Slow down, you move too fast...
Got to make the morning last, just...
Kicking down at the cobblestones...
Looking for fun and feeling groovy...
I remember, way back when I was in college, this was one of my favourite songs. I'd love to sing it every Saturday morning as I woke up to the realisation that there was no hurry, and I and my friend Sherry would run around the colony, singing it at the top of our voices, flopping down amongst the dried leaves and scaring the poor mynahs...
Last week, when my aunt was visiting, I opened up our photo album on the computer to show her pictures of the family - she hasn't been here since before I was married so there are years to catch up on. I opened lots of albums from 2003 and 2004 - and there was Chubbocks, fat, rosy, rounded face beaming back in enjoyment or all frowny with fierce concentration as he tried his favourite game of fitting different keys into the doorlock. There was my first ownty downty baby, crawling...and then waddling around like Donald Duck, with his diaper sticking out behind him...Thoroughly loving his bath and looking like an angel, all covered up in bubbles. Rolling over and over in our roof garden out of sheer exuberance.
When did he become such a big boy? I don't remember him growing up. On the other hand, I don't remember him as that baby either. I look at the pictures and it's almost as if I'm looking at someone else's baby, because his picture in my heart and mind are from the way he is today - the handsome boy who loves talking to any and everyone about whatever he's seen and done that day, the kid who throws the cricket ball quite well and can hold a straight bat, the one who makes 'deals' with me...like the one from two weeks ago, where the deal was that he'd get to sleep over in our room every Sunday. Where and when did this babylicious, cuddly, helpless little creature transform into this confident young boy of almost five - give it another six days?
Well, I'm sure I remember Puddi better, she's much more recent, I think to myself and turn to her pictures from 2006. Only to react with shock. I don't remember her being this small...or this thin. I thought she was a healthy weight when she was born. Gee, I don't remember this funny picture in which she's pursed up her mouth and twisted her face - she looks like something out of a comedy film. Oh my, she looks like the baby in Species in the next one ( I have to admit, I started out spooked by her because she was born on 6-6-6. Not that I believe in all that, I'm just sayin'...) I go through picture after picture, trying to recapture what I felt at that moment, what I was thinking, maybe a trace of an actual memory of that day in my heart or mind, instead of in a picture...But no, it's all gone, and all I have in my heart and mind is the reality of what stands before me today.
Not that I mind today or am disappointed with it - au contraire I'm enjoying every moment, but I do wish there was some kind of sensory-emotional camera with which you could record your feelings and changing emotions as your kids grow, so that you would always be able to look back and say, That's what I was feeling, and this is what you made my heart feel when you did that. ( oh, wait, wasn't that why I started this blog?) I don't know, I guess every day so much happens to and with the kids and '...always at my back I hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near...' - it's like trying to hold a fistful of sand in your fist - sooner or later it all pours out.
I'm already angsty picturing the kids gone - and this when Chubbocks almost tearfully decided just last week that he couldn't be a 'dentust' because he'd then have to go and live in our dentust's house. I just read this article over at msnbc...and you'll just have to pardon my not ending this post on a note of closure as I choke back a sob and rush out of the office back home to hug my babies and reassure myself there are plenty more years left...
Friday, February 29, 2008
Choosing Friends
The other day when I wandered down to the park, Chubbocks was busy playing with one of the boys from the colony whom I particularly dislike. As a rule, I'm open to any kid he wants to play with, but this boy is really badly brought up, uses rude language even to adults and is very rough. I don't want Chubbocks to get friendly with him and learn all these bad habits. Well, Chubbocks put me in a spot by asking if his friend could come over to our house. That's the last thing I wanted so I hemmed and hawed, but the other kid was right there and I didn't want to hurt his feelings - he's only a kid after all, and the people to be blamed for his manners are those whose job it is to bring him up. Chubbocks' face crumpled up at this refusal and I felt so terrible - he's only a little kid after all, and so many of his other friends have come over that he couldn't understand why the rules were different. What a small thing he was asking for, but it was huge in my mind.
The bigger issue is when and how we start influencing their choice of friends. I'm pretty clear that after a certain age, the door has to be open to whoever comes over, and we'll have to rely on whatever values we pass on to Chubbocks to help him choose the right company. And by that I don't mean anything at all about social strata or economic status, but people who believe in the same values and a certain way of bringing up their children. But right now, is it okay for me at this stage to just say a flat no and hope that over time Chubs will see it for himself? We'd had a serious talk with him a few months ago when he'd started hanging out with this kid and told him why we didn't like his playing with the fellow. Chubs had understood and stopped playing with that kid, but the other day, when he was inviting the kid over, he also told me that "A has become a good boy now." What do you do then?
Even with those friends who are ok, I have some issues, especially when Chubs goes over to play at their homes. Most of the kids make free with the TV and watch all kinds of violent programming on Cartoon network - the kind of stuff that is any way banned. And Chubs, who hardly watches TV at home, suddenly falls under the spell of those shows and the ads. Very often, he is served either fried snacks, chips or coke. We're very careful about the kids' diets, not in a control-freakish way but by only allowing these things occasionally. So it gets difficult for me to explain why it's ok for H to have these whenever he wants but not for Chubs. Thankfully, so far Chubs has been an angel, refusing Coke and Chips, but I don't know how long that will last, as he grows up and becomes more susceptible to peer pressure.
The bigger issue is when and how we start influencing their choice of friends. I'm pretty clear that after a certain age, the door has to be open to whoever comes over, and we'll have to rely on whatever values we pass on to Chubbocks to help him choose the right company. And by that I don't mean anything at all about social strata or economic status, but people who believe in the same values and a certain way of bringing up their children. But right now, is it okay for me at this stage to just say a flat no and hope that over time Chubs will see it for himself? We'd had a serious talk with him a few months ago when he'd started hanging out with this kid and told him why we didn't like his playing with the fellow. Chubs had understood and stopped playing with that kid, but the other day, when he was inviting the kid over, he also told me that "A has become a good boy now." What do you do then?
Even with those friends who are ok, I have some issues, especially when Chubs goes over to play at their homes. Most of the kids make free with the TV and watch all kinds of violent programming on Cartoon network - the kind of stuff that is any way banned. And Chubs, who hardly watches TV at home, suddenly falls under the spell of those shows and the ads. Very often, he is served either fried snacks, chips or coke. We're very careful about the kids' diets, not in a control-freakish way but by only allowing these things occasionally. So it gets difficult for me to explain why it's ok for H to have these whenever he wants but not for Chubs. Thankfully, so far Chubs has been an angel, refusing Coke and Chips, but I don't know how long that will last, as he grows up and becomes more susceptible to peer pressure.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
I love you, Mom
This is for a Desi Moms theme which I thought was wonderful - write a letter to yourself about what a wonderful mom you are. Like most women, guilt and self-deprecation come easier to me than self-praise but I thought one should try and redress the balance for oneself sometime. I have to admit, I've struggled with it whenever I've thought about it, because it doesn't seem like I do anything out of the ordinary as a mom, but I had to give it a try, so here goes:
Dear BEV, With your typical need to be objective and give yourself feedback about everything, I'm sure you can think of lots of things you're not doing for your kids - you don't always remember their medicines, you love it when they've gone to sleep and the house is quiet, you yell at them and lose your temper and sometimes you make them cry. You forget to make Chubbocks do his school assignments and sometimes you're not organised enough to produce on-demand whatever the school has asked for. You missed the admission deadlines to start with for Chubbocks' schooling. You not only go out to work but enjoy it and forget about C and P for hours every day when you're busy.
On the plus side, though, you do have a few things going for you. The first is that despite not being gaga about kids and frankly nervous and unwilling to start with when you heard you were pregnant, you not only went through with but enjoyed the process of transformation - the rush of hormones that made you feel like a mom, the operation, the turning-into-a-human-pincushion with all the bloodtests (well, ok, maybe you didn't enjoy the last two, but you did it. Not once but twice!). Not only that but you let that little drooling 7 pound bit of mush turn you from a gung-ho career woman into one who couldn't bear to let the baby out of her sight for the first six months and who actually down-shifted and worked parttime and took up an easier job so it would free up your mindspace for the baby.
You're not always up there with teaching the kids their alphabets and numbers and stuff ( thank God for your mum, else they'd be little illiterates). But you do like to teach them the art of whimsy - knowing the names of each flower in the garden and kissing them in the spring, dancing like loons to any and every song, giving answers like four hundred and eighty six when your son asks how old you are, not squashing ants but carefully observing how the mother ant is carrying food home for her babies and helping her by brushing obstacles away...You teach them to laugh and have fun, and everyone who's ever met your kids comments on what happy children they are. You don't teach them about ambition and excelling and any of that, but you do teach them kindness and respect and how to laugh and enjoy the world around them every day. You let them fall down and bump themselves a few times and not get up to cry but turn to look at how badly they bruised the floor. You teach them to let go of dignity and 'face' and just be themselves. You encourage their creative and artistic sides, even as you don't focus too much on what they are 'supposed to be learning'.
You're determined to do the best you can for them. I remember...how you drove yourself mad with guilt when C didn't breastfeed. And how much effort you put in to ensure P did, from eating herbs to researching on the net to staying up late pumping to taking medicines and lugging the pump to the office which didn't even have a space to do it in. How many nights you cried about C's terrible Two Tantrums and how much research you did and all the books you read to figure out how to cope. How from someone who used to be so finicky, you're now even ok hanging out with babypuke on your clothes while they nod off to sleep. And how you fight even with their father or your parents or inlaws for the right to choose how they should be brought up.
Most of all, you've made the key transition that every parent needs to make to become the best parent possible - you've learned to put their needs ahead of yours, in big matters or small. You learn to wrestle with your own temper, with your emotional needs to hold your babies close, with your fears and demons, in their better interests. When you hurt them, you cry right along with them. And you know no one in the world could love your two more than you can. Most of all, I think the kids know it, judging by the way their faces light up when you walk into the house, and by the way they'll even miss going to Ajji's house if you happen to be home from work. I think that makes you a good mom.
Love, Me
PS. Do you think you could work on the temper a little?
Cross-posted on Desi Moms Club
Dear BEV, With your typical need to be objective and give yourself feedback about everything, I'm sure you can think of lots of things you're not doing for your kids - you don't always remember their medicines, you love it when they've gone to sleep and the house is quiet, you yell at them and lose your temper and sometimes you make them cry. You forget to make Chubbocks do his school assignments and sometimes you're not organised enough to produce on-demand whatever the school has asked for. You missed the admission deadlines to start with for Chubbocks' schooling. You not only go out to work but enjoy it and forget about C and P for hours every day when you're busy.
On the plus side, though, you do have a few things going for you. The first is that despite not being gaga about kids and frankly nervous and unwilling to start with when you heard you were pregnant, you not only went through with but enjoyed the process of transformation - the rush of hormones that made you feel like a mom, the operation, the turning-into-a-human-pincushion with all the bloodtests (well, ok, maybe you didn't enjoy the last two, but you did it. Not once but twice!). Not only that but you let that little drooling 7 pound bit of mush turn you from a gung-ho career woman into one who couldn't bear to let the baby out of her sight for the first six months and who actually down-shifted and worked parttime and took up an easier job so it would free up your mindspace for the baby.
You're not always up there with teaching the kids their alphabets and numbers and stuff ( thank God for your mum, else they'd be little illiterates). But you do like to teach them the art of whimsy - knowing the names of each flower in the garden and kissing them in the spring, dancing like loons to any and every song, giving answers like four hundred and eighty six when your son asks how old you are, not squashing ants but carefully observing how the mother ant is carrying food home for her babies and helping her by brushing obstacles away...You teach them to laugh and have fun, and everyone who's ever met your kids comments on what happy children they are. You don't teach them about ambition and excelling and any of that, but you do teach them kindness and respect and how to laugh and enjoy the world around them every day. You let them fall down and bump themselves a few times and not get up to cry but turn to look at how badly they bruised the floor. You teach them to let go of dignity and 'face' and just be themselves. You encourage their creative and artistic sides, even as you don't focus too much on what they are 'supposed to be learning'.
You're determined to do the best you can for them. I remember...how you drove yourself mad with guilt when C didn't breastfeed. And how much effort you put in to ensure P did, from eating herbs to researching on the net to staying up late pumping to taking medicines and lugging the pump to the office which didn't even have a space to do it in. How many nights you cried about C's terrible Two Tantrums and how much research you did and all the books you read to figure out how to cope. How from someone who used to be so finicky, you're now even ok hanging out with babypuke on your clothes while they nod off to sleep. And how you fight even with their father or your parents or inlaws for the right to choose how they should be brought up.
Most of all, you've made the key transition that every parent needs to make to become the best parent possible - you've learned to put their needs ahead of yours, in big matters or small. You learn to wrestle with your own temper, with your emotional needs to hold your babies close, with your fears and demons, in their better interests. When you hurt them, you cry right along with them. And you know no one in the world could love your two more than you can. Most of all, I think the kids know it, judging by the way their faces light up when you walk into the house, and by the way they'll even miss going to Ajji's house if you happen to be home from work. I think that makes you a good mom.
Love, Me
PS. Do you think you could work on the temper a little?
Cross-posted on Desi Moms Club
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Sibling Love
There they go, my 21-month old Puddi and my almost 5-year-old Chubbocks, hand in hand to the park, leaving us trailing behind. Chubbocks thoughtfully adjusts the length of his stride to Puddi's erratic shambling, and I look at them and swell with love and pride at all the wonderful changes the past 21 months have brought.I was always very clear that if I ever had children, I'd have more than one child. It was very important to me because, in the words of my late Thatha (grandpa), "no one else has grown up in the same house, experienced the same things and can instinctively understand where you are coming from." Not that I and my sibling - my younger sister now in California - always got along. In fact, with a 6 year age gap, we fought for years. When she was born, I resented her taking away the attention from me, all the more because she was fair and cuddly with curly, thick hair, while, according to an aunt, I was so dark and ugly when I was born that my mother cried for months. Of course mom refutes any such allegation but the hurt feeling didn't go away, especially when we had visitors - Dad's colleagues who came to see the new baby saw me in a pottu pavadai ( south Indian style lehenga) and remarked that the lehenga was pretty but not the girl. Of course I was proud of my sister and stored up lots of stories about the things she did and said, to narrate to her when she was older. But the rivalry part of it persisted for a long time, compounded by the generation gap that yawns between a 7 year old and a 13 year old.
It wasn't until she too became a teenager that we started becoming friends. Even though we're as different in personality as chalk and cheese, we started bonding over many things, including shared family history, and now I count her amongst my best friends. She was the person I called last week when I had to face a huge, life-altering decision, and while we were both dithering about it, she called me back the next day with her opinion which so exactly fitted mine. I couldn't be prouder of myself than I am of her when she gets a promotion or topped her class in school. I vetted all her friends, especially male admirers, when she was in school and college. We've helped each other through heartbreaks and cried for each other. And laughed so hard we thought our sides would burst at the silliest of things - from Baby's Day Out to the antics of our children - it's true, we can giggle nonstop, just ask our husbands. She wasn't exactly a welcome gift when she arrived, but I've never been more grateful to my parents for anything more than their decision to have a second child.
Of course, I was clear I wanted a lesser age-gap between my two, so they wouldn't have to wait so many years to become friends. And as of now it looks like they have become friends. Chubbocks, my little baby, has become the responsible elder one - he comes flying in to let me know when Puddi is about to do something dangerous, like jump off the futon or stick her finger into a socket. He accompanies us for her inoculations and while I chicken-heartedly stay in the waiting room during the process, he sits right there with his dad, patting his little sister and saying, "Don't worry Puddi, it's over."
Every time his paediatrician gives him candy he asks for a second piece for Puds - and knows not to give it to her without breaking it into smaller pieces. He carefully puts his arm across her when they sit together on the basket swing or the rocking chair so she doesn't fall off. The first thing he does in the morning is go up to her cot and tell her something funny, just to see her grin. And he hates it if she's sent down for her diaper change while we're all having our morning tea, because he wants her to share it. And whenever she visits him in school, his face is a beam of joy and pride, and he carefully leads her up to the gate, matching his confident strides to her mincing steps. The kid who hates to lose or break his toys has even learned to take it in his stride when she accidentally breaks something or tears his book.
Puddi too is no less of a friend - she thinks the sun shines out of her big brother. She waits eagerly for him to come back from 'cool' so they can play together. She imitates everything he does, from his bum-wiggling dance to his running up the slide in the park. She wants to colour just like he does and listen to stories out of his book. She hugs him and drops jammy, milky kisses on his freshly washed hair. She feeds him choice tidbits of her drooly biscuits or toffee. She keeps calling out to him every time she spies something interesting, and he's the only one she'll say "I lubiyu" to, using his name. And at night, the two of them sleep in identical positions, testifying to the bizarreness of DNA.
As I look back up at that picture, with the two of them walking hand in hand all by themselves without us in sight, it gives me a little glimmer of a future that I'd rather not imagine right now...but it's nice to think they'll be able to walk into that future with each other for company.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Tagged - My A to Z
Been tagged by Noon and RaisingT to do this:
A - Available?: Depends on for what - for conversation, old friends, shopping trips, holidays, faffing about...yes. For...pomposity, showing off, running other people down...No!
B-Best friend: Soul Sister MM in Mumbai, BFF from college days in Florida, my husband ( hasth bandh as the priest said), my sister in California, my mom...living next door!
C-Cake or Pie?: Cake.. pie...cake...pie...both!
Drink of choice: Good old-fashioned chai, any time of day
E-Essential thing used everyday: Perfume
F-Favourite colour: Red
G-Gummi bears or worms: Gummy bears
H-Hometown: Delhi-born and brought up, though I have a huge soft spot for Mysore, where I spent all my summers...
I-Indulgence: Books... shoes...food...clothes...cosmetics...travel...( am one totally self-indulgent person)
J-January or February: Love both - January for Republic Day and beating the Retreat and New Year's Day; February for all the lovely spring flowers
K-Kids and names: One son whose name means peace, one daughter whose name means fair, noble and bright...
L-Life: is an adventure
M-Marriage date: Dec 24th, 2000
N-Number of siblings: A sister who's far away...but close to my heart
O-Oranges or apples: Oranges ( hate apples)
P-Phobias: Insanity
Q-Quote: "happiness is a choice"
R-Reason to smile: Almost anything...
S-Season: Winter - the cold weather, the festivals and weddings, the vegetables, the angeethis...
T-Tag three people: Asha, threedrinksahead, karmickids
U-Unknown fact about me: Am an aspiring author, almost done with my second book which i hope has more popular appeal
V-Vegetable you do not like: parwal (yeeuchhh had an overdose years ago in Calcutta and never touched it since)
W-Worst habit: my favourite sport - running myself down
X-x-rays you have had: eye, ankle
Y-Your favorite food: Thai salads and green curry, guacamole, salads of all kinds, soups...too many to list
Z-Zodiac: Aries
A - Available?: Depends on for what - for conversation, old friends, shopping trips, holidays, faffing about...yes. For...pomposity, showing off, running other people down...No!
B-Best friend: Soul Sister MM in Mumbai, BFF from college days in Florida, my husband ( hasth bandh as the priest said), my sister in California, my mom...living next door!
C-Cake or Pie?: Cake.. pie...cake...pie...both!
Drink of choice: Good old-fashioned chai, any time of day
E-Essential thing used everyday: Perfume
F-Favourite colour: Red
G-Gummi bears or worms: Gummy bears
H-Hometown: Delhi-born and brought up, though I have a huge soft spot for Mysore, where I spent all my summers...
I-Indulgence: Books... shoes...food...clothes...cosmetics...travel...( am one totally self-indulgent person)
J-January or February: Love both - January for Republic Day and beating the Retreat and New Year's Day; February for all the lovely spring flowers
K-Kids and names: One son whose name means peace, one daughter whose name means fair, noble and bright...
L-Life: is an adventure
M-Marriage date: Dec 24th, 2000
N-Number of siblings: A sister who's far away...but close to my heart
O-Oranges or apples: Oranges ( hate apples)
P-Phobias: Insanity
Q-Quote: "happiness is a choice"
R-Reason to smile: Almost anything...
S-Season: Winter - the cold weather, the festivals and weddings, the vegetables, the angeethis...
T-Tag three people: Asha, threedrinksahead, karmickids
U-Unknown fact about me: Am an aspiring author, almost done with my second book which i hope has more popular appeal
V-Vegetable you do not like: parwal (yeeuchhh had an overdose years ago in Calcutta and never touched it since)
W-Worst habit: my favourite sport - running myself down
X-x-rays you have had: eye, ankle
Y-Your favorite food: Thai salads and green curry, guacamole, salads of all kinds, soups...too many to list
Z-Zodiac: Aries
Friday, February 15, 2008
School and competition
Today was form morning at Chubbocks's school, where all the youngest kids were performing a circus. Before the act began, the director of the school came up on stage to address us, and his talk was really interesting and thought-provoking. He said that in Germany, Sweden, France etc, schooling doesn't begin until the age of six. It was only in the Uk, way back in Victorian England during the industrial revolution that people started to send their kids off to school early so that the kids would finish their education fast and be available as juvenile and therefore poorly paid workers for the factories...and since India inherited her education system from the UK, that's what we do, though possibly not with the same objectives today. He also said that a lot of research on the issue of early versus late schooling had not resulted in a win for either side, though earlier schooling was only considered helpful if it helped a child develop his or her natural abilities, without the stress of competition.
I'm a pretty laid-back parent in that sense, and can't be fussed about making sure my kids are meeting their milestones, except basic health-related ones. I remember once when Chubbocks was in playschool, he had to take part in some such performance but was too shy and lolled about on stage. Shortly thereafter, A had to leave for office and that made Chubbocks burst into tears. Immediately all the teachers and the principal of his playschool were on me like a pack of wolves, explaining that I shouldn't scold the child for not doing his part and that this was no age to submit the child to competitive pressure and so on. I was taken aback and eventually managed to tell them what was going on, but I don't know how many of them believed me. I was a little irritated at the time, but later I realised that I should be thankful that we had chosen such a nice playschool, whose focus was not on 'getting kids ready for the admission process' but on helping them discover themselves. That school was an amazing boon for Chubbocks and helped turn him from a shy child into a confident, articulate little communicator, so much so that he always gets kudos for his verbal skills.
At the start of today's program, the director also made the point that in case any of the kids didn't do what they were supposed to on stage or did their own thing, we were there to celebrate their spontaneity and creativity, and their confidence in just coming up on stage. Different kids learned at different ages because the neural connections grew at different paces. Reminded me of the message from TZP all over again, and I was again grateful that we had decided to put Chubbocks into this school.
BTW, Chubbocks was a mighty lion in the circus - and a darn cute one too. he wanted to bring his ears and mane home but his 'ma'am didn't let him!
I'm a pretty laid-back parent in that sense, and can't be fussed about making sure my kids are meeting their milestones, except basic health-related ones. I remember once when Chubbocks was in playschool, he had to take part in some such performance but was too shy and lolled about on stage. Shortly thereafter, A had to leave for office and that made Chubbocks burst into tears. Immediately all the teachers and the principal of his playschool were on me like a pack of wolves, explaining that I shouldn't scold the child for not doing his part and that this was no age to submit the child to competitive pressure and so on. I was taken aback and eventually managed to tell them what was going on, but I don't know how many of them believed me. I was a little irritated at the time, but later I realised that I should be thankful that we had chosen such a nice playschool, whose focus was not on 'getting kids ready for the admission process' but on helping them discover themselves. That school was an amazing boon for Chubbocks and helped turn him from a shy child into a confident, articulate little communicator, so much so that he always gets kudos for his verbal skills.
At the start of today's program, the director also made the point that in case any of the kids didn't do what they were supposed to on stage or did their own thing, we were there to celebrate their spontaneity and creativity, and their confidence in just coming up on stage. Different kids learned at different ages because the neural connections grew at different paces. Reminded me of the message from TZP all over again, and I was again grateful that we had decided to put Chubbocks into this school.
BTW, Chubbocks was a mighty lion in the circus - and a darn cute one too. he wanted to bring his ears and mane home but his 'ma'am didn't let him!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Is Romance still alive?
On the eve of Valentine's Day, I think it behooves me to write about romance. A and I had plenty of romance, philmy shtyle, back when we were dating. I broke up with someone else to date him, we faced plenty of opposition and got married on the eve of running away, in a manner of speaking. I remember the days that we used to work late so we could hang out, then mush along to Rodeo for their nachos and salsa. We wrote each other funny notes and dropped them on each other's tables ( this was the age before gtalk and IM). Once in a while he hid my shoes (I had a habit of kicking them off and walking around office barefoot) so I couldn't leave. Sometimes he'd walk me home ( before he bought a car) through India Gate and I got serenaded with 'Bade acche lagte hain...' We almost got arrested for hanging out on the central park in CP one summer evening - we were just loitering to chat, I swear! We'd go to late night movie shows and hold hands, we'd dance through the night at the popular nightclubs..It was quite funny. We tried to keep our romance a secret but it was as if we had a giant magnet attached to us surgically - we couldn't go anywhere without bumping into someone from the office. We eventually grew to be so in tune that we could finish each other's sentences or know what the other was thinking without his/ her even uttering a word.
Now that it's all official, the only walks we take are hand in hand with Chubbocks or Puddi. Our singing, except for my friend's music parties, is a line-up of either lullabies or twisted versions of the latest pop hits to catch Chubbocks and Puddi's fancy, with their names or titles woven in, e.g. Puddi ke nakhre pudde lagde...Dancing is again with one of the tinies in tow with me doing an early 'Asha Parekh from Teesri Manzil' imitation. Late night movies...are you kidding? My idea of going out is falling asleep by 9 pm. And we only meet friends ( who are similarly child-challenged) by appointment, none of this running into them stuff.
So is romance quite dead? I think it's definition has changed but I'd hate to think it's given up the ghost altogether. A is still nice enough to bring me flowers when I'm down or we've had a huge fight ( and he's wrong!). It's romantic... to have all four of us snuggle into one bed and fall asleep clutching each other. To be out in the car, all of us singing a mad song. It's romantic that A covers me up at night with all the razais because I'm too lazy and cold to even bother pulling the cold things over myself. When, instead of yelling at me for being a natural-born messer, he organises my clothes into neat piles and hopes I'll put them away sometime. When he indulges my gardening mania and wearily pulls over and lets me buy another few potted plants. Or sits through another of my favourite black-and-white old English romcoms which he hates. When he and I have the same thing in mind...lemme give you my favourite example.
Some time ago, both the kids were heading to the park on a Saturday evening. We had hung out with them all day after a hectic week and were dog-tired. as soon as the kids were out the door, we took one manic look at each other...and I dived for the sofa as he raced upstairs to the bedroom. And the two of us had a peaceful, undisturbed, golden hour of slumber before the monsters came back. Gee, I hope that's my Valentine's Day gift this year!
Now that it's all official, the only walks we take are hand in hand with Chubbocks or Puddi. Our singing, except for my friend's music parties, is a line-up of either lullabies or twisted versions of the latest pop hits to catch Chubbocks and Puddi's fancy, with their names or titles woven in, e.g. Puddi ke nakhre pudde lagde...Dancing is again with one of the tinies in tow with me doing an early 'Asha Parekh from Teesri Manzil' imitation. Late night movies...are you kidding? My idea of going out is falling asleep by 9 pm. And we only meet friends ( who are similarly child-challenged) by appointment, none of this running into them stuff.
So is romance quite dead? I think it's definition has changed but I'd hate to think it's given up the ghost altogether. A is still nice enough to bring me flowers when I'm down or we've had a huge fight ( and he's wrong!). It's romantic... to have all four of us snuggle into one bed and fall asleep clutching each other. To be out in the car, all of us singing a mad song. It's romantic that A covers me up at night with all the razais because I'm too lazy and cold to even bother pulling the cold things over myself. When, instead of yelling at me for being a natural-born messer, he organises my clothes into neat piles and hopes I'll put them away sometime. When he indulges my gardening mania and wearily pulls over and lets me buy another few potted plants. Or sits through another of my favourite black-and-white old English romcoms which he hates. When he and I have the same thing in mind...lemme give you my favourite example.
Some time ago, both the kids were heading to the park on a Saturday evening. We had hung out with them all day after a hectic week and were dog-tired. as soon as the kids were out the door, we took one manic look at each other...and I dived for the sofa as he raced upstairs to the bedroom. And the two of us had a peaceful, undisturbed, golden hour of slumber before the monsters came back. Gee, I hope that's my Valentine's Day gift this year!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The Terrible Twos
Let me start by confessing that I have a terrible temper - hot and peppery, likely to go off any time, about anything. A long-term association with A ( 14 years and counting...) has mellowed me a bit but I can still lose it at the drop of a hat. Sadly enough, I seem to have passed this on to Chubbocks. He started life as a really easy kid, good-tempered, smiley - everyone who saw him used to say, "You have such a happy child".
When he was about 6 months old we had gone to Jaipur and randomly met an astrologer type at Chokhi Dhani where we were staying. That guy looked at Chubbocks horoscope and said he will be a 'Royal Philosopher'. We exchanged quizzical glances and he then explained that Chubbocks would be a guy who followed the beat of his own drum and do whatever he wanted to do. He could not be led. Well, that sounds good, we though innocently - he'll have a mind of his own. We found out differently when he started the terrible twos.
He started having such terrible tantrums, that almost nothing helped. He would get his mind fixated onto something and he would stand and holler for it until the roof came down. I would start out trying to calm him down, quickly lose it and then poor A used to be rushing from one to the other trying to calm both parties down. Time-outs didn't work - at the very mention of a Time out, he would start screaming even harder. Locking his toys away didn't have any impact - he would start throwing the ones that weren't locked up around the room. Smacks were doled out aplenty but they resulted in more screaming and after some time I decided I didn't want my child to be afraid of me, so I promised him and myself that I would never raise my hand against him - which I am proud to say I have kept, though it's darn tough at times.
Neither pleading and cajoling, nor screaming nor reasoned arguments worked. Once he had woken up at night to pee, and I wanted him to sit on the pot to do it. For some bizarre reason this sent him into an absolute frenzy and he started kicking and yelling loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood long after he had finished, and refused to come out of the loo. A and I finally told him, fine you stay in there and shut the door, hoping that would bring him to his senses. Nope. When we opened the door five minutes later, he started screaming all over again, "Leave me here. Shut the door. Go away!" For a child of 2 years and some months, I have to say this was some show of willpower - it was winter and cold and pitch dark in the loo. I was pregnant with Puddi at the time and dying for some sleep, so finally A hauled him out of the loo kicking and screaming and took him downstairs while I slept ( I was a Kumbhakaran during my second pregnancy). Chubbocks started the tantrums at 10:30 pm at night, and carried on till 7 am the next morning, when he fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion! Even now when A and I remember it, it seems unbelievable to us, but we lived through it.
To Chubbocks' credit is the fact that 90% of his tantrums took place at home, not when we were out. But the terrible twos is about the time parents lose all vestiges of shame they may ever have possessed and learn to walk through malls and parties alike with head held high while a screaming, howling, possessed little demon clings like a barnacle to their legs yelling "No" or "I won't" at the top of its sizeable lungs. We visited my sister around this time in the US, and she used to be horrible embarrassed when Chubbocks had one of his meltdowns and we wanted to carry on with whatever sightseeing or shopping we had come out for. It's only now when my nephew is going through his TTs that she's understood what that is all about. Frankly, if you wait for your child to only be in a good mood to step out of the house, you won't see sunshine for a good two years!
Thankfully, Chubbocks has crossed the TT milestone a while back and has reverted back to his sweet, good-natured self for the most part, though his temper can still flare up quite easily...aah the things you inherit. Puddi again has been a sunshiny looney tune so far but as she nears her 2nd birthday, is starting to show signs of a temper. Either she'll say 'Nai' when something is denied, or let out a short, shrill scream. When she's a little more bugged, she has started a bad habit of hitting me, which I am trying to discourage by smacking her right back or having a time-out - not talking to her for a minute or two and telling her so. Her big tantrums are seriously funny - she flings herself with great force down on the ground, having first checked that the surface is soft enough to not hurt her - on a carper or the mattress. Then she lies there, not moving, arms and legs akimbo, waiting for someone to react. When no one does, she pokes her head up and looks about indignantly. What, still no reaction? Then she just scrambles off the floor and resumes play.
But I am pretty sure the family temper has been passed down to her as well. I inherited it from my dad who got it from his mom. And on A's side, his dad and granddad have sizeable tempers, which is probably why A has learnt to be the Oracle of Calm. That's going to come in handy when all three of us screamers get into a fight, huh?
When he was about 6 months old we had gone to Jaipur and randomly met an astrologer type at Chokhi Dhani where we were staying. That guy looked at Chubbocks horoscope and said he will be a 'Royal Philosopher'. We exchanged quizzical glances and he then explained that Chubbocks would be a guy who followed the beat of his own drum and do whatever he wanted to do. He could not be led. Well, that sounds good, we though innocently - he'll have a mind of his own. We found out differently when he started the terrible twos.
He started having such terrible tantrums, that almost nothing helped. He would get his mind fixated onto something and he would stand and holler for it until the roof came down. I would start out trying to calm him down, quickly lose it and then poor A used to be rushing from one to the other trying to calm both parties down. Time-outs didn't work - at the very mention of a Time out, he would start screaming even harder. Locking his toys away didn't have any impact - he would start throwing the ones that weren't locked up around the room. Smacks were doled out aplenty but they resulted in more screaming and after some time I decided I didn't want my child to be afraid of me, so I promised him and myself that I would never raise my hand against him - which I am proud to say I have kept, though it's darn tough at times.
Neither pleading and cajoling, nor screaming nor reasoned arguments worked. Once he had woken up at night to pee, and I wanted him to sit on the pot to do it. For some bizarre reason this sent him into an absolute frenzy and he started kicking and yelling loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood long after he had finished, and refused to come out of the loo. A and I finally told him, fine you stay in there and shut the door, hoping that would bring him to his senses. Nope. When we opened the door five minutes later, he started screaming all over again, "Leave me here. Shut the door. Go away!" For a child of 2 years and some months, I have to say this was some show of willpower - it was winter and cold and pitch dark in the loo. I was pregnant with Puddi at the time and dying for some sleep, so finally A hauled him out of the loo kicking and screaming and took him downstairs while I slept ( I was a Kumbhakaran during my second pregnancy). Chubbocks started the tantrums at 10:30 pm at night, and carried on till 7 am the next morning, when he fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion! Even now when A and I remember it, it seems unbelievable to us, but we lived through it.
To Chubbocks' credit is the fact that 90% of his tantrums took place at home, not when we were out. But the terrible twos is about the time parents lose all vestiges of shame they may ever have possessed and learn to walk through malls and parties alike with head held high while a screaming, howling, possessed little demon clings like a barnacle to their legs yelling "No" or "I won't" at the top of its sizeable lungs. We visited my sister around this time in the US, and she used to be horrible embarrassed when Chubbocks had one of his meltdowns and we wanted to carry on with whatever sightseeing or shopping we had come out for. It's only now when my nephew is going through his TTs that she's understood what that is all about. Frankly, if you wait for your child to only be in a good mood to step out of the house, you won't see sunshine for a good two years!
Thankfully, Chubbocks has crossed the TT milestone a while back and has reverted back to his sweet, good-natured self for the most part, though his temper can still flare up quite easily...aah the things you inherit. Puddi again has been a sunshiny looney tune so far but as she nears her 2nd birthday, is starting to show signs of a temper. Either she'll say 'Nai' when something is denied, or let out a short, shrill scream. When she's a little more bugged, she has started a bad habit of hitting me, which I am trying to discourage by smacking her right back or having a time-out - not talking to her for a minute or two and telling her so. Her big tantrums are seriously funny - she flings herself with great force down on the ground, having first checked that the surface is soft enough to not hurt her - on a carper or the mattress. Then she lies there, not moving, arms and legs akimbo, waiting for someone to react. When no one does, she pokes her head up and looks about indignantly. What, still no reaction? Then she just scrambles off the floor and resumes play.
But I am pretty sure the family temper has been passed down to her as well. I inherited it from my dad who got it from his mom. And on A's side, his dad and granddad have sizeable tempers, which is probably why A has learnt to be the Oracle of Calm. That's going to come in handy when all three of us screamers get into a fight, huh?
The Circle of Life
I was never one of the mums who wanted to have her baby co-sleep with her. A, my husband, is an extremely heavy sleeper, and whenever he is stressed out, he starts having nightmares about me being in some dangerous situation that needs rescuing from ( falling off a cliff etc). Of course, I'm not entirely sure they're nightmares and not Freudian slips :) So in his sleepy comatose state, he starts trying to rescue me by yanking at whichever part of me he can reach - my upper arm, my fingers, my hair - and his rescue attempts are usually painful - I still have some bruises on my upperarm from six months ago. Last thing I wanted was a baby lying close to him. Plus I like my space, being a complete insomniac. I need to be able to stretch out and have a good half of a king-sized bed to myself.
When Chubbocks was born, we put him into the jolige, which is a family tradition. A Jolige is a cradle - a sling made out of durable yet really soft cloth - mom's old cotton sarees or dad's old dhotis, for instance. It's slung onto a hook from the ceiling and the baby sleeps in the middle. Because the cloth accomodatingly tightens itself around the baby, the baby feels as snug as if still in the womb and sleeps well. It also keeps the baby clear of draughts and dust. So Chubbocks, and later Puddi, slang from this for the first 3-4 months in our bedroom so I could be at hand for feeding or other problems.
Chubbocks thereafter was shifted to his own cot which was still in our room, and even later, when he had scared the life out of us by jumping out of his cot, to a mattress on the floor, surrounded by the playpen cage so he couldn't roll under our wrought iron bed and hurt himself. I was keen to move him to his own room when he turned around 1 and a half, but A kept feeling it was too soon. When Puddi was about to come along, I put my foot down and said there was no way both kids were going to be co-sleeping with us. So we did up the adjacent bedroom in a jungle theme and got a baby monitor and finally moved Chubbocks out a couple of months before Puddi arrived. She moved into that room and her cot as soon as I got home from my parents' place post delivery.
Last week, however, after all the worry of the hospitalisation, we found that the baby monitor had stopped working, and felt too anxious to want to leave Puddi in a room on her own. Chubbocks had also had a worrying time, with Puddi being hooked up to a drip and me being away, so we told him that as a treat, for a few days he could sleep in our bed. His face lit up, as this is a really rare occurrence, reserved for when he is ill.
For the last week or so, all four of us have been snugly ensconced into one bedroom, Chubbocks between A and me, Puddi at the foot of our bed in her cot, the oil heater making the room cosy and the dark drapes and door shut against the outside world. It's not the most comfortable bed to sleep in - Chubbocks has a habit of throwing the bedclothes off which means I wake up goose-bumpy all of a sudden, and he tends to sleep at diagonal position or even move up onto the pillows, so I have the doubtful felicity of sleeping with his feet on my face, while his head rests on A's.
But despite the inconvenience, there is something so elementally binding, so reassuring about all four of us being huddled together against the bitterly cold world outside, that I wish we could sleep this way forever. Though I'm sure my lower back would have something to say about that. the fact of all four of us being together through the night links us into a tight, loving unit, and I love being able to see my son's peaceful face when I turn over or gaze at Puddi's piquant face finally in repose when i get up in the morning...
When Chubbocks was born, we put him into the jolige, which is a family tradition. A Jolige is a cradle - a sling made out of durable yet really soft cloth - mom's old cotton sarees or dad's old dhotis, for instance. It's slung onto a hook from the ceiling and the baby sleeps in the middle. Because the cloth accomodatingly tightens itself around the baby, the baby feels as snug as if still in the womb and sleeps well. It also keeps the baby clear of draughts and dust. So Chubbocks, and later Puddi, slang from this for the first 3-4 months in our bedroom so I could be at hand for feeding or other problems.
Chubbocks thereafter was shifted to his own cot which was still in our room, and even later, when he had scared the life out of us by jumping out of his cot, to a mattress on the floor, surrounded by the playpen cage so he couldn't roll under our wrought iron bed and hurt himself. I was keen to move him to his own room when he turned around 1 and a half, but A kept feeling it was too soon. When Puddi was about to come along, I put my foot down and said there was no way both kids were going to be co-sleeping with us. So we did up the adjacent bedroom in a jungle theme and got a baby monitor and finally moved Chubbocks out a couple of months before Puddi arrived. She moved into that room and her cot as soon as I got home from my parents' place post delivery.
Last week, however, after all the worry of the hospitalisation, we found that the baby monitor had stopped working, and felt too anxious to want to leave Puddi in a room on her own. Chubbocks had also had a worrying time, with Puddi being hooked up to a drip and me being away, so we told him that as a treat, for a few days he could sleep in our bed. His face lit up, as this is a really rare occurrence, reserved for when he is ill.
For the last week or so, all four of us have been snugly ensconced into one bedroom, Chubbocks between A and me, Puddi at the foot of our bed in her cot, the oil heater making the room cosy and the dark drapes and door shut against the outside world. It's not the most comfortable bed to sleep in - Chubbocks has a habit of throwing the bedclothes off which means I wake up goose-bumpy all of a sudden, and he tends to sleep at diagonal position or even move up onto the pillows, so I have the doubtful felicity of sleeping with his feet on my face, while his head rests on A's.
But despite the inconvenience, there is something so elementally binding, so reassuring about all four of us being huddled together against the bitterly cold world outside, that I wish we could sleep this way forever. Though I'm sure my lower back would have something to say about that. the fact of all four of us being together through the night links us into a tight, loving unit, and I love being able to see my son's peaceful face when I turn over or gaze at Puddi's piquant face finally in repose when i get up in the morning...
Friday, February 8, 2008
Puddi's illness and what we learned from it
Puddi fell badly ill with some gastro-enteric + something else viral infection last week and wound up having to be hospitalised for five days last week. The whole episode was traumatic, and though she seems to be bouncing back with the resilience only children have, we know she's still traumatised by the way she howls when put into her crib at night. I think she fears having the drip inserted again.
It started with a simple episode of her throwing up early morning. We thought it was because she had been too warmly covered - A and I do tend to err on the side of caution, because she and her brother have a habit of kicking off their bedcovering. That evening when I came back from work, I found she had a fever. I took the next day off and took her down to the paediatrician who said it looked like a simple viral which sometimes causes throwing-up episodes and prescribed an emetic and fever SOS medication. She was ok that day and managed to keep her food down after the emetic, though she had less than her usually healthy appetite.
The next morning she threw up again so A took her to see the paediatrician that morning. She was prescribed an additional antibiotic and seemed ok by lunch when he left for work. By afternoon, she had raging fever of 104 and had to be sponged down. Mom called me and I rushed home in a panic, because she had also been throwing up everything, including water.
I had had an uneasy feeling since the first time she had thrown up that this was a gastric bug. I don't know why because she's been through a fever/ viral once before that involved throwing up but this time, I had an instinctive fear. We figured the next morning would be too late so we called the paediatrician and she asked us to rush Puds to the hospital. Once there, she was promptly hooked up to the drip as she was mildly dehydrated, and then it was a series of gloomy up-and-down days when she would throw up, dislodge the most hideously watery and green potty and lie moaning piteously all day.
It was really sad to watch this perpetual motion machine tied down to the bed and not just not protesting but lying there not moving. From someone who chatters all day, always has a naughty twinkle in her eye, moving her cute little fanny from side to side when music plays and being the family dog, i.e. begging everyone to give her a taste of whatever they are eating or drinking, she turned into a 'goongi gudiya' - a mute doll who just lay apathetically, said no to any form of oral nutrition including water which we otherwise have to keep far out of her reach, shook her head negatively when music played and stopped speaking, apart from heart-rending little moans. She lost a good 25% of her body weight in 2 days and now weighs as much as she did when she was a year old.
Thankfully she's back at home, being her usual nutty self - the family dog in action, wiggling her butt to the tinny sound of every television advertisement she hears, playing tricks and stealing water. Most of her clothes are somewhat loose for her now, but I guess that's a matter of time, especially if she has my genes and genius for gaining weight.
What did we learn from this?
....To always err on the side of panic when it comes to the kids' health and well-being. No matter how good a doctor is, they don't know your child as you do and won't be able to read the signs of an inarticulate sick child as you can. Never try and brave it out or fear being a nuisance to the doctor - you should be one when it comes to the kids...
...To listen to your instinct when it tells you something. I keep telling myself this when I quiz but it's a good life lesson as well. I should have had her stool and urine checked up immediately after she threw up the first time, when something told me this was serious...
...That family is the most important thing in life ( in case we had forgotten that). It comes before everything else - friends, money, career, status ( if you care about it)...absolutely before everything else...
...That you should have a paediatrician closer home. Ours lives half an hour away but I want someone within 10 minutes...
...That eternity is the definition of the time it takes you to get your sick child to the hospital. I almost couldn't breathe during the drive to the hospital.
...That protective instinct is the term attributed to my willingness that evening to singlehandedly blow up all other cars off the road so I could race her to hospital sooner...
...That Chubbocks is an amazingly sensitive boy and no matter how grown-up he seems sometimes, he needs to be treated with extra love and care...
It started with a simple episode of her throwing up early morning. We thought it was because she had been too warmly covered - A and I do tend to err on the side of caution, because she and her brother have a habit of kicking off their bedcovering. That evening when I came back from work, I found she had a fever. I took the next day off and took her down to the paediatrician who said it looked like a simple viral which sometimes causes throwing-up episodes and prescribed an emetic and fever SOS medication. She was ok that day and managed to keep her food down after the emetic, though she had less than her usually healthy appetite.
The next morning she threw up again so A took her to see the paediatrician that morning. She was prescribed an additional antibiotic and seemed ok by lunch when he left for work. By afternoon, she had raging fever of 104 and had to be sponged down. Mom called me and I rushed home in a panic, because she had also been throwing up everything, including water.
I had had an uneasy feeling since the first time she had thrown up that this was a gastric bug. I don't know why because she's been through a fever/ viral once before that involved throwing up but this time, I had an instinctive fear. We figured the next morning would be too late so we called the paediatrician and she asked us to rush Puds to the hospital. Once there, she was promptly hooked up to the drip as she was mildly dehydrated, and then it was a series of gloomy up-and-down days when she would throw up, dislodge the most hideously watery and green potty and lie moaning piteously all day.
It was really sad to watch this perpetual motion machine tied down to the bed and not just not protesting but lying there not moving. From someone who chatters all day, always has a naughty twinkle in her eye, moving her cute little fanny from side to side when music plays and being the family dog, i.e. begging everyone to give her a taste of whatever they are eating or drinking, she turned into a 'goongi gudiya' - a mute doll who just lay apathetically, said no to any form of oral nutrition including water which we otherwise have to keep far out of her reach, shook her head negatively when music played and stopped speaking, apart from heart-rending little moans. She lost a good 25% of her body weight in 2 days and now weighs as much as she did when she was a year old.
Thankfully she's back at home, being her usual nutty self - the family dog in action, wiggling her butt to the tinny sound of every television advertisement she hears, playing tricks and stealing water. Most of her clothes are somewhat loose for her now, but I guess that's a matter of time, especially if she has my genes and genius for gaining weight.
What did we learn from this?
....To always err on the side of panic when it comes to the kids' health and well-being. No matter how good a doctor is, they don't know your child as you do and won't be able to read the signs of an inarticulate sick child as you can. Never try and brave it out or fear being a nuisance to the doctor - you should be one when it comes to the kids...
...To listen to your instinct when it tells you something. I keep telling myself this when I quiz but it's a good life lesson as well. I should have had her stool and urine checked up immediately after she threw up the first time, when something told me this was serious...
...That family is the most important thing in life ( in case we had forgotten that). It comes before everything else - friends, money, career, status ( if you care about it)...absolutely before everything else...
...That you should have a paediatrician closer home. Ours lives half an hour away but I want someone within 10 minutes...
...That eternity is the definition of the time it takes you to get your sick child to the hospital. I almost couldn't breathe during the drive to the hospital.
...That protective instinct is the term attributed to my willingness that evening to singlehandedly blow up all other cars off the road so I could race her to hospital sooner...
...That Chubbocks is an amazingly sensitive boy and no matter how grown-up he seems sometimes, he needs to be treated with extra love and care...
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Fear
Becoming a parent gives you lots of things - the gift that keeps on giving, as they say. It gives you...a sense of wonder every day...a reason to laugh...a magnetic attraction to wherever the kids are...but most of all it gives you stark, cold fear. ShahRukh Khan who's extremely articulate, once said that having kids is like letting little pieces of your heart run around free in the world, and I couldn't think of a more apt description. So given how much you protect your heart, how much more crazily protective would you be of these delicate little pieces?
I was remembering my childhood days and how free and easy they were. When we lived in Pandara Road, I used to walk down to the Mother Dairy about a kilometer away to fetch milk from the time I was seven. Mom used to send me on errands to Pandara Market and every so often down to Khan Market, which involved crossing Humayun Road, all by myself. When we travelled to the South by train, we'd make friends with other kids sitting nearby and the entire gang would roam up and down the length of the train to amuse ourselves. I used to travel to school by public transport when we lived abroad in a country whose language I couldn't speak, and when I was 14, dad used to send me downtown to send off telexes for him.
When I even think about doing things like that with my kids, my blood turns cold. I don't know whether it's an outcome of being an overprotective mom. I don't think I am and usually teach my kids to laugh when they fall down and encourage them to climb trees or swing on gates. But the thought of letting them go off alone and unprotected anywhere is quite daunting. Maybe it's the world we live in today?
You can't open a newspaper without seeing some horrible article about a child being molested, or beaten up, or, in Gurgaon, shot. Young children are being kidnapped by their parents' employees for ransom. Perverts are running about raping babies as young as a few days or a few months old. Not just perverts but even boys and girls in the peer group of the victims are up to all kinds of things, whether it's stealing a car and running away to Goa or luring a classmate to a suburb to kill him for money.
I worry about how to keep them safe and I worry about how to make sure they get a realistic picture of life. I worry about protecting them and about not over-protecting them to the extent that they can't be normal, healthy human beans. Someone said, in a schmaltzy movie once that God created mothers because he couldn't be everywhere himself. My question is why he didn't clone dozens of me which, while destructive for the planet, may be my only way to keep'em safe.
I was remembering my childhood days and how free and easy they were. When we lived in Pandara Road, I used to walk down to the Mother Dairy about a kilometer away to fetch milk from the time I was seven. Mom used to send me on errands to Pandara Market and every so often down to Khan Market, which involved crossing Humayun Road, all by myself. When we travelled to the South by train, we'd make friends with other kids sitting nearby and the entire gang would roam up and down the length of the train to amuse ourselves. I used to travel to school by public transport when we lived abroad in a country whose language I couldn't speak, and when I was 14, dad used to send me downtown to send off telexes for him.
When I even think about doing things like that with my kids, my blood turns cold. I don't know whether it's an outcome of being an overprotective mom. I don't think I am and usually teach my kids to laugh when they fall down and encourage them to climb trees or swing on gates. But the thought of letting them go off alone and unprotected anywhere is quite daunting. Maybe it's the world we live in today?
You can't open a newspaper without seeing some horrible article about a child being molested, or beaten up, or, in Gurgaon, shot. Young children are being kidnapped by their parents' employees for ransom. Perverts are running about raping babies as young as a few days or a few months old. Not just perverts but even boys and girls in the peer group of the victims are up to all kinds of things, whether it's stealing a car and running away to Goa or luring a classmate to a suburb to kill him for money.
I worry about how to keep them safe and I worry about how to make sure they get a realistic picture of life. I worry about protecting them and about not over-protecting them to the extent that they can't be normal, healthy human beans. Someone said, in a schmaltzy movie once that God created mothers because he couldn't be everywhere himself. My question is why he didn't clone dozens of me which, while destructive for the planet, may be my only way to keep'em safe.
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