetic attempts or else she will float her own !



Picture taken from : Google Search

I talk to My Daughter on her Turning 10 - II

I talk to My Daughter on her Turning 10

Your first unsure steps to confident run, from blabber to clear meaningful sentences, everything kept us engaged. As if life had in its folds new miracles to gift us every day. How can I ever forget your first day at play-school. Everybody around was so happy! Only I was the one who was rather sad. School meant that you would be away from me for at least 2 hours every day. And also ‘cause, then onwards perhaps your real inevitable struggle to make a place of your own in this big uncertain world was starting. You entered your playway holding my finger. You went inside and I imagined that any moment some teacher or attendant will come out holding my baby crying uncontrollably. But I was wrong again! You took to school like a fish to water! You insistence to go to school even on Sundays gave us many tough times.

It is never easy to be the mother of a hyperactive kid. You always seemed to have abundance of energy, which never exhausted. Entire day, after taking care of household chores, running behind you for bathing, feeding, acting out funny stories and what not, I just wanted to fall dead on bed at night. But you always kept me up well past 11, not to mention the midnight and early morning wake-up calls. Your teachers termed you ‘living tornado’ and advised me to put you into some kind of physical activity that eats up that extra energy. I did put you into Tennis. But even that proved to be just insufficient. Since then, I reluctantly turned up at every PTM in your school, fully knowing, word by word, all the complaints that teachers would have piled against you. Initially I used to feel awful, frustrated and took you to task for every nuisance you supposedly created in your class. I admit that I also fell into the rut of measuring you against the yardstick thrust in my hand by the society. I rebuked, yelled and tried to emotionally blackmail you by crying bitterly. But then you were as you were. I finally gave up and bought myself some peace of mind. The blame also goes to your dad who always stood for you with ‘let-her-be’ chants. Now I know I was at fault.

Very early on you exhibited signs of a confident, strong and bit diplomatic persona. You waved off any comparisons or any examples I tried to set before you. If I tried to ‘motivate’ you by citing examples of always-on-the-top kids, you retorted,” You are comparing me with somebody else”, making me feel as I had committed one the most heinous crimes. If somebody said, ‘apply milk and honey pack on her skin, her complexion would improve’, you said,”all sports girl have darker complexion, so what!” You always seem to have your answers ready, some intelligent, some eyebrow-raising but intelligent nonetheless. Accept-me-as-I-am is the maxim you are born with. But sweety! Improvement doesn’t mean you are trying to be somebody else!!

On so many occasions, I found this mother-daughter relationship reversed. In the last decade, in my endeavour to raise you as a responsible, well learned, intellectual and decent person, I found myself at receiving end for the lessons you were destined to teach me. Patience and compassion are perhaps the first lessons every mother learns while giving birth and the raising the child. But there was more…

I remember when you was to turn 5, I constantly tried to make you a bit responsible by telling you that now you are going to be a big baby, so you are supposed to do this, do that! You were all excited about growing big on your birthday. I didn’t know when you took my words literally. On your 5^th birthday, you woke up quite early and straightaway sprinted to the mirror in the room. You let out a horrible cry. I rushed in anticipation of an emergency and found you crying inconsolably in front of the mirror. “Mama! I didn’t grow up! I am still small, Will I never grow up now?” Oh! That made me feel miserable beyond words. I learnt the important lesson that ‘how you say’ is as important as ‘what you say’. I must say my classes are still going on!

From rattlers to PSP, from dolls to tabs and from ‘li’l tomatoes’ to ‘Woodland’, you have really grown up, taking your own route, following your own mind. Now, when you are pretty independent for doing your stuff and no more dependent on me for most of daily routine, I wonder if I have done a good job! I would like to hear from you one day.

There are tougher times ahead to deal with for both you and me. You will go through so many changes – physical, hormonal, emotional, social. I will have so many new roles to play. I wish myself luck for that. I need it. On your birthday, I just want to say, I love you…with all my heart, with all my soul and this love is unconditional. Whatever you do, whatever choices you make in life, you succeed, you fail; you will always find your parents extending a warm embrace. We promise that we will trust you rather than the world, will listen to you rather than some third person. You will always get acceptance in our hearts without tags. Your tag of being our daughter will suffice for this lifetime.

Picture taken from: inmagine.com

I talk to My Daughter on her Turning 10

Dearest daughter,

Now when you are turning 10, I can’t help but reflect on the time passed by since you entered my life! Everything as vivid as a movie reel projected on mental screen. For world the child is born the day she exits womb, but for me you were born the day you entered it. The day is still fresh in my mind when my gynaecologist broke this news to me. She said more, but oh God! Was I there? As if the whole world danced in a circle around me, I could see showers of stars, full of all brilliant colours possible. I was shivering with excitement; tears followed their own course.  My doctor calmed me down saying this excitement was not good for you. She next handed me over a verbal list of do’s and don’ts and some pills to pop up regularly. 

For the next eight months I was declared empress of the house till you dethroned me, permanently. Then on, my life changed forever. I became conscious about everything I was supposed to do; how to walk, how to sit, what to eat but more about what not to do. I still remember checking labels before eating anything. I said strict no to any outside food, anything that contained ajinomoto or was too spicy. I carried every instruction passed on to me by any elder or experienced lady to a tee. If somebody said, eating amla was good for your brains, eyes, skin, I filled our kitchen cupboard with packets of amla jam. If somebody advised, eating bananas made child grow tall, I had them enough to last for a lifetime! If story of Abhimanyu was true, I tried my hands on many new things, I picked up new recipes, learnt driving, read more books. Silly antics of a first timer!

Every moment became special, your first movements to full blown kicks, your rhythmic hiccups, every single sign my bulging belly gave out was enough to drive us crazy! I often wondered whether I would miss you inside me once you were born. Yes, I did!

I was so curious who you would be, who would you look like, which date would you pick to arrive, would you like Maths or Literature! Crazy!! I tried to flaunt ‘be positive’ attitude with all sincerity but there was a certain anxiety and an unknown fear lurking nearby. I prayed incessantly to be blessed with a baby who is healthy, lucky and beautiful, in that order. Someday you may frown upon ‘lucky’, but could I help it!

And then the moment came…after all the wait (those were the longest eight months of my life) and agony, you were born. My doctor cleaned and held you before my eyes and everything became blurred, ‘cause my eyes were welling with tears. I couldn’t believe you were my daughter, my child! In this world where daughters are not even allowed to born, you were received like a precious jewel, an angel given to us out of some unexplained kindness. You were a perfect healthy baby, oh! So cute, cottony white, reddish at some spots, a little swollen, red lips, closed eyes, palms open. You cried and our hearts went aflutter with joy.

And as my doctor always used to say, giving birth is the easiest part of it, there started the roller coaster ride of nurturing that little speck of life. Early anxious moments of a first time mother, never let me relax.  I wanted to be particular about everything, how to hold you, how to feed you, how to wrap you…The harder I tried, the more I fumbled. How I felt guilty for not understanding the reason behind your incessant cries. You laughed, the entire world looked alright. You cried and everything came crashing down. Sometimes I just kept looking at you for hours but couldn’t get enough! Sleepless nights, blissful days all went hand in hand. Only solace being that I was never alone, your dad always became my biggest support. Your milestones became our personal achievements, your tiny achievements became our proud medals. You kept growing; we as parents kept growing too, learning from our own mistakes, making some new along the way.  On every stage I thought next stage would be easier, only to realize later how wrong I was. For every stage brought upon new excitement, new anxieties, new challenges. Even relationship I shared with your dad took new tangent. One of my ex-colleagues often remarked that after a child you are no longer husband and wife, just mummy and papa. I then understood its full meaning! 

To be continued...

Picture taken from: inmagine.com

Teach your boys 'Ladies First'

Whenever any sexual crime surfaces in news, I can’t help feeling surprised at its high rate of incidence in Delhi, its surrounding areas and Haryana. What is that which is missing the eyes and placing these regions high on rape charts. Couple it with the fact that these areas (whole northern India for that matter) witness the lower female to male ratio. In many states, the situation is so alarming that people have to import girls from neighbouring states to marry their sons. Even buying brides is not unheard of there. Less women results in increasing frustration in men. That gives spurt to such crimes which in turn make people go for female foeticide to avoid future responsibilities and shame.   Which again links back to skewed sex ration completing the vicious circle . What forces men to commit such heinous crime - their own frustration, mental instability, their fear of women taking over their domain or the environment prevalent in their homes that gives scant regard and place of respect to women. I often wonder what could be the parent’s stance when their kids commit such a crime. Or are parents even aware about the lesser crimes their boys must be committing around like eve teasing, ragging, or causing deliberate inconvenience to their female counterparts in colleges or offices. We (as is customary in our society) play very alert parents when it comes to girls. Alas, in case of sons, our patriarchal sensibilities take over. More often than not the elders may be, well, shaping their boys’ insensitive and dominating behaviour by:

• Not paying due respect to the women in the family and in public place in front of their kids,
• Showing that aggression towards women and not agreeing in general to their views is a mark of a man,
• Using vulgar curses, which targets women in filthiest of terms 
• Not bothering about the whereabouts of grown-up boys,
• Keeping them away from household chores, relegating it to women of the house, in a way reaffirming male superiority,
• Showering them unnecessarily with unearned, undeserved expensive gifts and money.

This attitude goes a long way how they view women and their relationship with them, when they grow up. Timely sex education at home can also prevent them from straying. But most important is to conduct yourself in way that serves as a right example for the impressionable minds. You never know when the casual macho behaviour flaunted in front of them may be taken too seriously and lead them to take extreme steps in future. Making little genuine changes in our conduct, being a little more careful in front of our kids’ and making them contribute at par with women folk can go a long ways is giving right direction to our kids’ sensibilities. What you fancy, raising our children in way that we are proud of or ending up doing rounds of police stations or courts trying rescuing them! Carrying the burden of being parent to a rapist is no less either. It’s time we taught our boys ‘ladies First’.

My Little 'Diplomat'

I am always amazed by the confidence and clarity of thought the new generation displays.  Their confidence stems from the simple reason that they are comfortable in their own skin. My daughter is my first hand experience of this generation.  She hates comparisons (even the hint of it), has a mind of her own and very difficult to be convinced. She is diplomatic too (in her own innocent ways), knows what serves better in a given situation, airing your opinion or keeping your mouth shut, especially when it comes to make her father give in to her demands. 

Last Saturday, She wanted to take our permission to go to local carnival with her uncle and his family. I redirected her query to my husband, because I know he is quite fussy about sending her ‘alone’ with somebody else (whoever that 'somebody else' be, for him it has to be either me or him accompanying her).  She called her papa, who was in office, and asked for his permission to go with his uncle’s family. Obviously, he refused. She very matter of factly conveyed me his decision and said,” we will go together whenever you both have time.” I was little offended by her response. I stopped the work I was doing in kitchen, called her and said, “You know, you are partial. When papa refuses you for something, you accept it so coolly, no tantrums, no ‘tamasha’. As if you fully agree with the reason behind it. Had it been I who refused, you would have pulled the whole house down! Would have howled, heaped blames on me of every kind.” She looked at me, dazed, and went  out of the kitchen. I resumed work with little pang in my heart. After some time, she reappeared, with weapons (read tears) in her eyes, arms folded on her chest defiantly. What she said next, totally knocked me out of my mind for some time, “Mom, You should I appreciate I do that to you. We share a happy space together. With papa, I am always careful because I am afraid of him, because I am never sure about his reaction. With you I share an open relationship, for you have given me that confidence that I can speak anything to you without fear. Yes I throw tantrums, I howl, I do everything I wish because with you, I can be ‘me’. If you want that to be taken away, your wish.” She dashed out leaving me completely speechless. I scratched my mind hard but could not remember if words like relationship, space, confidence ever figured in my vocabulary when I was 10. She is not even 10 and her explanation left my head spinning! 

I didn’t know how should I react, be happy or embrace myself for more difficult times ahead!

Picture taken from:ayushveda.com

Your child has the ability to Surprise You!

My daughter came up with a new demand a few days back. “Mom, I want ‘Scooby strings’”. “Now, What’s that?”I almost snapped, irritatingly. Her demands never seem to end. “My mam is teaching some craft with these strings. You can get it from the book store. Please mom, many of friends have bought it already”. “Show me your teacher’s note,” I replied nonchalantly. I was sure there would be no note so no need to give in to her another I-should-have-it-too demand. I kept deferring it as long as I could, finally conceding and letting her buy those colourful plastic strings, which have these days acquired a new name – Scooby Strings. But I was in for a surprise. My daughter took to learning this craft quite seriously. Though it, finally came out, had nothing to do with her teacher. From her friends, she started learning to weave these strings into beautiful patterns and practiced it hard. She picked up new patterns from wherever she could. Within a month, she had become pretty good at it. Though, she has not yet come to make something concrete or useful out of it. But her effort is worth having a look….

Note the intricacy and the way she has weaved beads into them.

She gifted her first -made strings to me and my husband and we turned them into key chains.

Sometimes, If we just let the child do what she wants to, she can really spring surprises and very pleasant ones indeed!

To my daughter...

my darling, my angel!

a piece of body, a piece of my soul, 

my lovely daughter!

how I want to see you happy....

I want to give you everything, I wished, wanted for myself

 the perfect bliss, the perfect knowledge, the perfect life

I am scared you will make...mistakes I made, 

I want to shield, protect, take you in my arms and hide

you are so precious, so vulnerable...I hug you tightly, you feel uncomfortable

you want to break free,  I tighten my embrace, 

you scream...let me go..give me space

I am hurt...

am I transgressing, is that not my right, to nurture, to shade you from sunlight!

I recoil... the very shade hath you wilting, 

stunned....I blame, disapprove, push back.

your accusing eyes make me crack

my ego, my soul... bruised, fallen, snapped

I concede....let go, you are happy...in your flight

May be once you are a mother, will feel my plight

when you are given a speck of life to nurture, how it feels, what it takes..

for now I know, you are destined, to make your own set of mistakes.





Picture taken from: aperfectworld.org

Child is the Father of Man

Yes, and of a woman too.  After spending almost 25 years (or more!) of early life in all kinds of formal and informal education, just when we think our learning phase is over, our children appear; make us learn (and unlearn) many things all over again.  The traits that our teachers, parents and later our colleagues, bosses and even life partner tried hard to inject into us…. but….where everyone else fails, a child succeeds. Here are the changes having a child bring about in us:

Patience - With a child how many times you have to control your temper; at tantrums for not giving into demand of nth number of toy, fuss over not eating, not bathing, skirmishes in front of the guests. And exactly when you tell somebody in a party that your child doesn’t eat much, your child puts even the biggest glutton to shame. You are left with two options - either suffer a nervous breakdown or devise plans to keep yourself cool. It is prudent to go for the second choice, nervous breakdown doesn’t help any way!

Excellent listening skills: You have to listen to every blabber with apt attention, everything that happened in school, all the rhymes that teacher taught, her favourite episodes of TV programs, and…no, the child will not stop.  You are bombarded with questions, the next when you answer the first. The questions keep popping up, how well you try to answer them, leaving both of you whimpering in the end. Eventually you learn to listen quietly.

Empathy:  Finally, you are taught to step into other person’s shoes. You have to listen to stories you are least interested in. You have to watch cartoons when you want to watch your favourite serial on star plus (even discuss it animatedly). Her assignments become your own. You dine at your child’s favourite eating joint (We end up going to Pizza Hut on every occasion!). Her friends become the most important guest and her birthday the most important event in the house.

Master of all trades: Suddenly you start doing everything that you never associated yourself with even remotely. Her school assignments stir up an artist within you. You draw, paint, sing, dance, bake, cook, make paper craft, try your hand at unimaginable things you hardly believe you knew. One day, out of blue, you might have to play tennis and nurse your aching shoulder for days together as after effect…

Being Angel : We put our angelic self on display. Honesty, truth, keeping promises and all the niceties of life, our granny kept preaching and we conveniently kept ignoring, acquire acute importance. We want to read ‘good’ books, use ‘nice’ language, view ‘good’ programs on TV (discovery, animal kingdom, et al) and display only ‘good’ stuff on our shelves. Prayers assume significance. We become particular about showing respect to elders (and make sure children are watching us in action for the future benefit).

Who says being parents is easy?

Picture taken from: peaceful-parent.com

About letting the child be…

After all the pledges that I will never force my child to do something, I will never run a rat race, I will let her do what she wants to do, blah, blah, blah…I committed the same mistake of trying to mould my daughter into my die. As a concerned mother, it became my innocent wish that she puts 100% effort in whatever she does and the result should be acceptable (if not excellent). So knowingly, unknowingly, situation became like a pressure cooker. Shouts, scolds, tears…

One such thorn in my flesh was my daughter’s colouring abilities. Since her kindergarten, I couldn't just teach her to colour within the boundaries. Every time she started colouring, her creative fantasies took her well out of the given lines, making the whole sketch rather.... sketchy! 

It didn’t stop here. Her choice of colours also baffled me. One arm of doll could take three, four or as many colours as she fancied, with lot of browns, blacks and greys thrown in. I admit it got me worried. I could feel a whole bunch of psychiatrists shouting in my ears about the implications of using unhappy colours by a child. The situation was alarming. In the end my daughter proved to be more persistent than I was. I finally shrugged it off. May be she is not cut for painting (and for singing, and for dancing, and for ……….). 

But as the nature has its own course, one day I saw my daughter colouring a flower with much precision. To my great surprise she was concerned about finer nuances of the shading….and it did come out well! ‘Wow! I never knew you could colour it so well’. As I uttered these words, the twinkle in her eyes was priceless, sense of achievement unparalleled!

Now, not only she tries her hand on colouring, but drawing it too. I have seen another change in her, she takes things more seriously than she used to do earlier (finally! without my persuasion). But only in the things she is interested in, she will not put the same effort in her Hindi assignment (sigh!), which I want her to do.

Oops! I am doing it again……..


Pictures: my daughter's colour books