Work had been completely crazy for the past several months so finally since it started becoming more manageable since last week, I got to take Chubbocks to the park again. Ever since our live-in maid went off on holiday, he's been cribbing that he never gets to play as long as he wants because the other maid brings him home by 6:30 pm so she can leave. I also figured it was a good opportunity to figure out what exactly was going down in the turf wars on the playground and help Chubbocks out of his heartbreak.
It worked out quite well - when the kids saw this rotund momma bowling to her kid, they all crowded around to watch the circus and it was a short step from that to getting more of them involved in the cricket game, so by end of the week we wound up playing with quite a few other kids.
I was usually the only mom there - all the rest were typically supervised by maids. One day, we found a whole bunch of baby snails in little conch shells spread out over the canna lily bed. I and the kids crowded around to watch, and the kids took out a few snails to examine them better. You would have thought they'd touched a BOMB or something, the way the maids reacted. They screamed, shouted that the 'keedas' ( insects) would bite the kids, that they would get their hands dirty and carried on till we had a full-going crowd gathered. The poor kids looked most upset at having their exploration cut short - one snail had finally emerged from the shell and started crawling over a leaf! I explained to the maids that snails were harmless and wouldn't do anything to the kids. Since I was the 'memsaab' there, they couldn't argue but shook their heads dubiously and kept trying to drag their charges away.
A little later, we found a little centipede rushing along. It was beautifully striped, and with its many legs, rushing over the ground like an express train. Between the fast movements and the stripes, it looked as if a ripple was moving across the ground and I and the kids were watching it in fascination. Until the maids brigade pounced again, hollering and carrying on. One of them even tried to stomp on the poor little thing, at which I lost my temper and shoved her back. Again I told the bunch of them that this was a harmless worm, and also asked the kids not to touch it in case any of them were allergic. The maids were too scared to pay much attention and kept trying to physically drag the kids off, who meanwhile were protesting and asking me to help.
On Monday, when I accompanied Chubbocks to his dance class, I found a mother who had come there to pick up her two kids, aged 8 and 5, with a maid in entourage. The maid was responsible for carrying the kids bags and water bottles, because how could the poor things have borne the weight? The 5 year old started scrabbling in the mud when she found an interesting pebble. Promptly the maid started pulling her away and saying your hands will get dirty. The mother also chimed in saying you'll get mud all over your hands.
Some months ago, Chubbocks had gotten into this 'cleany-clean' routine, where he would refuse to paint with water colours or get a tattoo done because 'it would make him dirty'. To my mind, that was an awfully unnatural attitude, and I got very upset about it. What's wrong with a little dirt? What's wrong with kids getting their hands dirty and making mud pies? Why is it so bad for kids to learn to explore the world around them freely and observe nature in all her myriad forms? Why do kids not get to jump into puddles any more?
Yesterday my maid said she'd brought Puddi home early from the park because the ground was all muddy and Puds was enjoying scooping it up and playing with it. I promptly told her that the next time she saw Puddi playing in the mud, she was to go right along and letting her do so. I encourage Chubbocks to jump into puddles after every rain - heck, I do so myself, expensive shoes or not. We're always watching out in our little garden for unusual leaves or flowers, or insects that are doing something, and picking up ladybugs to admire their beautiful colours. Chubbocks loves to watch ants busily scurry home lugging enormous pieces of food far larger than themselves clutched firmly in their mouths.
Being tidy is one thing, but taking cleanliness to this level is frankly quixotic, at this age. Kids should learn to be free, to explore, to tumble down and fall and pick themselves up again, to see the pictures in the clouds rather than learn to keep their hands clean and colour inside the lines. I remember the old story about Krishna, and how Yashoda once found him eating mud. She promptly scolded him and he denied doing so. She asked him to open his mouth so she could check...and when he did, she saw the whole universe in there...
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Popping Pills
This morning, I read in the newspaper that scientists had now found a cure for shyness, in the hormone oxytocin. That's the hormone that helps mothers bond with their newborn babies, and, I suppose, become blase about breastfeeding and being poked by all kinds of doctors and medical assistants down there. So now they're planning to roll out a medical cure for shyness that uses this hormone and makes it into some kind of pill to cure shyness.
Why? Why is it required? Why can't we be happy accepting that there are different kinds of people in this world - those who are shy and those who are bold? Why does everyone have to be out of the same cookie-cutter mould? Why can;t getting over shyness be an exercise in character building rather than something to be cured by popping a magic pill? What's the end to all this - don't like my hair---pop a pill, don't like my smile---pop a pill, don't like my assertiveness---pop a pill, feeling sad---pop a pill? Are we trying to erase everything that makes us unique and individualistic, that helps us use life as a learning experience and just turn into a race of designer beings with designer emotions?
Way back when I was a kid, I used to love reading. I was the typical bookworm, always nose deep in one book - or three. Whenever we went to visit anyone, my parents actually had to ban me from asking to see their books because otherwise I'd end up making no conversation, just trying to read as many of their books that were new to me as possible in the duration of the visit. Then one day, dad sat me down and had a chat and told me I was in danger of isolating myself and that while books were good and reading a terrific habit, I also had to learn to deal with real life and real people in order to be a fulfilled human being.
I started trying to be more outgoing, to make conversation, to try and understand other real people, not fictional characters...in the process making a lot of good friends, learning to talk to all kinds of people, learning to adjust, learning to enjoy company...and today I'm a person equally at home with being by myself or being with a whole lot of other people. It's helped in my work, it's helped in life perspectives...and it has helped build character to see the need for a change and make that change happen. The process of change itself is such a huge teacher.
How easy, simplistic and yet how much less rich in experience to just pop a pill. It's along the same lines as Botox and plastic surgery. I'm all for it if people have a disfiguring ailment or some such, but just because you have a couple of frown lines or laugh lines? Come on, people, those lines are there because you earned them by laughing and crying and worrying and living a life. Show them off proudly! Live your life, learn to cope with the issues, go through the process and the pain...because that's the thing that makes it worthwhile when you turn back - to look at your growth and evolution, to see how you've grown and matured through everything, good or bad, that life has thrown at you.
Why? Why is it required? Why can't we be happy accepting that there are different kinds of people in this world - those who are shy and those who are bold? Why does everyone have to be out of the same cookie-cutter mould? Why can;t getting over shyness be an exercise in character building rather than something to be cured by popping a magic pill? What's the end to all this - don't like my hair---pop a pill, don't like my smile---pop a pill, don't like my assertiveness---pop a pill, feeling sad---pop a pill? Are we trying to erase everything that makes us unique and individualistic, that helps us use life as a learning experience and just turn into a race of designer beings with designer emotions?
Way back when I was a kid, I used to love reading. I was the typical bookworm, always nose deep in one book - or three. Whenever we went to visit anyone, my parents actually had to ban me from asking to see their books because otherwise I'd end up making no conversation, just trying to read as many of their books that were new to me as possible in the duration of the visit. Then one day, dad sat me down and had a chat and told me I was in danger of isolating myself and that while books were good and reading a terrific habit, I also had to learn to deal with real life and real people in order to be a fulfilled human being.
I started trying to be more outgoing, to make conversation, to try and understand other real people, not fictional characters...in the process making a lot of good friends, learning to talk to all kinds of people, learning to adjust, learning to enjoy company...and today I'm a person equally at home with being by myself or being with a whole lot of other people. It's helped in my work, it's helped in life perspectives...and it has helped build character to see the need for a change and make that change happen. The process of change itself is such a huge teacher.
How easy, simplistic and yet how much less rich in experience to just pop a pill. It's along the same lines as Botox and plastic surgery. I'm all for it if people have a disfiguring ailment or some such, but just because you have a couple of frown lines or laugh lines? Come on, people, those lines are there because you earned them by laughing and crying and worrying and living a life. Show them off proudly! Live your life, learn to cope with the issues, go through the process and the pain...because that's the thing that makes it worthwhile when you turn back - to look at your growth and evolution, to see how you've grown and matured through everything, good or bad, that life has thrown at you.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Indian-ness
One of the values Chubbocks' school holds dear is Pride in being Indian and they do quite a few things to inculcate it in the kids. For me, though, the issue is not only pride in Indianness but being able to relate in many ways, especially for my kids - in knowing the folk tales and the mythology of their country, knowing Indian rhymes and songs and stories, not the filmy stuff...
It's quite tough if you live in the big cities, to find good Indian entertainment material for the kids. Many years ago, Dad came across a wonderful tape of Kannada nursery rhymes, many of which had been adapted by one of Karnataka's poets, GP Rajaratnam, from the English, and many of which were of kannada origin. They had been beautifully set to music and sung by little kids and were quite magical. This was years before my sis and I were married, but dad had the forethought to pick it up and keep it safely so now my kids have a copy of it they love listening to - Bannada tagadina tuttoori was the title. I'm hoping to find some other nice material for the kids on my trip to Bangalore tomorrow.
Another nice series for kids is the Karadi tales tapes and books, which come in a few Indian languages apart from English. Chubbocks' first Karadi tales was one called The Monkey King, and he loved the story of the good monkey (kapi) and the bag monkey ( korung) - their names are also from South Indian languages, which is a nice contrast to the Mickeys and Doras the kids are otherwise awash in. He used to listen to this story each night, and then one day he psyched A by coming up with a gem of a sentence, when A was looking for one of Chubbocks' favourite toys which had been misplaced, "Look for it abba. You will be well rewarded!" It was only after a few thunder-struck moments that we realised our pal had mugged it up from the book but cleverly used it at just the right moment. One of my friends gifted Chubbocks a lovely tape of Indian songs that the Karadi people have come up with, sung by Usha Uthup. It's a really lively tape with lots of original songs and music and great fun for the kids to sing along with.
At Landmark recently, I wanted to buy Chubbocks some nice books in Hindi so he would relate to it as well as to English, particularly in terms of reading and writing. But sadly, apart from the Karadi series which is a little difficult for him to read on his own right now, the store had nothing compared to the brightly coloured illustrations that English books abound in. Finally ended up buying a Chacha Chowdhury in Hindi and a Nandan magazine. When I was in school, my hindi was a little weak, so mom had started subscribing to Nandan and Champak in Hindi which induced me to start reading on my own. But even then, I remember comparing the production quality to that of Children's World, the English magazine, and feeling dissatisfied.
I wish some of the publishing houses would take up the cause of Indian languages and folk tales more seriously, and publish books for all ages in different languages, while preserving a uniformly high standard of production. One of the Government publication agencies had produced a series of Folk tales of India - one hardbound book for each state - years ago when I was a child. Now, sadly, you can only lay your hands on those books in some forgotten corner of a dusty library. For now I'm relying on my memory and my stock of Amar Chitra Kathas...
It's quite tough if you live in the big cities, to find good Indian entertainment material for the kids. Many years ago, Dad came across a wonderful tape of Kannada nursery rhymes, many of which had been adapted by one of Karnataka's poets, GP Rajaratnam, from the English, and many of which were of kannada origin. They had been beautifully set to music and sung by little kids and were quite magical. This was years before my sis and I were married, but dad had the forethought to pick it up and keep it safely so now my kids have a copy of it they love listening to - Bannada tagadina tuttoori was the title. I'm hoping to find some other nice material for the kids on my trip to Bangalore tomorrow.
Another nice series for kids is the Karadi tales tapes and books, which come in a few Indian languages apart from English. Chubbocks' first Karadi tales was one called The Monkey King, and he loved the story of the good monkey (kapi) and the bag monkey ( korung) - their names are also from South Indian languages, which is a nice contrast to the Mickeys and Doras the kids are otherwise awash in. He used to listen to this story each night, and then one day he psyched A by coming up with a gem of a sentence, when A was looking for one of Chubbocks' favourite toys which had been misplaced, "Look for it abba. You will be well rewarded!" It was only after a few thunder-struck moments that we realised our pal had mugged it up from the book but cleverly used it at just the right moment. One of my friends gifted Chubbocks a lovely tape of Indian songs that the Karadi people have come up with, sung by Usha Uthup. It's a really lively tape with lots of original songs and music and great fun for the kids to sing along with.
At Landmark recently, I wanted to buy Chubbocks some nice books in Hindi so he would relate to it as well as to English, particularly in terms of reading and writing. But sadly, apart from the Karadi series which is a little difficult for him to read on his own right now, the store had nothing compared to the brightly coloured illustrations that English books abound in. Finally ended up buying a Chacha Chowdhury in Hindi and a Nandan magazine. When I was in school, my hindi was a little weak, so mom had started subscribing to Nandan and Champak in Hindi which induced me to start reading on my own. But even then, I remember comparing the production quality to that of Children's World, the English magazine, and feeling dissatisfied.
I wish some of the publishing houses would take up the cause of Indian languages and folk tales more seriously, and publish books for all ages in different languages, while preserving a uniformly high standard of production. One of the Government publication agencies had produced a series of Folk tales of India - one hardbound book for each state - years ago when I was a child. Now, sadly, you can only lay your hands on those books in some forgotten corner of a dusty library. For now I'm relying on my memory and my stock of Amar Chitra Kathas...
Monday, June 16, 2008
Heartbreak
On the mother's network that I'm part of, someone recently asked a mother of grown children if the worst she would feel for her kids would be watching her kids go through a broken heart. Well, we had a foretaste of it yesterday evening, and it was hellish. I'd rather have gone through ten break-ups than be part of the conversation we had with Chubbocks yesterday.
He is a rather sensitive boy, as I've mentioned before, highly empathetic and quick to feel emotional pain. He had gone over to his grandparents' place in the evening, then suddenly rushed back all upset. he had accidentally run his bike into his grandpa's foot; grandpa had yelled out loud with pain and Chubbocks was upset, both because he'd hurt grandpa and because he thought the yell was meant at him, rather than being an explanation. And in the throes of his anguish, a flood of feelings of rejection came pouring out. Of how no one plays with him in the park in the evenings. Of how no one shares things with him. Of how he is always getting scolded and even Puddi hits him...
The worst of the hurt was his lack of playmates/ friends in the neighbourhood park. It turns out the two friends whom we liked and who he used to hang out with don't come to the park any more, or come very late in the evening. And the other boys his age who do come and play are the rough and violent type, whom we don't like, though we've never forbidden him to play with them. These are the kids who go around beating up the kids younger than them ( like Puddi, for instance) and speak in a rough, 'tu-tu-main-main' manner. Who say things like 'Tera papa aaya hai', referring to A. None of the parents of these kids is ever at the park, they are always in the care of maids whom they disregard coolly. It seems when Chubbocks goes to play with them, they go far away and refuse to play with him. when he asks to play with them, they say, "Nahin", ignore or taunt him. And the poor guy just can't understand what's going on.
The girls are a whole other story. While they all really like Chubbocks and enjoy hanging out with him, in the park, they prefer to sit in a corner rather than run about and play. At this very young age of 4 or 5, they are already busy being little ladies and worrying about getting their shoes/ clothes dirty.
I just don't know what to do. Chubbocks does have plenty of friends in school, though no one best friend as of now, since previous best friend has gone over to the violent side ( the kid who knocked him down and stomped on his ear). He plays really well with kids of our friends when they come over, and is as sociable and friendly a boy as anyone would like, albeit gentle and chatty. It breaks my heart to think of all this friendliness and desire for company being restricted to just us and his grandparents or his school friends who, at this stage, are too far away for daily playing after school.
A and I discussed it, both of us nearly in tears much after Chubbocks had calmed down. A suggested that part of the reason may be his inability to contribute much to the discussions of the violent cartoons du jour - Ben Ten, this year/ Power Rangers last year - due to our policy of restricted and regulated cartoon watching, and that maybe we need to give him some limited access to the 'pop culture' of his peers so he's on the same wavelength. Maybe he has a point, though my heart rebels at having to expose him to the pointless violence of these things, which judging from the evidence of his friends, helps turn young boys into hardboiled, no-longer-innocent, violent little beings.
I can't decide which is worse, exposing him to the worst things available in popular media, just so he can become more popular ( and that's another values debate raging in my mind - Popularity prout and what not) and fit in with other kids or to preserve him as he is, thus leaving him somewhat more lonely but more gentle, evolved and sensitive than other kids. Mind you, when I say gentle and sensitive, it's not to say he's some sort of Dilton Doiley - he loves running, throws a ball pretty straight, bats quite well for his age, hangs off the monkey gym and is as active a sportsboy as any other. But when he gets together with the more 'uncultured' ( yes, it sounds like an intellectual's effete cliche, but what can I do?) boys in the neighbourhood, I find that Chubbocks also starts talking rough, shrieking and behaving more roughly and in a way that I wouldn't want him to be. The rest of his peers, at the age of 4 and 5, already know that Mickey Mouse is imaginary and so is Santa, while Chubbocks is still eagerly looking forward to a playdate with Mickey, and I would so dearly love to preserve that naivete for a few more years.
So my options are: to arrange for a series of playdates with friends from school/ my friends' kids; let him watch Ben Ten and so on and transform into a similar young hooligan or harden my heart and let him be the way he is, figuring he has to make his own space in the world. There is something to be said for that last - we all have to learn in the end "to thine own self be true' in the wonderful words of Kipling, so rather than help him change his mask with each crowd, I can let him learn to grow one more layer of skin and be who he is unconcerned about what others have to say or do. Only, he's just 5 years old, not old enough to be able to develop an extra layer, especially as he was born with one layer less. And it's heartbreaking to find that eager smile and the thrill of sharing in his eyes die out at the indifference of his peers...
He is a rather sensitive boy, as I've mentioned before, highly empathetic and quick to feel emotional pain. He had gone over to his grandparents' place in the evening, then suddenly rushed back all upset. he had accidentally run his bike into his grandpa's foot; grandpa had yelled out loud with pain and Chubbocks was upset, both because he'd hurt grandpa and because he thought the yell was meant at him, rather than being an explanation. And in the throes of his anguish, a flood of feelings of rejection came pouring out. Of how no one plays with him in the park in the evenings. Of how no one shares things with him. Of how he is always getting scolded and even Puddi hits him...
The worst of the hurt was his lack of playmates/ friends in the neighbourhood park. It turns out the two friends whom we liked and who he used to hang out with don't come to the park any more, or come very late in the evening. And the other boys his age who do come and play are the rough and violent type, whom we don't like, though we've never forbidden him to play with them. These are the kids who go around beating up the kids younger than them ( like Puddi, for instance) and speak in a rough, 'tu-tu-main-main' manner. Who say things like 'Tera papa aaya hai', referring to A. None of the parents of these kids is ever at the park, they are always in the care of maids whom they disregard coolly. It seems when Chubbocks goes to play with them, they go far away and refuse to play with him. when he asks to play with them, they say, "Nahin", ignore or taunt him. And the poor guy just can't understand what's going on.
The girls are a whole other story. While they all really like Chubbocks and enjoy hanging out with him, in the park, they prefer to sit in a corner rather than run about and play. At this very young age of 4 or 5, they are already busy being little ladies and worrying about getting their shoes/ clothes dirty.
I just don't know what to do. Chubbocks does have plenty of friends in school, though no one best friend as of now, since previous best friend has gone over to the violent side ( the kid who knocked him down and stomped on his ear). He plays really well with kids of our friends when they come over, and is as sociable and friendly a boy as anyone would like, albeit gentle and chatty. It breaks my heart to think of all this friendliness and desire for company being restricted to just us and his grandparents or his school friends who, at this stage, are too far away for daily playing after school.
A and I discussed it, both of us nearly in tears much after Chubbocks had calmed down. A suggested that part of the reason may be his inability to contribute much to the discussions of the violent cartoons du jour - Ben Ten, this year/ Power Rangers last year - due to our policy of restricted and regulated cartoon watching, and that maybe we need to give him some limited access to the 'pop culture' of his peers so he's on the same wavelength. Maybe he has a point, though my heart rebels at having to expose him to the pointless violence of these things, which judging from the evidence of his friends, helps turn young boys into hardboiled, no-longer-innocent, violent little beings.
I can't decide which is worse, exposing him to the worst things available in popular media, just so he can become more popular ( and that's another values debate raging in my mind - Popularity prout and what not) and fit in with other kids or to preserve him as he is, thus leaving him somewhat more lonely but more gentle, evolved and sensitive than other kids. Mind you, when I say gentle and sensitive, it's not to say he's some sort of Dilton Doiley - he loves running, throws a ball pretty straight, bats quite well for his age, hangs off the monkey gym and is as active a sportsboy as any other. But when he gets together with the more 'uncultured' ( yes, it sounds like an intellectual's effete cliche, but what can I do?) boys in the neighbourhood, I find that Chubbocks also starts talking rough, shrieking and behaving more roughly and in a way that I wouldn't want him to be. The rest of his peers, at the age of 4 and 5, already know that Mickey Mouse is imaginary and so is Santa, while Chubbocks is still eagerly looking forward to a playdate with Mickey, and I would so dearly love to preserve that naivete for a few more years.
So my options are: to arrange for a series of playdates with friends from school/ my friends' kids; let him watch Ben Ten and so on and transform into a similar young hooligan or harden my heart and let him be the way he is, figuring he has to make his own space in the world. There is something to be said for that last - we all have to learn in the end "to thine own self be true' in the wonderful words of Kipling, so rather than help him change his mask with each crowd, I can let him learn to grow one more layer of skin and be who he is unconcerned about what others have to say or do. Only, he's just 5 years old, not old enough to be able to develop an extra layer, especially as he was born with one layer less. And it's heartbreaking to find that eager smile and the thrill of sharing in his eyes die out at the indifference of his peers...
Saturday, June 14, 2008
In Praise of Two Fathers...
It's Father's Day today. Normally I don't believe in or celebrate these Mother's Day/ Father's Day things, because I feel it's more meaningful to have a good day to day relationship than send a card once a year because Hallmark said so...but this year I'm feeling sentimental about Father's Day. Perhaps it's because dad is turning seventy this year, and I find myself becoming a little apprehensive about his age...or maybe with more years behind me as a parent, I appreciate him a little more...
I was doing some research recently with young people. When asked about their role model, most of them named an Ambani or a Shah Rukh Khan. I'm lucky enough to know my role models personally - it's always been dad and mom, for different reasons.
We've had our issues, Dad and I. We're very similar in our tempers, in our independent streak and our interests but very dissimilar in some of our values. My adolescence and my 20s passed in a series of clashes, born out of the very different circumstances we grew up in.
Dad was born during the British Raj and grew up in a family that participated in the freedom struggle. As a toddler, his job was to hang out by the gate with their dog, Jacky ( whom our dog is named after) and shout "Down Down Union Jack, Up Up Union flag" every time he saw a British soldier walk past, as a signal to the revolutionary students concealed in the house to go up and hide on the rooftop. He grew up in a highly educated and pro-education but poor family so he studied under streetlights and walked miles to and from school. Bound and determined to get out of the shadow of poverty, he refused to be sidetracked by any extracurricular activities in school, focussing purely on studies as his escape route.
So bright that teachers used to ask for his notes and request him to please refrain from asking questions in class, the anti-Brahmin movement of those days saw the university denying him the pleasure of coming first, simply by refusing to allocate the marks he had earned, and didn't allow him to enter the course of his choice, by withholding admissions until he had signed up for some other course.
So his view was that the school and college years should be spent fiercely concentrating on studies and there would be plenty of time to have fun later on. He believed in saving money and investing right from the beginning of one's career. I of course believed - and found to be true - that extracurricular activities are best enjoyed during school and college because work leaves little time for such things. Now, many years later, I do regret not taking his advice of saving and investing more right from the start of my career.
But despite all our clashes, we had our common ground. We loved to argue about politics, discuss literature. When I was a little child, dad used to make up wonderful bedtime stories for me, and tell me stories from our mythology which are now ingrained into my psyche. We used to go to India Gate or Children's Park on weekends when I would enjoy the supreme delight of a cone ( sans icecream) to myself. He used to read poetry to us when we were quite little, inculcating a love for the rhythm and for language. He encouraged us to read and to draw, to follow a talent for music, to write stories, poems or essays. Our discussions are always stimulating and he has the ability to throw a different and deeper light on any subject we discuss. He's very proud of whatever we achieve and who we are, even if the praise from him is never to our face but behind our backs!
Years later after I started working, he and I developed a more grown-up relationship. When I wanted to travel to Europe and the US on my own, with no fixed agenda, unlike most parents of boys or girls in India, neither he nor my mom turned a hair. I caused him a lot of grief and embarrassment, quite apart from monetary loss, when I broke off my engagement shortly before the wedding, an event to which the most senior government officials and even the Prime Minister had been invited. Yet I never heard a word of reproach from him ever...
Most of all, I realise as I grow older, my dad has a very strong need to be the 'Provider' or giver. He hates taking so much as a birthday present from us but delights from giving. Even when we go across to have lunch or tea, he will be happier standing about and thinking of interesting things to add to our lunch or serving us before having his own meal. He's endlessly patient and creative with the kids, be it teaching them little songs, telling them stories or just hanging out and playing with them.
Despite all our clashes and our still divergent points of view on many things, I feel blessed and proud to have him for a father. I hope he'll be around for years yet, arguing, debating, laughing, being emotional, being himself.
The second father that I'm really proud of is the one my kids have. A's grown up without a role model to follow, having had almost no relationship with his own, except for a formal, sperm-donor one. They have never shared a single thought or emotional connection. And that makes A all the more determined to be the kind of father he dreamt of having when he was growing up.
Far more patient with the kids than me, he really makes it a point to hang out with them, be it brushing their teeth in the morning or telling them their bedtime tales. He loves taking them to the park on weekends, listening to their chatter about their little concerns. The braver one of the two of us, he's the one who hangs in there with the kids while they are getting inoculated, while I stand outside, wallet ready, cringing at the thought of that big needle poking into my teeny tiny kids. He's the one who went with Chubbocks to the dentist while I mostly chickened out, and takes him for his regular blood tests. He's stayed home to tend to the sick kids, sharing those duties with me.
He's very clear that family and kids time comes first and tough as it is in today's work-world, does his best to lead a balanced life. He's very clear about the kind of relationship he wants to have with the kids as they grow up and does his best every single day to build it up. I know many moms who'd hesitate to leave their kids with the dads without a long list of instructions for them, but I know A is so in tune with what's going on in the kids' lives that I can leave them without a second's thought.
I'm really blessed to have these two great dads in my life, and so proud of them both. Happy Father's Day!
I was doing some research recently with young people. When asked about their role model, most of them named an Ambani or a Shah Rukh Khan. I'm lucky enough to know my role models personally - it's always been dad and mom, for different reasons.
We've had our issues, Dad and I. We're very similar in our tempers, in our independent streak and our interests but very dissimilar in some of our values. My adolescence and my 20s passed in a series of clashes, born out of the very different circumstances we grew up in.
Dad was born during the British Raj and grew up in a family that participated in the freedom struggle. As a toddler, his job was to hang out by the gate with their dog, Jacky ( whom our dog is named after) and shout "Down Down Union Jack, Up Up Union flag" every time he saw a British soldier walk past, as a signal to the revolutionary students concealed in the house to go up and hide on the rooftop. He grew up in a highly educated and pro-education but poor family so he studied under streetlights and walked miles to and from school. Bound and determined to get out of the shadow of poverty, he refused to be sidetracked by any extracurricular activities in school, focussing purely on studies as his escape route.
So bright that teachers used to ask for his notes and request him to please refrain from asking questions in class, the anti-Brahmin movement of those days saw the university denying him the pleasure of coming first, simply by refusing to allocate the marks he had earned, and didn't allow him to enter the course of his choice, by withholding admissions until he had signed up for some other course.
So his view was that the school and college years should be spent fiercely concentrating on studies and there would be plenty of time to have fun later on. He believed in saving money and investing right from the beginning of one's career. I of course believed - and found to be true - that extracurricular activities are best enjoyed during school and college because work leaves little time for such things. Now, many years later, I do regret not taking his advice of saving and investing more right from the start of my career.
But despite all our clashes, we had our common ground. We loved to argue about politics, discuss literature. When I was a little child, dad used to make up wonderful bedtime stories for me, and tell me stories from our mythology which are now ingrained into my psyche. We used to go to India Gate or Children's Park on weekends when I would enjoy the supreme delight of a cone ( sans icecream) to myself. He used to read poetry to us when we were quite little, inculcating a love for the rhythm and for language. He encouraged us to read and to draw, to follow a talent for music, to write stories, poems or essays. Our discussions are always stimulating and he has the ability to throw a different and deeper light on any subject we discuss. He's very proud of whatever we achieve and who we are, even if the praise from him is never to our face but behind our backs!
Years later after I started working, he and I developed a more grown-up relationship. When I wanted to travel to Europe and the US on my own, with no fixed agenda, unlike most parents of boys or girls in India, neither he nor my mom turned a hair. I caused him a lot of grief and embarrassment, quite apart from monetary loss, when I broke off my engagement shortly before the wedding, an event to which the most senior government officials and even the Prime Minister had been invited. Yet I never heard a word of reproach from him ever...
Most of all, I realise as I grow older, my dad has a very strong need to be the 'Provider' or giver. He hates taking so much as a birthday present from us but delights from giving. Even when we go across to have lunch or tea, he will be happier standing about and thinking of interesting things to add to our lunch or serving us before having his own meal. He's endlessly patient and creative with the kids, be it teaching them little songs, telling them stories or just hanging out and playing with them.
Despite all our clashes and our still divergent points of view on many things, I feel blessed and proud to have him for a father. I hope he'll be around for years yet, arguing, debating, laughing, being emotional, being himself.
The second father that I'm really proud of is the one my kids have. A's grown up without a role model to follow, having had almost no relationship with his own, except for a formal, sperm-donor one. They have never shared a single thought or emotional connection. And that makes A all the more determined to be the kind of father he dreamt of having when he was growing up.
Far more patient with the kids than me, he really makes it a point to hang out with them, be it brushing their teeth in the morning or telling them their bedtime tales. He loves taking them to the park on weekends, listening to their chatter about their little concerns. The braver one of the two of us, he's the one who hangs in there with the kids while they are getting inoculated, while I stand outside, wallet ready, cringing at the thought of that big needle poking into my teeny tiny kids. He's the one who went with Chubbocks to the dentist while I mostly chickened out, and takes him for his regular blood tests. He's stayed home to tend to the sick kids, sharing those duties with me.
He's very clear that family and kids time comes first and tough as it is in today's work-world, does his best to lead a balanced life. He's very clear about the kind of relationship he wants to have with the kids as they grow up and does his best every single day to build it up. I know many moms who'd hesitate to leave their kids with the dads without a long list of instructions for them, but I know A is so in tune with what's going on in the kids' lives that I can leave them without a second's thought.
I'm really blessed to have these two great dads in my life, and so proud of them both. Happy Father's Day!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Summer Holidays
If you live in any of india's big cities, you will find yourself inundated with ads and newspaper inserts advertising summer camps and activity centers for kids. And you will find many of them full to the brim of kids, all learning to do colouring or to sing songs or whatever. Whatever happened to the carefree schedule-free days of summer?
I don't know whether it's purely a function of working moms, because several of my son's classmates who have stay-at-home moms are also enrolled in these classes. Last year, after we got back from a 2 week vacation, we enrolled Chubbocks into a thrice-a-week three hours summer camp, because my mom was away in the US and I didn't want him drifting around with nothing to do. Yet I'm a bit upset that I did it because I think it's so important for kids to learn the art of simply being as well as amusing themselves.
As a mom, while I don't believe in 'quality time', I do believe in benign neglect. I think it does kids a world of good to just hang out in the same space as their parents, not necessarily being read to/ taught/ 'spoken to'/ made to do anything in particular which is meant to mark the time the parent spent with the kid as something special. When I look back at my own childhood, what I see is a string of days or a blurred period of time where we all hung out, chatted, fought, played, cried and laughed together. The undue emphasis on quality time just leads kids to think the world revolves around them and they never learn to just coexist in the same space as other people, without the warm shininess of a spotlight.
This summer, though I knew I wouldn't have too much time off, I didn't want to enrol Chubbocks into any classes, especially those that taught him anything. I think school is good enough for most things he wants or needs to learn. So we just put him into a dance class that's an hour twice a week, as some of his friends from school were joining up as well and that was that.
Of course, it has led to him moping around the house, as I feared. It's bizarre but he doesn't have any company around, despite the fact that the colony we live in is full of kids his age. That's because these days, parents just don't send their kids out to play because 'it's too hot'. I remember during my summer vacations, we were forever outside, jumping, running, shouting and playing, oblivious to the weather. We only came home for lunch and the afternoon nap and the evening too would pass in merry mayhem. The high point of a day would be a trip with parents to the India Gate lawns where we would chill on the cool grass near a fountain so some of the spray would fall on us, and have an ice cream or so ( me only the cone because I had bronchitis). There was nothing organised about our entertainment, and yet we managed very well, be it playing Blindman's Bluff or catch-catch, organising Telematch tournaments or playing hide and seek in the dim gardens that ran behind our homes. The local library was raided week after week, while old books were lent and borrowed. I made an entire set of posters of all my favourite comic book heroes - from Phantom to Mandrake to Richie Rich - to decorate my playroom, one summer.
I wonder if we as parents are becoming over-protective of our kids, in the process robbing them of the ability to think freely and learn to get along with the elements. Of course, no one wants kids to fall ill with heat stroke, but a bottle of water/ nimbu paani and a summer hat should be fine protection except during the dog-hours of noon, no? Even at birthday parties, the amusement is organised and orchestrated so that our poor kids lose the ability to come up with games for themselves. Can you imagine the well-groomed kids you see at a typical birthday party coming up with anything as subversive and creative as Calvin-Ball?
I hate the words, "I'm bored", and have banned them from our house. I can't remember being bored once, though we used to have few books or games at home and of course television didn't come into our home until we were much older. This generation of kids, with so many toys and books and games, still manages to find the time to get bored. How?
Chubbocks has managed his vacation time okay so far, between hanging out with his grandparents and writing out little notes on his doodlepad. Now we have my cousin visiting, with her kids, so that's a new source of enjoyment for Chubbocks. next year i'm planning to definitely take 3 weeks off during summer so that even if we don't go anywhere, I'm there for my kids to hang out with. And yet i'm clear that I don't want to be organising anything - camp or playdate. I want them to find their own playtimes and games, with each other or by themselves, though I'm never averse to jumping into a puddle of water.
"What is this life if full of care
We have no time to stand and stare
No time to stand beneath the bows
And stare as long as sheep or cows...?
I don't know whether it's purely a function of working moms, because several of my son's classmates who have stay-at-home moms are also enrolled in these classes. Last year, after we got back from a 2 week vacation, we enrolled Chubbocks into a thrice-a-week three hours summer camp, because my mom was away in the US and I didn't want him drifting around with nothing to do. Yet I'm a bit upset that I did it because I think it's so important for kids to learn the art of simply being as well as amusing themselves.
As a mom, while I don't believe in 'quality time', I do believe in benign neglect. I think it does kids a world of good to just hang out in the same space as their parents, not necessarily being read to/ taught/ 'spoken to'/ made to do anything in particular which is meant to mark the time the parent spent with the kid as something special. When I look back at my own childhood, what I see is a string of days or a blurred period of time where we all hung out, chatted, fought, played, cried and laughed together. The undue emphasis on quality time just leads kids to think the world revolves around them and they never learn to just coexist in the same space as other people, without the warm shininess of a spotlight.
This summer, though I knew I wouldn't have too much time off, I didn't want to enrol Chubbocks into any classes, especially those that taught him anything. I think school is good enough for most things he wants or needs to learn. So we just put him into a dance class that's an hour twice a week, as some of his friends from school were joining up as well and that was that.
Of course, it has led to him moping around the house, as I feared. It's bizarre but he doesn't have any company around, despite the fact that the colony we live in is full of kids his age. That's because these days, parents just don't send their kids out to play because 'it's too hot'. I remember during my summer vacations, we were forever outside, jumping, running, shouting and playing, oblivious to the weather. We only came home for lunch and the afternoon nap and the evening too would pass in merry mayhem. The high point of a day would be a trip with parents to the India Gate lawns where we would chill on the cool grass near a fountain so some of the spray would fall on us, and have an ice cream or so ( me only the cone because I had bronchitis). There was nothing organised about our entertainment, and yet we managed very well, be it playing Blindman's Bluff or catch-catch, organising Telematch tournaments or playing hide and seek in the dim gardens that ran behind our homes. The local library was raided week after week, while old books were lent and borrowed. I made an entire set of posters of all my favourite comic book heroes - from Phantom to Mandrake to Richie Rich - to decorate my playroom, one summer.
I wonder if we as parents are becoming over-protective of our kids, in the process robbing them of the ability to think freely and learn to get along with the elements. Of course, no one wants kids to fall ill with heat stroke, but a bottle of water/ nimbu paani and a summer hat should be fine protection except during the dog-hours of noon, no? Even at birthday parties, the amusement is organised and orchestrated so that our poor kids lose the ability to come up with games for themselves. Can you imagine the well-groomed kids you see at a typical birthday party coming up with anything as subversive and creative as Calvin-Ball?
I hate the words, "I'm bored", and have banned them from our house. I can't remember being bored once, though we used to have few books or games at home and of course television didn't come into our home until we were much older. This generation of kids, with so many toys and books and games, still manages to find the time to get bored. How?
Chubbocks has managed his vacation time okay so far, between hanging out with his grandparents and writing out little notes on his doodlepad. Now we have my cousin visiting, with her kids, so that's a new source of enjoyment for Chubbocks. next year i'm planning to definitely take 3 weeks off during summer so that even if we don't go anywhere, I'm there for my kids to hang out with. And yet i'm clear that I don't want to be organising anything - camp or playdate. I want them to find their own playtimes and games, with each other or by themselves, though I'm never averse to jumping into a puddle of water.
"What is this life if full of care
We have no time to stand and stare
No time to stand beneath the bows
And stare as long as sheep or cows...?
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Vacation in Goa
This year we wanted a simple vacation. No sight seeing, no dashing around, no running to catch assorted planes, trains and automobiles, just a simple, laid-back holiday with lots of sleeping, hanging out with kids and eating involved. It didn't start like that, of course. The original plan was to travel down to Bangalore and Mysore by train ( can you believe my spoilt brats haven't been on a train yet? I feel sorry for all the excitement they are missing out on) and sightseeing - Hampi, Bandipur, Kabini, as well as assorted relatives. Well, the third pregnancy knocked that idea on the head - I don't want to be having to get up to pee every fifteen minutes in a moving bathroom, and A had only one week he could take off right now. After much tossing back and forth or destinations, we finally agreed on Goa. It's strange but until now, whenever we've planned to go there, it turned out more expensive than going to, say, Bangkok, so I've never been, though A has been there on work. A decent package from makemytrip.com at the Taj Holiday Village and we were all set to go chill...
The day before the vacation was about the most frantic ever - doctor's visits, visitors to dinner, tons of work to be completed and emailed off...I asked A to put all the things he wanted to take along ( his and kids) into a bag and regretted it when I lugged out the bag to do the actual packing the next day. A, as usual, had packed two T shirts for every day as well as numerous pairs of trousers, jeans and shorts, while I was trying to minimise the luggage by saying we would travel with only 1 big suitcase and a couple of carry-ons. I had to haul everything out and restart the packing process from scratch, as contentiously as usual. But finally we were off to the airport, Chubbocks almost bursting with excitement as he had been for the past couple of weeks.
The flight was a bit bumpy towards the end, and both the kids turned delicate shades of green. Oh no, with our usual forethought, A and I had not packed any travel sickness medicine. Even last year, Chubbocks had had problems traveling by car and we'd had to stop and pick up some anti-nausea tonic. I don't know why, because he travels by car all the time at home, including hour long drives in the city, but whenever we are on open roads, he starts turning sick. We made a mental note to buy some avomine in Goa for the return trip and managed the best we could. Chubbocks thankfully forgot all about his misery when he saw fighter planes parked at the airport.
We've never yet managed a holiday where we didn't have a problem with the room, so sure enough, as soon as we stepped into the hotel and started checking in, we ran into one. Instead of the sea-facing cottage we had booked, we were allotted a first-floor room. We had to wait ages for them to sort that out, while feeling tired from the journey and hungry. Finally they assigned us a cottage as booked, though not an independent one, and we got to our room. The cottage was essentially a large room with a verandah
and a tiny garden with a hammock. The view was fabulous...
The day before the vacation was about the most frantic ever - doctor's visits, visitors to dinner, tons of work to be completed and emailed off...I asked A to put all the things he wanted to take along ( his and kids) into a bag and regretted it when I lugged out the bag to do the actual packing the next day. A, as usual, had packed two T shirts for every day as well as numerous pairs of trousers, jeans and shorts, while I was trying to minimise the luggage by saying we would travel with only 1 big suitcase and a couple of carry-ons. I had to haul everything out and restart the packing process from scratch, as contentiously as usual. But finally we were off to the airport, Chubbocks almost bursting with excitement as he had been for the past couple of weeks.
The flight was a bit bumpy towards the end, and both the kids turned delicate shades of green. Oh no, with our usual forethought, A and I had not packed any travel sickness medicine. Even last year, Chubbocks had had problems traveling by car and we'd had to stop and pick up some anti-nausea tonic. I don't know why, because he travels by car all the time at home, including hour long drives in the city, but whenever we are on open roads, he starts turning sick. We made a mental note to buy some avomine in Goa for the return trip and managed the best we could. Chubbocks thankfully forgot all about his misery when he saw fighter planes parked at the airport.
We've never yet managed a holiday where we didn't have a problem with the room, so sure enough, as soon as we stepped into the hotel and started checking in, we ran into one. Instead of the sea-facing cottage we had booked, we were allotted a first-floor room. We had to wait ages for them to sort that out, while feeling tired from the journey and hungry. Finally they assigned us a cottage as booked, though not an independent one, and we got to our room. The cottage was essentially a large room with a verandah
and a tiny garden with a hammock. The view was fabulous...
After a quick order-in of really expensive chilli cheese toast, since I was starving ( they'd served chinese food on the plane which I didn't have for fear of msg), we settled in and for the first time ever on a holiday, I actually unpacked and put away all our clothes into the wardrobe and we all watched the sunset. Chubbocks was keen on hopping into the pool right away, so A took the kids there while I chilled in the room.
The next day, after breakfast and a brief hiatus during which the kids played or watched Krishna for the nth time, we headed to the pool. It was quite hot so the water felt like a cool caress and we lost track of time. We hadn't taken Puddi's floater since the absurb child is scared of it so she just lay on the top step of the pool while A or I floated nearby. 
Chubbocks was busy trying out his water wings as well as bending the ear of anyone within reach. We came back to our rooms all tanned - the hallmark of a successful beach holiday, to me. In fact, I was sunburnt a little, as was a, while the kids had just tanned a nice brown colour. I still remmeber the first time I got sunburnt was at a tennis camp from school in Singapore. I had been so snooty about Asian skin while my gora classmates were busy slathering Coppertone on...Next thing I knew my cheeks and nose were red and peeling! This time I just had a nice, rosy flush on my face but we decided we had to dig out the sunblock we had picked up from FabIndia for the kids' sake.
Meals were part of the package, all served at the restaurant overlooking the sea. It was fabulous to sit there and watch the sea swell and recede, while water-scooters raced here and there and the balloons of parasailers drifted past gracefully. After lunch and a brief paddle in the sea, we got back to our cottage for a lovely afternoon nap. One unexpected bonus was that despite my 12-month tummy, I wasn't the largest woman in the pool, and the other women didn't have my excuse!!!Evening followed the same pattern, with hours spent in the pool, followed by dinner and then the tuckered out kids slept peacefully while A and I read or caught up on movie-watching.
After that, the days drifted past in a haze, with an early morning swim followed by breakfast so we could avoid the hottest part of the sun, lunch and naps, swims, dinners and movies...Chubbocks went on a waterscooter with A once and parasailing twice, with great excitement. Puddi unfortunately turned out to have this huge fear of the sea and screamed her head off every time we even sat on the restaurant balcony overlooking the waves so we didn't do too much paddling in the sea. Even Chubbocks was a little scared of wading since the sea was quite rough, this close to the monsoon, but I thoroughly enjoyed the thrill of pitting myself against the waves, seeing how far up they would come and whether or not they would knock me off my feet...
(yup, that white ship in full sail is me...)
The activity center, Jungle Jam, had a couple of nice events for the kids - one day they had a snake show, where they brought out a bunch of different types of snakes and told the kids all about them and even let them handle the snakes. 
Chubbocks of course wanted to see a python and a boa constrictor! They also had a mask making session in which Chubbocks made himself a fearsome mask...
Puddi kept herself busy scribbling little lines on the writing pad in the room and calling it an elephant or dinosaur...
We only stepped out of the resort twice - once to take a look at the antique stores ( I love antiques though I can't afford them), buy some local plants and see Wendell Rodericks' boutique, and once to supposedly have dinner at a much-recommended restaurant which was unfortunately only operational during the season. I was much offended at the boutique when the sales assistant thought that I was this size naturally instead of 5 months pregnant!
It was a wonderfully relaxing vacation, made even better because A and I both switched off our mobile phones permanently while there - see the world keeps turning even when you fall off the map for a little while!
By the end of the week, Puddi had lost her fear of the pool water and was quite happy to be lugged into the deep holding onto A's or my hands. It was fabulous to be able to wake up late and step into the garden to look out at the sea. The kids had a gala time racing through the sprinklers on the lawns each morning, and we had our morning and afternoon tea out on the veranda, watching the sun rise or set into the sea...
Chubbocks was really sad to leave and had a tearful face when we pulled out of the resort. Poor guy, even two weeks later, he sniffs that he wishes we could live at Taj Holiday Village...So do I...
Puddi's Budday Party
Puddi had the suckiest birthday ever this year - when she grows older, she's gonna give me the evil eye for this! I had been travelling all week on work and got back Thursday evening, pooped and ankles swollen to the size of footballs from all the air travel. Friday, Puddi's birthday, I had to go in to work to check on the piles of emails and other pressing issues that had been building up for the last two weeks. A had his CEO coming in from Mumbai so he had to rush out to work at 8:30.
So after a quick bath to the two kids in the morning, A and I were out the door and gone all day. As luck would have it, my mom's knee had seized up and she was unable to walk when she woke up so dad rushed her to the doctor for a check and physiotherapy and so on, and they were gone all day. So Puddi didn't even get her usual share of cuddles and fun at their place. In the evening, A and I had to go for the ultrasound check-up which was our second Downs' screening, since we had to meet the OB-Gynthe coming saturday and would have no time during the week. So by the time we got home, Puddi was fast asleep, her birthday slipping past as if it had been just any other day, and in fact, worse than an ordinary day, with her grandparents being gone and her parents coming home late.
Last year, her birthday party was on the hottest day of the year - it was 48 degrees C! We had organised the party at a venue outside because we'd just returned from a holiday and the house was still getting put back together. And thanks to the weather, a lot of our guests who had kids of their own didn't dare venture out so the party was a bust, the only good thing being Chubbocks' delight at Mickey Mouse attending the party. Chubbocks was very into Mickey Mouse last year and kept wanting to have him over to play (!) So once A and I had to make a phone call to Chubbocks, with A speaking squeakily, to tell Chubbocks that Mickey was on his way to Disneyland, but not before Chubbocks extracted a promise that Mickey would visit on Puddi's birthday. We hired this guy from a party place whose job was to walk around in the Mickey costume, and the air or whatever his costume was inflated with kept running out so every few minutes a somewhat flatter Mickey would walk out the door and come back looking a few pounds heavier...quite ludicrous but Chubbocks was on fire from the sheer joy of it!
This year, we planned for a small party on Saturday, the day after her birthday. As we had done with Chubbocks, so with Puddi, we decided to keep it family only until she turns four and has friends of her own. So my in-laws came down from Aligarh, and A's aunt and uncle, his cousin and wife and their daughter, and my parents. And of course, our downstairs neighbour who's seen both of our kids since the day they were born and is been super-fond of them. My folks had organised a Puja at Malai Mandir so the kids were fed, bathed and packed off early in the morning, while I got busy cooking a traditional festive meal for lunch with Puddi's favourite saaru-anna and cucumber kosambri, shaavige payasa and fresh homemade ghee. After I was almost through with the cooking, I too rushed to the temple to catch part of the puja and then came home with the two kids.
A and I wanted to take Puddi with us to buy her present and went off to the neighbourhood Landmark store. I was clear I didn't want any Barbie/ Disney Princess stuff so after a lot of lookign around, we picked out a DoodlePro with colour pens which were also eraseable. I didn't think of it at the time but I should have been wary because the last time Puddi got her hands on sketch pens, she created weird indelible patterns over all the cushions and drapes in the playroom, but mommy guilt and love was not making me think clearly at the time. Back home for a quick but enjoyable meal (and how much I relished the taste of good old saaru after two weeks away from home!), and we lay down for a brief nap.
The good thing about calling family over is that one is less stressed out about organising. We had decided to keep the high tea simple, with dhoklas ordered from our favourite sweet shop, as well as small kachoris. The cake was a giraffe ( that's a whole other issue. I wanted a simple square cake with pictures of many animals on top. The cake shop said they couldn't do it so A asked for a dinosaur and finally settled on a giraffe. Then the cake shop said they could only do it for a minimum order of 2 kilos(!!!) which is overkill for 10 people. But finally we just gave up and said ok. Of course, it was disappointing when it came, because the giraffe was brown with dark brown splodges, and they had only made the giraffe's head, not the whole animal...).
Mom had made walnut-almond burfees. And I made Khara Bhaath with vegetables, hot and fresh off the stove.
Puddi has been excited about the Happy Birthday song since Chubbocks' birthday so she was thrilled when we all sang it to her. And she looked like a little princess in the Rajasthani lehnga-blouse my parents had got for her birthday.
She thoroughly enjoyed her share of cake and then fell in love with the Doodlepro and spent the rest of the evening scribbling away, with me wearing out my biceps trying to erase the colour markers ( they are not!!! easy to erase). Puddi and Chubbocks insisted on putting the Pink Panther CD on for the amusement of their cousin and the neighbour's son, and it was a real pleasure to hear the two of them giggling and laughing out loud with each antic of the panther.
Though the day of her birth turned out to be so bland, I think she had a great time the next day to make up for it, and loved all her gifts which included a wooden shape-sorter. And the best part was that the party was small enough to neither overwhelm us nor her and she got to be in the spotlight, which is the main point of a birthday party.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Puddi turns two
I can't believe two years have flown by so fast. We waited for her for longer than planned - I had wanted to be pregnant with second baby by the time Chubbocks turned one, but the craving for sleep proved more overpowering than any such wishes. I still remember how it was I found out I was expecting. We had been trying but been disappointed month after month when I turned out not to have conceived, through the trying was fun ;).
Then one morning as I was washing my face, I suddenly realised my skin was glowing and my hair was shining more than usual. I thought it may be a sign but after so many disappointments did not want to get my hopes up so tamped down my excitement. A couple of days later, I was wandering around Khan Market when I was hit by an attack of hunger so strong I thought my knees would buckle. I barely made it to the McD's and wolfed down two McAloo Tikki burgers and a chocolate milk shake in record time before I could summon the energy to stand up again. I bought two testing kits immediately. A was in Bombay but I couldn't stand to wait and did the test the next morning and called him, at a peak of excitement. He was just boarding the flight to get back and I don't know how the two of us managed to concentrate on any work the rest of the day.
I desperately wanted a girl - I had wanted one even the first time, even though I just knew from day one that Chubbocks would be a boy, and had been bitterly disappointed to start with. So this time, though instinct told me it would be a girl, I didn't know if it was wishful thinking or a real instinct. Anyway, we went hunting for baby names, as the one we had picked out years before now didn't appeal as much, and guess what? All the names we liked were girl names. It was only literally 2 days before she was born that we panicked and finally agreed on a boy name. Luckily we didn't need to use it because in the last ultrasound the doc told us it was a girl - and he also told us that the baby had a nice sharp nose that could be seen from in there, which had both A and me terrified that she would inherit his somewhat large nose.
Well, she didn't and she won't have his nose.
Or his good temperament. The worst parts of Puddi are all me - the bossy attitude ( whenever Chubbocks is trying to keep her safe, e.g. when she's reaching for an electrical socket, and shouting to her not to touch it, she turns around and withers him with a frigid glare, "Chubbocks, do'n schout!" She seems to have a mind of her own, already lisping defiance at me, "Kaloonga!" when I forbid her from doing something. Far from being docile or quiet, this mad thing loves to run amock around the house, rarely sitting down for more than a few minutes, jumping from sofas, climbing on the chairs, sitting down inside flower pots and in general endangering life and limb at a constant speed.
Independent-minded, she insists on feeding herself, making a giant mess but also managing to stowe away a fair amount of food inside herself. She's pretty brave too - she started out with a fear of the swimming pool in Goa but by the end of the week was happily playing ring-a-ring-of-roses with us in the deep part.
She's quite the chatterbox, like her brother, and easily able to communicate whatever she wants to. She's Chubbock's shadow, asking for him if he's away even for a minute, running along behind him as valiantly as she can on her toddler-ey little legs. 
And the clown of the house who loves playing tricks, the sly little thing who turns her back to me and pretends to cry, fooling me quite often!
For the livewire that she is, her quiet moments are all the sweeter. The times when she cuddles up in my lap, facing me, legs astraddle, and looks up intently into my eyes, connecting at a soul-deep level. The times when she flips through her favourite animal or Krishna/ Ganesha books. The wide-eyed way she watches TV when 'Kinna' ( Krishna) comes on cartoon network. The way she becomes all still and moony when she's sleepy and gazes unblinkingly into the distance.
I can't believe that two years back she was not here and that this huge Puddi-shaped space that has appeared in our home and our hearts was still vacant. She has created such a huge space for herself - one that I wouldn't have believed possible when Chubbocks seemed to fill it all. I can't find enough time everyday to just pull her plump, soft cheeks or caress her silky skin. Or to tickle her and hear that crazy giggle. Or put some music on the laptop to watch her dance with abandon, inventing new steps for every song. Or marvel at her beautifully shaped hands and legs and how perfectly muscular they are. And gratefully observe just how well she and Chubbocks have become one unit, fighting, playing, tumbling, scribbling, but always together.
I never imagined that I would have a daughter who was sweet and docile, to tell you the truth. My family is full of strong, assertive and vociferous women so I figured that would be par for the course. And yet Puddi is all that and so much more than I could ever have imagined. I'm feeling a little sentimental about the fact that all too soon she'll stop being the baby of the house and become a big sister - she doesn't seem big enough for that. Though Chubbocks went through the same transition quite beautifully, and I'm sure he'll be a great role model for Puddi too. Something tells me Puddi and I will have our share and more of turf battles when she grows up -she's too feisty for that not to happen. But I'm looking forward even to that, as well as all the other joys and smiles that Puddi blesses us with, each and every day.
Puddi - I love you sooo much. Happy Birthday, darling!
Then one morning as I was washing my face, I suddenly realised my skin was glowing and my hair was shining more than usual. I thought it may be a sign but after so many disappointments did not want to get my hopes up so tamped down my excitement. A couple of days later, I was wandering around Khan Market when I was hit by an attack of hunger so strong I thought my knees would buckle. I barely made it to the McD's and wolfed down two McAloo Tikki burgers and a chocolate milk shake in record time before I could summon the energy to stand up again. I bought two testing kits immediately. A was in Bombay but I couldn't stand to wait and did the test the next morning and called him, at a peak of excitement. He was just boarding the flight to get back and I don't know how the two of us managed to concentrate on any work the rest of the day.
I desperately wanted a girl - I had wanted one even the first time, even though I just knew from day one that Chubbocks would be a boy, and had been bitterly disappointed to start with. So this time, though instinct told me it would be a girl, I didn't know if it was wishful thinking or a real instinct. Anyway, we went hunting for baby names, as the one we had picked out years before now didn't appeal as much, and guess what? All the names we liked were girl names. It was only literally 2 days before she was born that we panicked and finally agreed on a boy name. Luckily we didn't need to use it because in the last ultrasound the doc told us it was a girl - and he also told us that the baby had a nice sharp nose that could be seen from in there, which had both A and me terrified that she would inherit his somewhat large nose.
Well, she didn't and she won't have his nose.
Or his good temperament. The worst parts of Puddi are all me - the bossy attitude ( whenever Chubbocks is trying to keep her safe, e.g. when she's reaching for an electrical socket, and shouting to her not to touch it, she turns around and withers him with a frigid glare, "Chubbocks, do'n schout!" She seems to have a mind of her own, already lisping defiance at me, "Kaloonga!" when I forbid her from doing something. Far from being docile or quiet, this mad thing loves to run amock around the house, rarely sitting down for more than a few minutes, jumping from sofas, climbing on the chairs, sitting down inside flower pots and in general endangering life and limb at a constant speed.
Independent-minded, she insists on feeding herself, making a giant mess but also managing to stowe away a fair amount of food inside herself. She's pretty brave too - she started out with a fear of the swimming pool in Goa but by the end of the week was happily playing ring-a-ring-of-roses with us in the deep part.
She's quite the chatterbox, like her brother, and easily able to communicate whatever she wants to. She's Chubbock's shadow, asking for him if he's away even for a minute, running along behind him as valiantly as she can on her toddler-ey little legs. 
And the clown of the house who loves playing tricks, the sly little thing who turns her back to me and pretends to cry, fooling me quite often!
For the livewire that she is, her quiet moments are all the sweeter. The times when she cuddles up in my lap, facing me, legs astraddle, and looks up intently into my eyes, connecting at a soul-deep level. The times when she flips through her favourite animal or Krishna/ Ganesha books. The wide-eyed way she watches TV when 'Kinna' ( Krishna) comes on cartoon network. The way she becomes all still and moony when she's sleepy and gazes unblinkingly into the distance.
I can't believe that two years back she was not here and that this huge Puddi-shaped space that has appeared in our home and our hearts was still vacant. She has created such a huge space for herself - one that I wouldn't have believed possible when Chubbocks seemed to fill it all. I can't find enough time everyday to just pull her plump, soft cheeks or caress her silky skin. Or to tickle her and hear that crazy giggle. Or put some music on the laptop to watch her dance with abandon, inventing new steps for every song. Or marvel at her beautifully shaped hands and legs and how perfectly muscular they are. And gratefully observe just how well she and Chubbocks have become one unit, fighting, playing, tumbling, scribbling, but always together.
I never imagined that I would have a daughter who was sweet and docile, to tell you the truth. My family is full of strong, assertive and vociferous women so I figured that would be par for the course. And yet Puddi is all that and so much more than I could ever have imagined. I'm feeling a little sentimental about the fact that all too soon she'll stop being the baby of the house and become a big sister - she doesn't seem big enough for that. Though Chubbocks went through the same transition quite beautifully, and I'm sure he'll be a great role model for Puddi too. Something tells me Puddi and I will have our share and more of turf battles when she grows up -she's too feisty for that not to happen. But I'm looking forward even to that, as well as all the other joys and smiles that Puddi blesses us with, each and every day.Puddi - I love you sooo much. Happy Birthday, darling!
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