Fathers and fatherhood

Yesterday I was chatting to my soul-sistah, whom I've now known for 17 years and with whom I've gone through singlehood, boyfriends, marriage and motherhood. Her husband too is an old friend, from the time the three of us met up at bschool. If you were to look at her life externally, she has everything to be envied for. She's gorgeous, talented, bright, has two lovely daughters, a superbly run and gracious home and an extremely good marriage. She's a high-powered exec at an MNC bank which appreciates her work so highly that they've given her a deal in which she has been able to work from home for the last 5 years - pretty rare, I can tell you. Her husband is doing brilliantly at work, just got promoted, is a nice guy despite raking in moolah like it's going out of style.

Here's the problem - everything connected with the home or the kids is her department. It began innocently enough because he had a job in which he was constantly required to travel, but somehow over the years, it's become the course their relationship has charted. He thinks his job as father ends with taking them out once a week, and that the rest of his weekends/ spare time should be spent getting in some much needed sleep and R&R. Fine, no one grudges anyone R&R, but hey, how about someone giving his wife the same right to R&R? His solution - hand the kid stuff over to the domestic help! That's something my friend just is not happy doing, so she runs herself into the ground managing everything - job, home, kids...

It's not unusual to find women having to cope with this, be it in India or overseas. Women do end up doing the bulk of housework and childcare regardless of whether they are SAHMs or WOHMs, and regardless of how well they may be doing at work or how stressful their jobs may be. Somewhere in the whole feminism and equal rights debate, it became understood that the woman who was equal was the superwoman who got to do her job and the man's job, while men, having granted women the right to kill themselves from overwork, happily basked in being called 'liberated'.

This attitude is something that really bothers me, especially when I see it among my male friends, because many of them are pals from bschool. They saw a whole lot of us women beat out all kinds of competition to make it into the same hallowed portals of education, they saw us work as hard or harder to perform at bschool and at work, they treated us as equals back then. But suddenly, after the M word ( marriage), they go right back to the parental generation's attitudes about who's responsible for what in the household, and women are left holding the baby, the bathwater and the job.

A and I faced a pretty major decision early this year when we conceived our third child and had to take a call on whether or not we would go ahead with it. Having decided to be gung-ho about it, I find a lot of my friends calling me 'superwoman' because I've managed to have full-time job along with the 2 kiddos we have. But honestly, I would never have been able to be in the position of wearing my underwear over my pants if it hadn't been for A doing such a fantastic job as father and husband.

No matter what I decide or do, he's always right there, not just cheering me on but taking on whatever additional load needs to be taken on so I can make my way easily. There was a time when I had to quit working and stay home, though our finances were at bankruptcy point - but there was never a grumble from him. Nor when I decided to work part-time for 3 years. In the interests of my being able to work, i realised something had to give in the system, and that something was a home that was spick and span. I'm not a neatnik by nature, and add to it being away from home and kid all day and the last thing I want to spend my time on when I'm home is cleaning up - I'd rather hang out with the kids and teach them how to make paper planes. A is a neatnik and I'm sure it bothers him when the house is a mess, but he's absolutely ok with my sense of priorities.

He takes on a huge load of parenting as well. I'm not saying it's a chore and not fun but the fact is that he willingly does it for his kids, both because he believes that's his role as a father and so that I face less pressure. Whether it's getting Chubbocks ready for school or telling the kids bedtime stories, washing potty-bums, changing diapers, feeding them or walking a wailing baby up and down outside the theatre when I was desperate to watch a film, he's done the whole lot. Worrying about their health, being the strong man during their vaccinations while I cringe outside the doc's office, sharing the task of taking time off when they're ill, taking them to the park...all this is part and parcel of our life together. I never have to think twice about leaving the kids in hs supervision or leave instructions about their well-being. He's so involved in the process of raising them that he knows what to do.

In fact, there are times when I think I'm taking advantage of him and not doing as much as I should in the process of raising the kids. Despite his humongous commute ( 50 km each way, every day), his very senior job and the fact that he puts the bread, butter, jam and cake on the table, while my contribution amounts to maybe a dhania patta, he takes my need to work, and his role in building our life together as seriously as mine. We operate very much as a team in building our life together, including bringing up the kids.

What makes me sad is how many men, even in this day and age, carry a poker up their a@#$ when it comes to their roles in personal life. There's such a strict division of labour and both the men and the women in those relationships end up losing out on a much richer bond that they could have with each other and their kids. And if they do occasionally step out of the self-defined boundaries into an active role, it's almost like a favour they are doing for their spouse, not something they feel they should want to or enjoy doing for their own children.

I have great memories of my childhood, when dad used to be an involved parent - telling me bedtime stories, some of which are now passed on to my kids, taking me to various docs for my asthma treatments, taking us out to Children's Park or India Gate, bathing me or my sister...just the regular gamut of activities that are routine occurrences in daily life, not a series of specially orchestrated events designed to demonstrate that 'dad cares'. I think I would have been in for a rude awakening if A hadn't held similar views to dad's on how to be involved as a parent, and I suspect many women I know have gone through this shock when their hitherto egalitarian relationships with their husband progressed into parenthood.

Thanks, dad, for being involved. And thanks A. I don't know if the kids realise it now but they will have a lot to thank you for when they grow up. And thanks for being a genuine life partner!

Girly genes

I was a tomboy growing up and sorta always assumed my daughter would be one too, and a slow bloomer, just like moi. Well, Puddi's full of surprises, so every day when I get home, the first thing she wants is for me to pull of my dupatta so she can wear it like this:

and take off my earrings so she can flaunt them like this:



and insists on getting her hair done before going to the park:



Oh, well. As long as she keeps up the monkey business on the side, I'm ok!

I-Day

I'm a patriot. I make no bones about it, even while I loudly criticise whatever I see fit to criticise in the state of my country. And I think it's important to me that my kids learn to love and appreciate their country of origin, wherever life may take them in the future. So, for me, it's important to celebrate occasions like Republic Day and Independence Day. This Jan, I even had Chubbocks sit and watch the Republic day parade, which I remember as a child inspiring me with awe and love.

On I-Day, the colony we live in usually has a flag-hoisting. The folk who show up are mostly either the over 60 or under 10. Those of us in the middle rarely make it, except for the stray couple here and there. A and I have made it a point to attend the flag-hoisting, which is typically followed by the national anthem. Some years, a contingent of the tykes has gotten together with one of the older ladies to prepare and sing some patriotic songs. Since we've had the kids, A and I are all the more determined to make it for the flag hoisting, so we were there this 15th as well, bang on time at 9:25 am.

We ensured that we were all in desi costume, A in a red kurta, Chubbocks in a white chikan hurta and puddi and I in gher-wala skirts. (I must have looked like the Big Top of a circus, at my current girth!). As usual, about 15 oldies were there, along with the head of the security guards and some karamchaaris, as well as about 15 kids of various ages up to 11. Only 3 couples of our age had turned up including us. At exactly 9:30am, the program began with the kids getting the honour of hoisting the flag. One of the old ladies with a melodious voice was waiting to lead us into the national anthem, but the head of security bumbled and started off, to the tune of the Hanuman Chaalisa! That tells you about the quality of education dished out at govt. schools, I suppose.

Put off by his timing, various people started singing the anthem at different times, creating a loud and disharmonious rendering of the Jana Gana Mana...But it still sent a shiver down my spine. Even more, the tape of Vande Mataram which played in the background made me stand straight and tall and feel proud of my country and all that it has done and accomplished in the past, and could do in the future. It sounds crazy, but every time I hear Vande Mataram or the phrase Jai hind, I get an automatic infusion of the patriotic spirit. We've been telling Chubbocks stories about the freedom struggle, though I don't know how much if it he gets at present. But I sure hope all three of my kids grow up with the same deep love for the country flowing through their veins as A and I have.

Kids and empathy

Our kids come pre-loaded with so many wonderful programs, I wonder who thinks them up, how one finds out what all is pre-loaded since someone up there forgot to pack the instruction booklet, and I also hope and pray one will be able to enable them to use all the programs properly. Chubbocks, from the time he was little, showed signs of being a gentle, sensitive type. He used to get upset if anyone spoke in a loud tone around him and in playschool, the minute he saw another kid crying or looking unhappy, his face would immediately mirror the expression and he's want to go over and comfort the other kid, ask what's wrong and so on.

It used to discomfit me at times, having become suitably adult and used to trying to ignore signs of distress in random starngers unless asked for help. Then I realised it was actually a wonderful ability to be able to empathise with other people, and that if only we encouraged kids to go up to each other and openly seek/ offer comfort and a listening ear, the world would be better off. I started encoraging him to go right ahead and express his empathy. Now he's become a 'big boy', full of Ben 10 and Pink Panther and 'fighting evil people' and such-like. But even now, if we ever scold Puddi, his eyes well up and he immediately reaches across to comfort her and yell at us, "She's only a little kid".

Puddi shows signs of being a much more rampageous character, never quiet for s second when she can create mischief instead, busily spilling water all over the house for people to slip on, stealing candy from the fridge and so on. But she too shows a caring spirit and especially if Chubbocks ever cries, she immediately reaches out, gives him a body hug with a 'Solly, bhaiyya'. Yesterday, Chubbocks had fallen on top of the wrought-irom side table and fallen down. His dignity was hurt more than any phsical harm but he started bawling anyway. Puddi couldn't stand it, and it was heart-warming to watch her cup his face in her little hands and say, "Don't cry. Kya hua?"

I hope they always have this spirit of reaching out and sharing each other's distress. That embodies the spirit of raksha-bandhan and sibing love to me. But I also see a lot of other kids in the park or at Chubbocks' school who don't seem to have this spirit, and in fact, delight in making other kids cry. And I see kids who used to be similar to Chubbocks in playschool who have now grown up to be much more 'hardened', for want of a better word. And I wonder why, and what happened. Did they wind up watching too much TV? Were they told to wisen up and not be 'such a baby'? Does no one - maid or mother - encourage them to go up to playmates in distress and offer a comforting word or hug? Or did they, in the process of growing up to the age of 5, just lose the ability to understand their playmates' hurt or humiliation and react to it sympathetically? At the risk of my kids being called 'softies' or worse, I sure hope they manage to preserve this ability all their lives.

Pregnancy Update

Now am properly in third trimester, but can't believe there is soo much time left still. Have become unbearably large and liable to overbalance at any and all times, even while sitting down ( as my pic will justify - and this is from giant blue egg day - much before had reached current size).

From proud possessor of over 50 pairs of vertiginous high heels, am now reduced to living in 3 pairs of flats. Can slip anywhere, anytime.

Permanently hungry - but unable to eat more than a few morsels when in front of food.

Permanently in the loo - want to tape pillow to backrest of toilet seat and move in forever.

Can get tired from just breathing in and out.

Pelvic bones aching - feel like the legs will pop out of their sockets any day now. Upper back hurts from supporting ginormous belly.

Barely fitting into maternity wear - will soon have to rent-a-tent from the tentwalas in the neighbourhood.

God - you have to be male. Only a male could have thought up such a tortuous way to get a baby into this world. And how thoughtful of you to make sure women got to do all the carrying. I guess you knew if you left it up to men, earth would still be ruled by dinosaurs!

My Debbil Woman

Puddi has well and truly hit the terrible twos. Until then, she was a high-spirited sprite. Now she's a strong-willed little brat who has a daily battle with dinner. God knows why the first signs of rebellion always have to do with food - her brother was the same, and has only recently begun to eat like people again, otherwise he used to eat less than an ant needs to stay alive ( touch wood). So this chile, who used to gobble up her food and ask everyone who came to the park for their snacks, as if she was a starvation victim, now turns up her nose at dinner every single day. It doesn't matter what's cooked for dinner, whether it's her favourite dahi-chawal, pulao, rotis with ghee, sandwiches, parathas...everything's passe.

Of course, having been through the process once, I try and stay cool about it. But day after day of not eating dinner surely can't be good, especially when the little girl wakes up in the middle of the night complaining about stomach-ache brought on by the empty stomach. So yesterday I decided to take on the battle, little realising that this would be my Waterloo. Started off by giving her pulao and dahi. The dahi got eaten up while the pulao was stirred around the plate and smeared on the table for good measure. Got someone to take away the plate and decided to initiate Puddi into the art of time-outs. I gave her 2 minutes of time out standing at the balcony door and looking out at the dark night outside. Two minutes are up, but Puddi is quite happy to be standing there - she thinks it's a new game and says, "Puddi nahi hai. kahaan chali gayi?"

Gah! Bring her back to the table, and this time mix the dahi into the pulao, hoping that'll do the trick. Nope, not even one morsel goes through those rosebud lips. I decide on another time out, in her playroom this time, leave her in and shut the door. Peer in half a minute later to see if she's upset since I don't hear any noise, which is usually a sign of danger. Nope - she's sitting on the mattress looking around the room, cool as a cucumber. Okay, drastic measures are called for, I think and switch off the light. No reaction. I bring her out since I panic at the thought of her sitting in a dark room.

Try again - this time plain dahi-chawal. No response. Give her a time-out on the balcony this time. Put her out and watch anxiously through the window. The child doesn't move a hair, she happily stares around at the dark night sky, the tree outside, the broken flowerpot...I give up. Bring her in, clear up dinner and let her putter around. She plays happily, while I slump, defeated, arms locked behind me in Napoleonic imitation. I'll have to exile meself, methinks!

Just to give you a glimpse of how much attitude she can throw:

About a Boy...

This is a rambling post about Chubbocks, my first baby who's not such a baby any more.

Chubbocks has been quite amazing the last few weeks. Now when he gets dressed to go to school, he looks like a proper little schoolboy, not my little bhondu ram any more. Last weekend, his swimming lessons began. He has always loved water and I remember one time we took him swimming when he was two, he instinctively moved his arms and legs in the correct manner. But we haven't managed to be regular at the pool, between my various pregnancies and the weird summers we've been having in Delhi, more rain than sun. So when the school announced swimming lessons on weekends, we were overjoyed. All the more because last summer he fell into the deep end of the pool when we were on vacation ( details on my travel blog) and even though I pulled him out in about half a heartbeat, he has been too scared to venture inside without his water wings.

Of course, we arrived at the lessons to find the school had made a mix-up and that he was scheduled for a lesson between 3-4 pm though they had told us 4-5 pm. Anyhow, they agreed to hold the first lesson late for him and 3-4 other kids that day. He was a mixture of thrill and fear as the lifeguard lowered him in. For the first couple of minutes he clung nervously to the ladder, too scared to let go even when the instructor took hold of him. Then I encouraged him and in he went, to hold on to the side and practice kicking. I don't think this was what he had envisaged when told about swim lessons - he had thought he'd be put there doing fancy strokes in the deep end. But he was quite excited about it all the same and game for the next day's lessons. The next day, the instructor got him to try an overhead stroke...it was a hilarious sight. Our pal had obviously seen me or other people swim overarm so he busily imitated the side to side head movement but so fast that he looked dizzy, while completely forgetting to kick his legs at all. After day one, his arms and legs were aching and I told him that was a sign that he was building up his muscles. So of course, the rest of the weekend, we had to measure his biceps every five minutes or so and comment on how big they were getting. he's quite excited about the rest of his swimming lessons and I'm hoping for warm weather weekends, for the first time in my life, so they can go on apace.

He's also getting to be a big boy so on Sunday when I had to go do the grocery shopping for the month as A was laid up, I roped him in to push the second grocery cart around. I had to forewarn him that he wouldn't get to ride in the cart shaped like a car since I needed him to help me shop. He was amazingly good about it, steering his cart carefully all over the store, lugging packages back and forth to load it up and not once complaining about either being bored or tired. It was, on the other hand, shocking to see how rudely people in India treat kids. Forget anyone smiling at the plucky boy helping out, but people had no compunctions shoving their carts alongside, bumping into him and not even saying sorry, pushing his cart away and carrying on. At one point, he was coming out of an aisle, and an old gentleman was coming the other way. We had right of way since we were heading for the cash till, but this rude old guy, who must have been a sextagenarian at least, pushed his cart at Chubbocks' cart really hard, so the little guy almost fell, and pushed him all the way back into the aisle and rudely brushed on past. I've been brought up with a respect for the aged and a belief in being polite to them but in the past couple of weeks, this is the second instance when I've noticed that they aren't any more polite or well-mannered than the average Delhi-ite.

On Friday evenings, Chubbocks stays over at my parents' house. This Friday he came over to retrieve the book he had brought home from the school library. "It's very funny, mamma", he said, and sat down to read aloud the entire book to me. He has read one Ladybird beginning reader before but only with help, so it was thrilling to see him read this all by himself, with the right emphasis and intonations - I got goosebumps. Then, yesterday, we sent him up to bed in his room while we finished up our meal. We went up a good fifteen minutes after him to find him busily reading aloud to himself from a 'Caillou' book. It's a good 10-12 page book, and he was on the penultimate page when we reached. He looked up shyly, blushed but carried on till he finished it before he curled up for the night. I can't find the words to explain how amazing it makes me feel to see him reading all by himself and showing such a joy in the act of reading. For both A and me, reading is the breath of life, so it's nice to find evidence of heredity. More than that, I find myself thrilling in advance at all the wonderful adventures he has ahead of him in the world of books...It won't be long before he's reading this blog and cribbing or blushing about whatever I've said...!