I'm getting a little worried about Puddi and her reading ability. To put it into context, she is a very bright child, very active, pretty articulate and enjoys writing long, long letters or stories. But put her in front of a book and it becomes a test of patience for both her and me. She doesn't seem to recognise words when they recur from one page to another, she struggles over what I would consider simple words and most worrying of all, she doesn't seem to enjoy the experience. Her resistance is very passive-aggressive but real for all that. he is distracted, doesn't remember from one moment to the next what line she is on...
I don't really know what to make of it. In our house, we are surrounded, not to say invaded, by books of all kinds. I pretty much always have my nose in half a dozen books, Chubbocks is a big reader and A used to be before work pressure got to him. We have a pretty huge selection of children's reading material of all levels too.
What psyches me more, is whether I'm making too big a deal out of it, because my scale is all wrenched out of shape. Chubbocks is an advanced reader for his age and started being a fluent reader by age 5, if I remember correctly - he's now finished all the Harry Potters, the Percy Jacksons and several of the classics and is way ahead of his reading age. Bojjandi too seems to be raching ahead and recently finished reading two full books. More, he is avidly into the experience and whatever he is doing, if there is any object with letters on it - newspaper, carton of juice, packet of tea - he is busy piecing the phonetic sounds of the letters together and making sense of them. he can even read words that I would consider rather advanced for his age, like favourite or dinosaur. At night when we read bedtime stories to the kids, he is often peering over our shoulders to try and read them by himself. My nephew R, too, is a very advanced reader - last summer when I visited him, he raced through The Magic Faraway tree in one afternoon, at just five and a half years old.
Given that, I don't know if I'm making a big deal out of nothing for poor Puddi - for all I know, she may be going at an average speed for her age? Or she may have some sort of learning disability when it comes to letters and needs to get help? Either way, I think it's time to stop worrying and take some action. Planning to meet her teacher next week at school and discuss the issue.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Jackie - Oh
Jackie appeared in our house quite by divine intervention.
His mom Roohi was owned by our domestic help, and when she fell pregnant all
too early, my sister decided to take charge of her health. Eventually after
Roohi gave birth to Jackie and his 7 siblings, our help decided to gift us one
of the pups and we picked the one living male of the litter. It still seems
like yesterday that all of these tiny little bundles of fur and shrill yaps
were crawling all over our house, piddling everywhere and attacking poor Roohi
with ravenous cries any time she so much as stuck her nose out of doors.
Jackie, though the eldest and biggest, was also the snooziest of the lot. He
seemed to spend all of his time sleeping in the cloth-lined cardboard box that
was his first home. There were Julie – eventually adopted by our other domestic
help; Mooshi – thus named because her tail was bitten off by a rat when she was
newborn, and several others whose names I can no longer recall. Liquid-eyed,
soft, snowy-white, wriggly little creatures who could fit into our palm, and
who spent the day perilously snoozing on top of each other.
Once Jackie moved into our house, he began demonstrating his
personality despite his innate snooziness. He used to love to curl up in the
scant space that my dad, staunchly south Indian, insisted on leaving between
the bed and the wall. I used to worry lest someone should move the bed all the
way back, squishing the poor guy – thankfully that didn’t happen. As he started
teething, he also developed a bit of a temper and hated being left home alone.
In revenge he bit off corners of our rubber slippers – for years we wore shoes ‘designed
by Jackie Oh’ – and on one memorable occasion, ate through the leg of one of
our sofa chairs and a rosewood whatnot. I discovered these depradations in
horror, as the first one home, and quickly set to work with Cherry Blossom
Brown so we could conceal the crime from our parents.
Over time, Jackie grew bigger and bigger – 21 kilos at his
peak, and 4 feet from tip to tail – quite a feat for a pup born of two Spitz
parents. Our ex-army vet figured out that he was a Samoyed – go figure! He was
also extremely emotional, though less demonstrative in his younger days. I
still remember the hunger strike he went on when we left him behind at the old
house for 3 days while we were busy settling the new one – we had to make an
emergency rescue. He was also pretty smart, quite apart from learning tricks
like shaking hands and ‘shitting down’ on command ( our domestic help was
Bengali so his English pronunciation was a bit off; we discovered to our
amusement that Jackie never understood it when we said ‘sit down’ but ‘shit
down’ worked like a charm!). He was an amazing communicator, especially with
Dad who grew to understand his myriad moods very well. Our vet who was very
fond of him, used to call him a real gentleman – he would be super-patient
whenever we took him to the vet for his checkups and so on. He also rarely attacked a dog smaller than
him even when he was attacked, but woe betide a large dog that got across him, Jackie
wouldn’t give any quarter.
When Chubbocks was born, we went to stay at my parents
house, as per custom. Jackie was supposed to stay in the living room, but no
sooner had Chubbocks crossed the threshold, than Jackie adopted him. He
insisted on sleeping in our room. If Chubbocks started crying, Jackie would
stand worriedly by his crib, trying to figure out how to soothe the little guy.
Chubbocks used to sleep in an old-fashion cloth sling, hung above our bed.
Every night, before going to bed, Jackie made it a point to peep in, front paws
resting on our bed so he could get the required height boost, and poke his nose
in to check if Chubbocks was inside, before curling up to sleep himself. In
fact, any time Jackie went out of the room, he would come back and check on
Chubbocks like a mother hen. Once, my grandmother decided to keep Chubbocks
with her since he was a cranky baby, and let me get some sleep in the
afternoon. Jackie came into my room from somewhere, peeped into the sling and
became frantic at not seeing the baby. He paced back and forth worriedly, until
I realized what the matter was. I told him, “Chubbocks is with Ajji in her
room.” Immediately, Jackie made a beeline for Ajji’s room, sniffed her lap to
ensure the baby was there, and only then could he relax.
Not knowing very much about dogs, we had no clue about
establishing hierarchy and so on. I’m not sure he ever thought of any of us as
his master, more as his two-legged equals. He was incredibly protective of dad
and my sister though. Once when dad was out walking him, I caught up to them
from behind. Just as I was planning to pounce, yell and startle dad (yes, I’m
still pretty juvenile that way), Jackie turned around and lunged for me with
his teeth! Suffice it to say I got startled, not to mention a rent in my new
jeans! Another time, Jackie, who was a big, strong specimen, was dragging dad
along and dad tripped and fell. A passerby came up to try and help dad, but
Jackie wasn’t about to allow any stranger near dad, so the passerby had to
retire hurt.He loved eating, that was his big vice. Sweets were an especial weakness, and whenever he heard a mithai box being opened, he would materialize instantly from wherever he was. In fact, once when wehad gotten up and gone to the door to see of diwali guests, we returned to find an entire plate of sweets swallowed up! Biscuits too were a favourite, though he was picky there – he would only eat Parle G – and Mum took to buying cheap local biscuits for my sister and I so she could afford his Parle G habit.
It was one of the worst days of my life when we had to take the decision to put him to sleep – he had multiorgan failure, and while not in a coma, he hadn’t eaten in four-five days. He could barely register our presence and his labored breathing was dreadful to hear. Dad and I were almost forced into it by our vet, who said it didn’t make sense to put it off any longer. He was well over 16 years old, after all. And so we bade farewell to this amazing large-hearted soul who had shared so much with us, unstinting with his love and affection, undemanding yet always there for comfort, to share all our moments happy and sad…I hope he always has someone to pet him wherever he is, and give him his daily ration of biscuits and lots of hugs…
Monday, September 24, 2012
Lost and found
We had a frightening incident yesterday. I was lying prone on the sofa, recovering from a viral that had haunted me all weekend; plus I'd slogged in the kitchen yesterday morning cooking an Italian feast for dad's birthday. The kids were at the park with the help; then the ladies arrived back, with Puddi but no Bojj. They said Bojj had gone to my parents home - they live about 5 houses away.
A and I were reading peacably when he decided to call dad to check on something. "They're not answering", he said. That's quite common when they are out in the garden with the kids so we assumed that's what had happened. One minute later, our blood froze when we heard mom and dad calling out to us and walking in, sans Bojji. "We were out walking", they began. In less time than it takes to write this, I had done a standing jump to the front door and was running down to their house, heart in mouth. WHERE WAS BOJJI?
I reached their house and saw a placid Bojjandi climbing up the inside of their gate to the top. He was clearly planning to climb down the other side and come home. "What happened? Are you safe?" I yelled incoherently, clasping him to me. "Budhmani ( the new maid) just left me here and ajji thatha are not home. I was calling to her but she didn't come. Sho I wash coming home."
The maid had left Bojjandi inside their gate, rung their bell and bolted the gate from outside, not bothering to check whether or not they had taken him inside. Thankfully we live in a gated complex which is quite secure and they live just down the street. But my blood still runs cold at the thought of that poor 4 year old child forlornly wandering in their garden. What astounds me is that when I found him - about 10 minutes after he'd been unceremoniously left there - he wasn't crying, wasn't wailing, wasn't showing any signs of fear. Instead, after sussing out the situation, he had decided the best course of action was to come home and proceeded to carry out the scheme!!!It's a day later, I'm still agonized and feeling guilty over what happened, but most of all so in awe of Bojjandi and cucumber-cool brain!!!
A and I were reading peacably when he decided to call dad to check on something. "They're not answering", he said. That's quite common when they are out in the garden with the kids so we assumed that's what had happened. One minute later, our blood froze when we heard mom and dad calling out to us and walking in, sans Bojji. "We were out walking", they began. In less time than it takes to write this, I had done a standing jump to the front door and was running down to their house, heart in mouth. WHERE WAS BOJJI?
I reached their house and saw a placid Bojjandi climbing up the inside of their gate to the top. He was clearly planning to climb down the other side and come home. "What happened? Are you safe?" I yelled incoherently, clasping him to me. "Budhmani ( the new maid) just left me here and ajji thatha are not home. I was calling to her but she didn't come. Sho I wash coming home."
The maid had left Bojjandi inside their gate, rung their bell and bolted the gate from outside, not bothering to check whether or not they had taken him inside. Thankfully we live in a gated complex which is quite secure and they live just down the street. But my blood still runs cold at the thought of that poor 4 year old child forlornly wandering in their garden. What astounds me is that when I found him - about 10 minutes after he'd been unceremoniously left there - he wasn't crying, wasn't wailing, wasn't showing any signs of fear. Instead, after sussing out the situation, he had decided the best course of action was to come home and proceeded to carry out the scheme!!!It's a day later, I'm still agonized and feeling guilty over what happened, but most of all so in awe of Bojjandi and cucumber-cool brain!!!
Thursday, August 30, 2012
The Just Married Please Excuse bloggers contest
As usual, a little bit late to the party. Actually, I find that when I'm less busy, I tend to sink into a morass of laziness and find it too difficult to do anything, really, whereas when I'm forced to multitask and work 24/7, I get a lot more things done - like blogging, or contributing to a friend's contest, for instance. Of course, meanwhile I have meandered quite off-topic, haven't I? So back to Y's contest, based on her hilarious new book, Just Married, Please Excuse.
Actually, we had so much drama for so many years before we actually got married that I think our married life is actually pretty tame by comparison. But just before we got married, after opposing the concept for several years, my parents finally came around, just about a month before A and I were to take off for INSEAD in France. And they obviously wanted to meet A's parents and discuss arrangements. We decided to do it on neutral ground and halfway between the two parental homes, which were really far apart - for those who know Delhi, A's parents lived in the Univ area and mine live in Gurgaon! So we decided on IIC as a venue. His parents, mine and A and me were to converge there after A and I finished work one evening. I was quite nervous as to how this meeting would go off, whether they would hate each other at first sight...let's say I was like the anxious mother of a potential bride in an arranged marriage seeing-the-girl situation.
That cold winter day, I had worn a very chic black and white wool dress to work. While I was out for a meeting, as I stepped out of the car, I felt a super-cold draught of air riding up my back. 'Wow, really cold day!', I thought to myself in typical late-bloomer/ tubelight style. Then suddenly it dawned on me. The hip to neck zip of the dress had parted way, all the way!!! My entire back, including..err, innerwear, was on display! Thankfully I had also grabbed a matching cape that morning so I slung it around my back, Jayalalitha style and marched regally to the meeting. By dint of moving slowly and carefully as if I had a ramrod up my a**, I managed the meeting without the client realising that anything was wrong with me apart from an unusual stiffness.
I hunted frantically for safety pins back at office but in these modern days of western wear, nobody was wearing anything like a mangalsutra with a chain of safety pins slung on it. How I missed sari-clad women that day! It was already going on afternoon on a really busy day, so I couldn't slink off and buy a new outfit so I dialled mom and told her to schlep an outfit for me when she arrived at IIC that evening.
As it happened, A's parents, mine and A and I converged upon IIC at the exact same time. By this time, the discomfort of officially meeting my inlaws with my back hanging out of my dress was too high to be borne. Muttering a hasty hello, I grabbed the pack of clothes from mom and disappeared in the direction of the rest room, leaving it to poor A, who hadn't even officially met my parents yet, to manage all the awkwardness of introductions and greetings. What my parents in law thought of me disappearing, in a chic dress, and reappearing in a demure salwar kameez, courtesy Mom, I can only imagine! Must have been a rude shock for them later, methinks :)
My parents, sister and I are very fond of pranks, puns, jokes and so on. Shortly after A and I got married, we moved to my parents place to stay for a few days. The first night, as dad left our room after seeing that we had everything we needed, I called after him, "Good night. Sudarimasu!" That was our elongated family version of 'Sweet dreams'. A looked at me, puzzled, and asked what I was saying. I told him it was Japanese for 'sleep well'. He was maha impressed by my family's ability to assimilate foreign languages into our daily routine :)
Within ten days of marriage, A and I were living in a suitcase-sized apartment in Fontainebleau and enjoying the experience. It was a very social campus, and everyone either threw dinenr parties or attended them every night. A few dinner parties chez nous later, A felt rather apologetic about the fact that we didn't serve non-veg, since veg moi was the chef on offer. He finally decided the situation was too embarassing and decided to cook some chicken.
Having first sourced the recipe from his mom, he considerately asked me to stay away and chill in the bedroom while he took over the kitchen/ living room - he knew I might feel sick at the sight of raw meat. A few minutes later, he dashed in. "Do you know what's cumin? And what does cloves mean? Do we have any? What is cinnamon - is it a vegetable?" I took pity on him and offered to lay out all the necessary spices for him, and then retired to my solitary splendour.
About fifteen minutes later, when my eyes and sinuses were on fire from the smells emanating from the kitchen, he dashed in again. "Mom said to cook the onions till they turn brown. What share of brown - should they be light brown like sand or dark brown like chocolate?" I ran to the kitchen, took one look at the pan and collapsed. There were onion cinders at the bottom of the pan!!!
Having said that, with a little help and an inspired addition of yoghurt by me, the chicken dish actually turned out to be delicious and is still remembered by our friends. (I have to say this else A may kill me!)
Sometime later, when we were back in India, we attended an art exhibition at the Habitat center, and A really liked some paintings by an artist called Dhananjay. Since we had decided to start collecting art in a modest way, we made the artist an offer in his visitor’s book and left – the painting would only be delivered after the exhibition was over. Some days later, the artist called and said he’d come over and deliver the painting that evening.
He turned up clutching two paintings under his arm, and we started talking about this, that and the other. Then he turned to us earnestly and said, “I’m going to show you two paintings from my collection. Yeh pyaar hai. Isko aap separate mat karna. Is pyaar ko aap ikhatte rakhna.”
A and I rose up in each other’s estimation as people capable of having a somewhat metaphysical discussion on the nature of love with an artist, and this conversation continued for a few minutes more before it dawned on us. The artist happened to be Bengali, and what he was really saying to us was, “This is a pair of paintings. Please keep the pair together!”
Actually, we had so much drama for so many years before we actually got married that I think our married life is actually pretty tame by comparison. But just before we got married, after opposing the concept for several years, my parents finally came around, just about a month before A and I were to take off for INSEAD in France. And they obviously wanted to meet A's parents and discuss arrangements. We decided to do it on neutral ground and halfway between the two parental homes, which were really far apart - for those who know Delhi, A's parents lived in the Univ area and mine live in Gurgaon! So we decided on IIC as a venue. His parents, mine and A and me were to converge there after A and I finished work one evening. I was quite nervous as to how this meeting would go off, whether they would hate each other at first sight...let's say I was like the anxious mother of a potential bride in an arranged marriage seeing-the-girl situation.
That cold winter day, I had worn a very chic black and white wool dress to work. While I was out for a meeting, as I stepped out of the car, I felt a super-cold draught of air riding up my back. 'Wow, really cold day!', I thought to myself in typical late-bloomer/ tubelight style. Then suddenly it dawned on me. The hip to neck zip of the dress had parted way, all the way!!! My entire back, including..err, innerwear, was on display! Thankfully I had also grabbed a matching cape that morning so I slung it around my back, Jayalalitha style and marched regally to the meeting. By dint of moving slowly and carefully as if I had a ramrod up my a**, I managed the meeting without the client realising that anything was wrong with me apart from an unusual stiffness.
I hunted frantically for safety pins back at office but in these modern days of western wear, nobody was wearing anything like a mangalsutra with a chain of safety pins slung on it. How I missed sari-clad women that day! It was already going on afternoon on a really busy day, so I couldn't slink off and buy a new outfit so I dialled mom and told her to schlep an outfit for me when she arrived at IIC that evening.
As it happened, A's parents, mine and A and I converged upon IIC at the exact same time. By this time, the discomfort of officially meeting my inlaws with my back hanging out of my dress was too high to be borne. Muttering a hasty hello, I grabbed the pack of clothes from mom and disappeared in the direction of the rest room, leaving it to poor A, who hadn't even officially met my parents yet, to manage all the awkwardness of introductions and greetings. What my parents in law thought of me disappearing, in a chic dress, and reappearing in a demure salwar kameez, courtesy Mom, I can only imagine! Must have been a rude shock for them later, methinks :)
My parents, sister and I are very fond of pranks, puns, jokes and so on. Shortly after A and I got married, we moved to my parents place to stay for a few days. The first night, as dad left our room after seeing that we had everything we needed, I called after him, "Good night. Sudarimasu!" That was our elongated family version of 'Sweet dreams'. A looked at me, puzzled, and asked what I was saying. I told him it was Japanese for 'sleep well'. He was maha impressed by my family's ability to assimilate foreign languages into our daily routine :)
Within ten days of marriage, A and I were living in a suitcase-sized apartment in Fontainebleau and enjoying the experience. It was a very social campus, and everyone either threw dinenr parties or attended them every night. A few dinner parties chez nous later, A felt rather apologetic about the fact that we didn't serve non-veg, since veg moi was the chef on offer. He finally decided the situation was too embarassing and decided to cook some chicken.
Having first sourced the recipe from his mom, he considerately asked me to stay away and chill in the bedroom while he took over the kitchen/ living room - he knew I might feel sick at the sight of raw meat. A few minutes later, he dashed in. "Do you know what's cumin? And what does cloves mean? Do we have any? What is cinnamon - is it a vegetable?" I took pity on him and offered to lay out all the necessary spices for him, and then retired to my solitary splendour.
About fifteen minutes later, when my eyes and sinuses were on fire from the smells emanating from the kitchen, he dashed in again. "Mom said to cook the onions till they turn brown. What share of brown - should they be light brown like sand or dark brown like chocolate?" I ran to the kitchen, took one look at the pan and collapsed. There were onion cinders at the bottom of the pan!!!
Having said that, with a little help and an inspired addition of yoghurt by me, the chicken dish actually turned out to be delicious and is still remembered by our friends. (I have to say this else A may kill me!)
Sometime later, when we were back in India, we attended an art exhibition at the Habitat center, and A really liked some paintings by an artist called Dhananjay. Since we had decided to start collecting art in a modest way, we made the artist an offer in his visitor’s book and left – the painting would only be delivered after the exhibition was over. Some days later, the artist called and said he’d come over and deliver the painting that evening.
He turned up clutching two paintings under his arm, and we started talking about this, that and the other. Then he turned to us earnestly and said, “I’m going to show you two paintings from my collection. Yeh pyaar hai. Isko aap separate mat karna. Is pyaar ko aap ikhatte rakhna.”
A and I rose up in each other’s estimation as people capable of having a somewhat metaphysical discussion on the nature of love with an artist, and this conversation continued for a few minutes more before it dawned on us. The artist happened to be Bengali, and what he was really saying to us was, “This is a pair of paintings. Please keep the pair together!”
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Chubbocks is 9
How time marches on. It seems like yesterday that I was freaking out at having gotten pregnant, obviously without any planning ( in fact A and I joke about it being an immaculate conception given how stressed both of us were with new jobs at the time, but that's really not material for a mommy blog, now is it?). I think Dad had figured it out much before it dawned on either of us. And now he's 9. Almost a teenager, and by the behaviour, sometimes I think he's in his early teen years already.
When I look at old photos of his, I almost can't recognise the chubby-cheeked character who peers out, I'm so used to his gangly, bony form with its jeans falling off the non-existent backside.
But despite his terrible temper - inherited, I shan't say from which side of the family - and occasional tantrums, he is for the most part a really simple little kid. A couple of years ago, he commented that we couldn't get him a Wii or Playstation 'because we don't live in an apartment or a hotel. If we did we could afford it", and has hardly ever pestered us about it. He is a fashion disaster in the making, so eager to go out and play that he wears his jeans back to front and Tshirts inside out and doesn't even notice, and whinges to be allowed to wear his battered crocs because they are 'so comfortable'. He begs and pleads to be allowed to download a new computer game that costs about a dollar and then doesn't even bother to ask for a proper birthday present.
I find that quite amazing, given that I read about kids decked out in designer labels from head to toe, or overhear them compare their father's car brands and rag each other about it.
For Chubbocks, all is well in his world as long as he gets his quota of screen time and a stack of books to read. He still insists that we read out a story to him each night, though his reading level is advanced enough for him to have finished the Harry Potter series already. He's developed a really good sense of humour and creates little riddles and jokes all the time. He's known as the little encyclopedia in school because of the facts he has at his command about any topic. And he's the evolving elder brother, sometimes bossing over ( or trying to boss over) his siblings, and yet super-protective of them, always ready to intervene with us when we're getting upset with them.
I think we're in for a few challenges going forward though. The first signs of rebellion and angst are already in, as evidenced by his tantrums. He's no longer content to obey instantly, or unquestioningly. There are times when he insists something is true/ he's done something correctly despite all evidence to the contrary. He's unfortunately a very bright and talented child - unfortunate because things come so easy to him that he hasn't needed to work hard at them, and being patient or persevering doesn't come naturally to him as it does to Puddi.
He's also going through a phase where he feels more controls being put upon him - more homework, more expectations in terms of behaviour at home and at school - whereas he sees his siblings get a freer rein. In his mind, there are no distinctions between him and them so he's getting very angsty about it. We've seen more tantrums, some instances of defiance and many hyper-emotional moments - "This is the worst day of my life, I wish I was never born" type. I was hoping we had a little time before we got to it. I've lived through my adolescence and let's just say, I don't wish myself in my parents shoes!
Anyway, I guess we'll get through - everyone does. Meanwhile I'm just going to enjoy the good moments, of which there are many!
When I look at old photos of his, I almost can't recognise the chubby-cheeked character who peers out, I'm so used to his gangly, bony form with its jeans falling off the non-existent backside.
But despite his terrible temper - inherited, I shan't say from which side of the family - and occasional tantrums, he is for the most part a really simple little kid. A couple of years ago, he commented that we couldn't get him a Wii or Playstation 'because we don't live in an apartment or a hotel. If we did we could afford it", and has hardly ever pestered us about it. He is a fashion disaster in the making, so eager to go out and play that he wears his jeans back to front and Tshirts inside out and doesn't even notice, and whinges to be allowed to wear his battered crocs because they are 'so comfortable'. He begs and pleads to be allowed to download a new computer game that costs about a dollar and then doesn't even bother to ask for a proper birthday present.
I find that quite amazing, given that I read about kids decked out in designer labels from head to toe, or overhear them compare their father's car brands and rag each other about it.
For Chubbocks, all is well in his world as long as he gets his quota of screen time and a stack of books to read. He still insists that we read out a story to him each night, though his reading level is advanced enough for him to have finished the Harry Potter series already. He's developed a really good sense of humour and creates little riddles and jokes all the time. He's known as the little encyclopedia in school because of the facts he has at his command about any topic. And he's the evolving elder brother, sometimes bossing over ( or trying to boss over) his siblings, and yet super-protective of them, always ready to intervene with us when we're getting upset with them.
I think we're in for a few challenges going forward though. The first signs of rebellion and angst are already in, as evidenced by his tantrums. He's no longer content to obey instantly, or unquestioningly. There are times when he insists something is true/ he's done something correctly despite all evidence to the contrary. He's unfortunately a very bright and talented child - unfortunate because things come so easy to him that he hasn't needed to work hard at them, and being patient or persevering doesn't come naturally to him as it does to Puddi.
He's also going through a phase where he feels more controls being put upon him - more homework, more expectations in terms of behaviour at home and at school - whereas he sees his siblings get a freer rein. In his mind, there are no distinctions between him and them so he's getting very angsty about it. We've seen more tantrums, some instances of defiance and many hyper-emotional moments - "This is the worst day of my life, I wish I was never born" type. I was hoping we had a little time before we got to it. I've lived through my adolescence and let's just say, I don't wish myself in my parents shoes!
Anyway, I guess we'll get through - everyone does. Meanwhile I'm just going to enjoy the good moments, of which there are many!
Friday, March 2, 2012
Life with Jerry
As a friend sternly pointed out to me recently, “I don’t know if it’s third child syndrome, but I feel I hardly know Bojjandi, whereas I know the other two rather well through your blog”. Duly guilty and chastened, I have finally sat down to fill the gap. Especially since the primary reason for starting the blog was so they would have reference material in case I was gaga by the time their kids came around - and the way the three of them behave sometimes, I hope I will be!
So…Bojjandi really reminds me of Jerry from the Tom and Jerry cartoons. I don’t know whether it’s because of his hyper-energetic body language or his chubby cheeks, pointy chin and cheeky expression which remind me of Jerry’s looks, minus the big ears. He’s an action mn from the minute he wakes up in the morning, and quite stubborn about what he wants. His day starts with plaintive wails of ‘Abba, take me down’, and he gets quite annoyed if left to sleep in. Next comes a run into the kitchen and a perch on its counter for his Yakult – since our pal has given up milk since he was weaned off the bottle about a year and a half ago – talk about stubborn! Thankfully he loves Yakult – so much so that he’s constantly pretending he hasn’t already had one, so he can have another bottle of it!
He’s a real mischief-a-minute baby, constantly looking for the next thing he could get into trouble for. Jerry, excuse me, Bojji is happiest when he’s scurrying around at a fast pace – whether he’s running around the house on his tiptoes, jumping off furniture perilously close to hitting his head on a chance occasional table or so, zipping around the house on his scooter, or ramming his bicycle into walls when forbiddenly riding it indoors. He’s a crazy chatter-box, whose stream of commentary, plaintive pleading, arguments and general purpose chat don’t stop even when he’s asleep.
I expect a flock of penguins to come take up residence in our house any day now, given his habit of opening the fridge every 15 minutes to sniff out a new snack. He’s also the supreme techno-freak in our house, even more than his dad and elder brother. As soon as his eyes open in the morning, he’s plaintively asking for the mobile phone, dad’s new galaxy note or the iPadeesh as he calls it. If thwarted, he stands on tiptoe on top of the sofa to reach the iPod and starts spinning through the tracks. In fact, I’d say he’s better versed in the technology than me (no great accomplishment J) – he’s the one who figured out how to switch on the iPod on the iPad first. We joke that he’s the kid easiest to kidnap – all it takes is a fancy mobile phone!
He loves music and any time he hears a tune, starts wiggling his bum in time to the rhythm immediately. One of the cutest things I have seen is that he’ll turn the iPod on to play a favourite song (currently Sadda Haq), switch on a blue spotlight in our living room and start dancing underneath it all by himself. It really reminds me of those T&J sequences where J is dancing ecstatically. In fact, he amazed me during a concert at Chubbocks’ school, when he identified a song within the first bars of it playing!
He thinks he’s no less than either of his siblings in terms of size or ability and constantly psyches me out by trying stunts that a toddler really shouldn’t be. He turns wheelies on his cycle or balances his whole body on the crossbar of it while I watch, my heart in my mouth, thinking he’s going to tumble off and hit his head. He keeps telling me he needs to ‘feed my neopets’, an activity actually done by Chubbocks and he has no clue what it means. He constantly argues with his siblings as to the rights and wrongs of whatever game they are playing, and watches Oggy and laughs right along with the elder two at the jokes. In fact, he’s got a definite sense of humour and loves knock-knock jokes.
Knock-knock
Who’s there?
Ach
Ach-who?
Thatsh a nashty cold!
Knock-knock
Who’s there?
Mister
Mister who?
Mister Plod
….and so on an infinitum, with all the characters from his favourite books and TV shows.
At bedtime, listening to stories, he’s hugely inquisitive, asking dozens of questions about every word he doesn’t understand, or the motivations of characters. He can never wait for the story to be told and keeps flipping forwards and back through the book, exasperating Puddi and Chubbocks no end. He grouches about the fact that we don’t sit on his bed ever ( it’s a crib) – in our highly litigious household, we have regulated that we will sit on a each child’s bed to tell bedtime stories alternately; we have also legislated that the child whose choice of story is told first will be the last to get his/ her back scratched.
And then, as Morpheus gets closer, he turns into a confused little cuddle-bunny. He keeps repeating a catchphrase over and over – it could be ‘abba, abba…’ or Mamma, mamma…’. He makes a deal with us every night that if he has a bad dream, he will come into our bed. And 6 nights out of 7, as A and I prepare to sleep, there will be a polite tap-tapping on our door. It’ll continue despite our shouts to ‘come on in and close the door’, and one of us have to ceremoniously open the door and invite the polite interloper in. At which point, he promptly demands my favourite pillow, lies down smack bang in the middle of the bed and shoved his chubby little arm down my sleeve. Caressing my arm makes him sleepy, apparently.
So…Bojjandi really reminds me of Jerry from the Tom and Jerry cartoons. I don’t know whether it’s because of his hyper-energetic body language or his chubby cheeks, pointy chin and cheeky expression which remind me of Jerry’s looks, minus the big ears. He’s an action mn from the minute he wakes up in the morning, and quite stubborn about what he wants. His day starts with plaintive wails of ‘Abba, take me down’, and he gets quite annoyed if left to sleep in. Next comes a run into the kitchen and a perch on its counter for his Yakult – since our pal has given up milk since he was weaned off the bottle about a year and a half ago – talk about stubborn! Thankfully he loves Yakult – so much so that he’s constantly pretending he hasn’t already had one, so he can have another bottle of it!
He’s a real mischief-a-minute baby, constantly looking for the next thing he could get into trouble for. Jerry, excuse me, Bojji is happiest when he’s scurrying around at a fast pace – whether he’s running around the house on his tiptoes, jumping off furniture perilously close to hitting his head on a chance occasional table or so, zipping around the house on his scooter, or ramming his bicycle into walls when forbiddenly riding it indoors. He’s a crazy chatter-box, whose stream of commentary, plaintive pleading, arguments and general purpose chat don’t stop even when he’s asleep.
I expect a flock of penguins to come take up residence in our house any day now, given his habit of opening the fridge every 15 minutes to sniff out a new snack. He’s also the supreme techno-freak in our house, even more than his dad and elder brother. As soon as his eyes open in the morning, he’s plaintively asking for the mobile phone, dad’s new galaxy note or the iPadeesh as he calls it. If thwarted, he stands on tiptoe on top of the sofa to reach the iPod and starts spinning through the tracks. In fact, I’d say he’s better versed in the technology than me (no great accomplishment J) – he’s the one who figured out how to switch on the iPod on the iPad first. We joke that he’s the kid easiest to kidnap – all it takes is a fancy mobile phone!
He loves music and any time he hears a tune, starts wiggling his bum in time to the rhythm immediately. One of the cutest things I have seen is that he’ll turn the iPod on to play a favourite song (currently Sadda Haq), switch on a blue spotlight in our living room and start dancing underneath it all by himself. It really reminds me of those T&J sequences where J is dancing ecstatically. In fact, he amazed me during a concert at Chubbocks’ school, when he identified a song within the first bars of it playing!
He thinks he’s no less than either of his siblings in terms of size or ability and constantly psyches me out by trying stunts that a toddler really shouldn’t be. He turns wheelies on his cycle or balances his whole body on the crossbar of it while I watch, my heart in my mouth, thinking he’s going to tumble off and hit his head. He keeps telling me he needs to ‘feed my neopets’, an activity actually done by Chubbocks and he has no clue what it means. He constantly argues with his siblings as to the rights and wrongs of whatever game they are playing, and watches Oggy and laughs right along with the elder two at the jokes. In fact, he’s got a definite sense of humour and loves knock-knock jokes.
Knock-knock
Who’s there?
Ach
Ach-who?
Thatsh a nashty cold!
Knock-knock
Who’s there?
Mister
Mister who?
Mister Plod
….and so on an infinitum, with all the characters from his favourite books and TV shows.
At bedtime, listening to stories, he’s hugely inquisitive, asking dozens of questions about every word he doesn’t understand, or the motivations of characters. He can never wait for the story to be told and keeps flipping forwards and back through the book, exasperating Puddi and Chubbocks no end. He grouches about the fact that we don’t sit on his bed ever ( it’s a crib) – in our highly litigious household, we have regulated that we will sit on a each child’s bed to tell bedtime stories alternately; we have also legislated that the child whose choice of story is told first will be the last to get his/ her back scratched.
And then, as Morpheus gets closer, he turns into a confused little cuddle-bunny. He keeps repeating a catchphrase over and over – it could be ‘abba, abba…’ or Mamma, mamma…’. He makes a deal with us every night that if he has a bad dream, he will come into our bed. And 6 nights out of 7, as A and I prepare to sleep, there will be a polite tap-tapping on our door. It’ll continue despite our shouts to ‘come on in and close the door’, and one of us have to ceremoniously open the door and invite the polite interloper in. At which point, he promptly demands my favourite pillow, lies down smack bang in the middle of the bed and shoved his chubby little arm down my sleeve. Caressing my arm makes him sleepy, apparently.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Kids...
are so complex, they should seriously come with an instruction manual. Take Puddi, for example. She's a complete Chulbul Pandey, mad as they come and with a snappy answer for everything. And then there's the opposite side, soft as a marshmallow, soft as her pillow lips or her fat cheeks...
One night A had taken Chubbocks and Puddi up to bed and left them there, while coming back down to haul Bojjandi up. Chubbocks was fast asleep when A left them there. When he went back up, Puddi had put her head onto Chubbocks and was stroking his forehead where he lay. "He was tired so I'm just rubbing his head".
She's enrolled in Kuchipudi classes which take place within our gated community. I use the kids' park time to finish work so I said I'd leave her there and pick her up after class. Her eyes filled up with big fat tears...and this is the same child who doesn't get fazed while being left in ballet class, which takes place well outside and far from home. The same child who insisted on trying to light all the fountains and chakris at Diwali...go figure!
In other news, Chubbocks has now enrolled in tennis lessons and seems to have some aptitude for the game. He also had his second sleepover - his first was when he was 5 - too young - and enjoyed himself thoroughly. Though, as usual given his temperament, he vacillated for days before deciding to go ahead and would have backed out even on the day, given the option. In fact he asked me to go drop him rather than going to his friend's with the driver, which is the norm. But thankfully, had a great time, the same friend also came over and had a sleepover chez nous later, so my little boy is growing up!
Bojjandi meanwhile continues to be a nutcase, very active and full of beans. Chatty as soon as he wakes up, with long, long sentences, paragraphs rather , of chitchat. He's rather adorably enamored of me at the moment, so I get chortles of glee when I go pick him up from school: mama you came to pick me up yourshelf!; or, if I ever have a lie-in in the morning and come down late: Mama, I wash misshing you...I'm storing it up for the day, soon enough, when he turns his cheek away from my kiss!
One night A had taken Chubbocks and Puddi up to bed and left them there, while coming back down to haul Bojjandi up. Chubbocks was fast asleep when A left them there. When he went back up, Puddi had put her head onto Chubbocks and was stroking his forehead where he lay. "He was tired so I'm just rubbing his head".
She's enrolled in Kuchipudi classes which take place within our gated community. I use the kids' park time to finish work so I said I'd leave her there and pick her up after class. Her eyes filled up with big fat tears...and this is the same child who doesn't get fazed while being left in ballet class, which takes place well outside and far from home. The same child who insisted on trying to light all the fountains and chakris at Diwali...go figure!
In other news, Chubbocks has now enrolled in tennis lessons and seems to have some aptitude for the game. He also had his second sleepover - his first was when he was 5 - too young - and enjoyed himself thoroughly. Though, as usual given his temperament, he vacillated for days before deciding to go ahead and would have backed out even on the day, given the option. In fact he asked me to go drop him rather than going to his friend's with the driver, which is the norm. But thankfully, had a great time, the same friend also came over and had a sleepover chez nous later, so my little boy is growing up!
Bojjandi meanwhile continues to be a nutcase, very active and full of beans. Chatty as soon as he wakes up, with long, long sentences, paragraphs rather , of chitchat. He's rather adorably enamored of me at the moment, so I get chortles of glee when I go pick him up from school: mama you came to pick me up yourshelf!; or, if I ever have a lie-in in the morning and come down late: Mama, I wash misshing you...I'm storing it up for the day, soon enough, when he turns his cheek away from my kiss!
Monday, August 8, 2011
A subversive manual for my kids
Kids, you’re only going to be reading this when you’re 18, not before!!! So, I feel I can pass on some words of subversive wisdom from my experience as a teenager and beyond, though as the parent of an 18 year old, I may not be that happy at you following through!
At 18, the country thinks you’re old enough to decide its future, by voting. And that you’re old enough and mature enough, physically and emotionally, to be legally married. I’m assuming that by the time you’ve spent 18 years under my roof, I’ll have done as good a job as I’m ever going to do in terms of teaching you the right values – respect for others, tolerance, integrity, being sensible, not drinking and driving, not doing drugs, safe sex…I also hope I’ll have taught you enough about thinking for yourself by then.
So, if there’s a conflict that comes up between us from here on, be it in terms of what you should study, how you should dress, whom you should fall in love with, what kind of career you should choose, whom you should marry, where to live…listen to my opinion – as someone who loves you beyond belief, I deserve that respect – but make up your own mind on what’s important to you. Make your own decisions. I hope I’ll have become mature enough to let you go and not try to force you into obedience, but in case I haven’t, ignore me. And yes, you can refer to this blog post and hoist me with my own petard at that point.
Here’s why I think it’s important that you should make your own decisions:
1. It’s your life. You have to own it. It’s better you take responsibility for it sooner rather than later and shape it as per your dreams…I’d hate for you to turn that around at some ripe old age when you feel you haven’t lived it as per your dreams and hold me responsible for ruining it.
2. As a parent, it’s possible I might be over-protective, like my parents were of me. I might want to spare you from the consequences of your choices, emotional, mental or physical. But here’s the thing. Experience is something that can’t be passed on, it can only be personally bought, and usually at the cost of some pain. If I try and spare you that pain in a misguided effort to keep you safe, you may never learn how to deal with pain that comes at a time that I can’t protect you from it. The only way you’ll learn to survive in life is by taking risks, emotional and physical, and dealing with the fallout.
3. Your life and your growing years are in a completely different milieu than the one I grew up in, and the world you live in is very different. Try as I might, while I may understand some parts of it, I can never comprehend the whole of it. In a way, that’s what the generation gap is all about right? Firstly that I can’t be 18 again and feel the same emotions again, and that therefore my perspective on what you’re going through is different. And secondly that society and the world have changed from the time I was 18. Therefore if I try to guide you based on my past experience, my point of view is bound to be either outdated or unrealistic on many things. You really think Sergei Brin’s mum told him to start Google? Or Amelia Earhart’s dad told her to go fly a plane?
And here’s some advice for me:
1. Be proud of your kids not for achieving things that you wished for them but for achieving their dreams
2. Be happy when your kids are happy, not when they are following your wishes
3. Don't feel hurt if they decide to do something contrary to your advice - they're doing what they need to do
4. Be grateful that your kids can think for themselves and that they dare to counter your point of view. It’s going to be critical for them as they grow up and go out into the world that they be able to challenge the establishment and have independent ways of thinking.
5. Remember to have Band-Aids(physical and emotional) and champagne, both handy at all times
5.
At 18, the country thinks you’re old enough to decide its future, by voting. And that you’re old enough and mature enough, physically and emotionally, to be legally married. I’m assuming that by the time you’ve spent 18 years under my roof, I’ll have done as good a job as I’m ever going to do in terms of teaching you the right values – respect for others, tolerance, integrity, being sensible, not drinking and driving, not doing drugs, safe sex…I also hope I’ll have taught you enough about thinking for yourself by then.
So, if there’s a conflict that comes up between us from here on, be it in terms of what you should study, how you should dress, whom you should fall in love with, what kind of career you should choose, whom you should marry, where to live…listen to my opinion – as someone who loves you beyond belief, I deserve that respect – but make up your own mind on what’s important to you. Make your own decisions. I hope I’ll have become mature enough to let you go and not try to force you into obedience, but in case I haven’t, ignore me. And yes, you can refer to this blog post and hoist me with my own petard at that point.
Here’s why I think it’s important that you should make your own decisions:
1. It’s your life. You have to own it. It’s better you take responsibility for it sooner rather than later and shape it as per your dreams…I’d hate for you to turn that around at some ripe old age when you feel you haven’t lived it as per your dreams and hold me responsible for ruining it.
2. As a parent, it’s possible I might be over-protective, like my parents were of me. I might want to spare you from the consequences of your choices, emotional, mental or physical. But here’s the thing. Experience is something that can’t be passed on, it can only be personally bought, and usually at the cost of some pain. If I try and spare you that pain in a misguided effort to keep you safe, you may never learn how to deal with pain that comes at a time that I can’t protect you from it. The only way you’ll learn to survive in life is by taking risks, emotional and physical, and dealing with the fallout.
3. Your life and your growing years are in a completely different milieu than the one I grew up in, and the world you live in is very different. Try as I might, while I may understand some parts of it, I can never comprehend the whole of it. In a way, that’s what the generation gap is all about right? Firstly that I can’t be 18 again and feel the same emotions again, and that therefore my perspective on what you’re going through is different. And secondly that society and the world have changed from the time I was 18. Therefore if I try to guide you based on my past experience, my point of view is bound to be either outdated or unrealistic on many things. You really think Sergei Brin’s mum told him to start Google? Or Amelia Earhart’s dad told her to go fly a plane?
And here’s some advice for me:
1. Be proud of your kids not for achieving things that you wished for them but for achieving their dreams
2. Be happy when your kids are happy, not when they are following your wishes
3. Don't feel hurt if they decide to do something contrary to your advice - they're doing what they need to do
4. Be grateful that your kids can think for themselves and that they dare to counter your point of view. It’s going to be critical for them as they grow up and go out into the world that they be able to challenge the establishment and have independent ways of thinking.
5. Remember to have Band-Aids(physical and emotional) and champagne, both handy at all times
5.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Carefree summer
remember my summer holidays, like they were yesterday. The long, fun train rides down south, for close to 2 or more days. Lying on the hot upper berth, with the fan throwing more hot air around, in a languid daze. Making friends with ramdon people in the compartment, teaming up with new kids and becoming instant best friends, chasing each other up and down the bogie and playing card games. Looking out of the window at the passing procession of India, state after state, tunnels, rivers, forests and towns...Sharing food with people from across the country, eating a variety that one never got at home...
And then, getting to our destination, the sense of growing anticipation as we got closet to the station. Peering out of the window to see which of the relatives had come to receive us and take us home. Hanging out at my grandparents' house in Bangalore, reading my way through Oliver Twist and other classics, and years of issues of Reader's Digests from the '50s onwards.Then Mysore, where my favourite cousins lived.
We spent the whole day doing God-knows-what, with little or no adult supervision or interference. Our 'park' was a tiny temple opposite our house, and we spent the day swinging on the vines of the Banyan tree that grew there. We spent hours chatting and giggling over each meal, so much so that the adults would finish their meal and only then serve us, so that they could be done fast. At night, dad and uncle would get ready for the invasion of their myriad cousins and friends, who'd drop by to supposedly say Hi, then stay on for a meal, then drinks and endless games of 28 interspersed with airings of many old skeletons. Family gossip sessions were another highlight, and we kids would desperately rub the sleep out of our eyes and stay awake to hear all the anecdotes.
I'm a working mom, and though my parents live just down the road from us, they have been away almost every summer since I had kids, visiting my sister in the US. So my kids, starting with Chubbocks, have been enrolled in summer camps. They have been great fun, from dramatic activities to an 'Around the world' series last year, arts and crafts, games and so on. And they have helped my kids stay busy and occupied at least for part of the day, given that both A and I would be out most of the day.
But I've always felt a little bit guilty and somewhat sad thinking of their summers. To think that they'll never understand the concept of unstructured time that they get to decide what to do with. To think that they'll never figure out what's it's like to create their own amusements and occupations, from fighting with each other to playing, getting up to mischief, gossipping, reading and all the rets of it. To imagine that they'll never have a time to remember when all the kids crowded into one room and slept huddled up together on mattresses on the floor, giggling helplessly at silly jokes and staying up late to play pranks on each other.
And so this summer. My parents are here until a week before the kids school reopens. A and I have to go to France and decided to go solo, sans kids, so they'll get a real experience of 'staying at grandma's, rather than visiting back and forth as they do everyday. I have consciously not enrolled them into any summer activities, hoping that they'll soon get into the rhythm of keeping themselves busy on their own. And later when my sister comes over, we're doing a weeklong family vacation, starting with a train trip to Bangalore with my parents and then a visit down memory lane to Mysore, where we all plan to stay together.
I guess the cousins will have many differences, from age-group to accents, disciplines and schedules. But I'm hoping that we parents can find it in ourselves to let it go and chill, and let the, find their own levels. I want to give them a slice of my own childhood summers to remember.
Crossposted at desimoms
And then, getting to our destination, the sense of growing anticipation as we got closet to the station. Peering out of the window to see which of the relatives had come to receive us and take us home. Hanging out at my grandparents' house in Bangalore, reading my way through Oliver Twist and other classics, and years of issues of Reader's Digests from the '50s onwards.Then Mysore, where my favourite cousins lived.
We spent the whole day doing God-knows-what, with little or no adult supervision or interference. Our 'park' was a tiny temple opposite our house, and we spent the day swinging on the vines of the Banyan tree that grew there. We spent hours chatting and giggling over each meal, so much so that the adults would finish their meal and only then serve us, so that they could be done fast. At night, dad and uncle would get ready for the invasion of their myriad cousins and friends, who'd drop by to supposedly say Hi, then stay on for a meal, then drinks and endless games of 28 interspersed with airings of many old skeletons. Family gossip sessions were another highlight, and we kids would desperately rub the sleep out of our eyes and stay awake to hear all the anecdotes.
I'm a working mom, and though my parents live just down the road from us, they have been away almost every summer since I had kids, visiting my sister in the US. So my kids, starting with Chubbocks, have been enrolled in summer camps. They have been great fun, from dramatic activities to an 'Around the world' series last year, arts and crafts, games and so on. And they have helped my kids stay busy and occupied at least for part of the day, given that both A and I would be out most of the day.
But I've always felt a little bit guilty and somewhat sad thinking of their summers. To think that they'll never understand the concept of unstructured time that they get to decide what to do with. To think that they'll never figure out what's it's like to create their own amusements and occupations, from fighting with each other to playing, getting up to mischief, gossipping, reading and all the rets of it. To imagine that they'll never have a time to remember when all the kids crowded into one room and slept huddled up together on mattresses on the floor, giggling helplessly at silly jokes and staying up late to play pranks on each other.
And so this summer. My parents are here until a week before the kids school reopens. A and I have to go to France and decided to go solo, sans kids, so they'll get a real experience of 'staying at grandma's, rather than visiting back and forth as they do everyday. I have consciously not enrolled them into any summer activities, hoping that they'll soon get into the rhythm of keeping themselves busy on their own. And later when my sister comes over, we're doing a weeklong family vacation, starting with a train trip to Bangalore with my parents and then a visit down memory lane to Mysore, where we all plan to stay together.
I guess the cousins will have many differences, from age-group to accents, disciplines and schedules. But I'm hoping that we parents can find it in ourselves to let it go and chill, and let the, find their own levels. I want to give them a slice of my own childhood summers to remember.
Crossposted at desimoms
Long overdue updates
I have hardly been blogging of late, but decide it's high time I wrote down what the kids have been up to. Chubbocks has finished Class 2 with his usual effortless performance so far ( brags moi :)) and moved up to Class 3. He's now 8, supposedly grown up. But the boy is a marshmallow inside.
We were giving up our Photon connection because it gave us dismal connectivity. Chubbocks mounted a full campaign asking us not to give it up. Finally he came down to begging us that even if we disconnected it, we should keep the modem somewhere safe, "else it's feelings will get hurt." I was cleaning out the kids playroom recently and came across a box full of soft toys, which the kids have hardly ever played with. I had the maid put them into a bag, preparatory to giving them away. That night I found Chubbocks, soft brown eyes full of concern. "Please don't throw them away. They are my babies!" Now that bag has been transported into an attic, half the contents piled on Chubbocks' bed, with barely enough space on the bed for him to be able to turn over.
Puddi is another thing altogether. She's crazy about art and runs riot with paint, crayons and colour pencils. She spends hours every day quietly engrossed in making a new work of art. I get the distinct feeling she is artistically gifted, going by her efforts so far. She's also an enthusiastic performer on stage. Her puppet dance came in for an encore on the day that we had PTA meetings, and she performed with the same gusto as she had done on stage. Last week she had a ballet performance. Her bit was pretty minor, but she was hilarious. The child next to her had forgotten her steps and refused to stand up on cue. So Puddi just reaches over and hauls her to her feet, gesticulating wildly to remind her of the steps :)
She's also growing into a lovely sister and a great middle child. She's equally happy running riot with Bojjandi or with Chubbocks. She plays board games, argues with Chubbocks, has long arguments and nonsense conversations with him. They fight all the time and irritate each other, yet her eyes well up when he gets scolded. He gets rather hyper at bedtime and competes fiercely for who will get Abba to sit on their bed first, and she's so quick to give in to keep him happy! Then, with Bojjandi, she's riotously running and tumbling around the house and making him laugh. We were out for dinner the other day, and Bojjandi wanted a bite of her dessert. Not only did she readily agree to share but she maternally and responsibly told him to sit down neatly next to her and fed him with such loving care.
And then there's Bojjandi, the most mischievous, rascally urchin in our house. His speech, both in English and Hindi, has grown by leaps and bounds, and he rattles off long sentences, even paragraphs. His communication skills are terrific and he is easily understood by all of us at home, even if newcomers find it hard to figure him out. That's because his 'r's and 'l's are still 'y' sounds, which is adorable and I really want him to stay that way fro as long as possible.
He's like a dashing movie hero - dashing around the hosue at all times. One of the loudest voices in the house too. Very fond of opening the fridge and scavenging for anythign interesting that he can find, from dahi to chutney, chocolates to cheese. Stubborn as a mule, he still hasn't touched milk after we threw away his bottles six months ago! Assertive and more than capable of holding his own against either Chubbocks or Puddi. And when he gets really affectionate towards you - watch out. He'll come and 'kench' you ( pinch) realy hard, with a fierce expression and gritted pearly teeth. or launch himself at you like a missile and pound away with his chubby fists. He loves his Noddy scooter and his favourite thing is, at night after he's changed into pajamas, to come riding into the family room on the scooter, long, unruly curls blowing behind him, like those old-fashioned Bollywood hero-introduction shots :)
We were giving up our Photon connection because it gave us dismal connectivity. Chubbocks mounted a full campaign asking us not to give it up. Finally he came down to begging us that even if we disconnected it, we should keep the modem somewhere safe, "else it's feelings will get hurt." I was cleaning out the kids playroom recently and came across a box full of soft toys, which the kids have hardly ever played with. I had the maid put them into a bag, preparatory to giving them away. That night I found Chubbocks, soft brown eyes full of concern. "Please don't throw them away. They are my babies!" Now that bag has been transported into an attic, half the contents piled on Chubbocks' bed, with barely enough space on the bed for him to be able to turn over.
Puddi is another thing altogether. She's crazy about art and runs riot with paint, crayons and colour pencils. She spends hours every day quietly engrossed in making a new work of art. I get the distinct feeling she is artistically gifted, going by her efforts so far. She's also an enthusiastic performer on stage. Her puppet dance came in for an encore on the day that we had PTA meetings, and she performed with the same gusto as she had done on stage. Last week she had a ballet performance. Her bit was pretty minor, but she was hilarious. The child next to her had forgotten her steps and refused to stand up on cue. So Puddi just reaches over and hauls her to her feet, gesticulating wildly to remind her of the steps :)
She's also growing into a lovely sister and a great middle child. She's equally happy running riot with Bojjandi or with Chubbocks. She plays board games, argues with Chubbocks, has long arguments and nonsense conversations with him. They fight all the time and irritate each other, yet her eyes well up when he gets scolded. He gets rather hyper at bedtime and competes fiercely for who will get Abba to sit on their bed first, and she's so quick to give in to keep him happy! Then, with Bojjandi, she's riotously running and tumbling around the house and making him laugh. We were out for dinner the other day, and Bojjandi wanted a bite of her dessert. Not only did she readily agree to share but she maternally and responsibly told him to sit down neatly next to her and fed him with such loving care.
And then there's Bojjandi, the most mischievous, rascally urchin in our house. His speech, both in English and Hindi, has grown by leaps and bounds, and he rattles off long sentences, even paragraphs. His communication skills are terrific and he is easily understood by all of us at home, even if newcomers find it hard to figure him out. That's because his 'r's and 'l's are still 'y' sounds, which is adorable and I really want him to stay that way fro as long as possible.
He's like a dashing movie hero - dashing around the hosue at all times. One of the loudest voices in the house too. Very fond of opening the fridge and scavenging for anythign interesting that he can find, from dahi to chutney, chocolates to cheese. Stubborn as a mule, he still hasn't touched milk after we threw away his bottles six months ago! Assertive and more than capable of holding his own against either Chubbocks or Puddi. And when he gets really affectionate towards you - watch out. He'll come and 'kench' you ( pinch) realy hard, with a fierce expression and gritted pearly teeth. or launch himself at you like a missile and pound away with his chubby fists. He loves his Noddy scooter and his favourite thing is, at night after he's changed into pajamas, to come riding into the family room on the scooter, long, unruly curls blowing behind him, like those old-fashioned Bollywood hero-introduction shots :)
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Bojji Rap
Chubbocks one night at bedtime: Abba, I wish Bojji would stay a small baby forever, he's so cute.
Bojjandi, sleepily from his crib: I yam big boy!!!
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Bojjandi, speaking on his pretendphone: Hayo mamma, what aayu doing? I'm pyaying baybayade. ok bye
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Bojjandi is busy sorting and arranging his toycars and books on the sofa while A reads his paper quietly. I enter the room, and Bojjandi suddenly turns to me and says, "Abba dishturb my whole game. I am very upshet!"
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Bojjandi imperiously demands music: Abba, I wan Beayit ( Beat it, Michael Jackson) shong fulltime!
Bojjandi, sleepily from his crib: I yam big boy!!!
*************************************************************************************
Bojjandi, speaking on his pretendphone: Hayo mamma, what aayu doing? I'm pyaying baybayade. ok bye
*************************************************************************************
Bojjandi is busy sorting and arranging his toycars and books on the sofa while A reads his paper quietly. I enter the room, and Bojjandi suddenly turns to me and says, "Abba dishturb my whole game. I am very upshet!"
*************************************************************************************
Bojjandi imperiously demands music: Abba, I wan Beayit ( Beat it, Michael Jackson) shong fulltime!
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Bedtime Tales
Bedtimes at our house are getting increasingly complex, with three children of different ages and tastes to account for. It started out with Chubbocks getting three stories a night, followed by some singing. Chubbocks also has the same strange affliction I have - when he gets sleepy, his back starts itching and he has to have his back scratched for a bit.
Then along came Puddi, and we had to split the story-telling and back scratching/ patting between the two. And now we have Bojjandi, who's a pretty demanding little fellow. And we have sibling competitions on a nightly basis. Just to give you an idea of how a typical bedtime goes...
First we have a race up two flights of stairs to the bedroom floor. The first one to reach always has to proclaim "I win!", while the other two protest about cheating or how they had a stomach ache or had fallen down two weeks ago and were still nursing a stiff knee. Then, while A or I, or both, are turning back quilts and making the beds ready for the night, the three have a scrimmage at the bookshelf in their room, each picking out the book they want to be read from. Bojjandi, who has no concept of fairness, usually pulls out three or four books, while dropping half a dozen others on the floor, and insists that he wants to listen to them all, while we try to dissuade him.
Chubbocks and Puddi argue about whose bed the hapless parent will sit on that night to read the stories. Since this is supposed to happen on a rotational basis, one of the kids will always insist on having a convenient attack of amnesia about the previous night. Thankfully Bojji still sleeps in a crib, so he's not part of this competition. Then Chubbocks and Puddi will argue about whose story gets read first, while Bojjandi insistently yells out the name of his story, "Abba, yeed mine!( read mine)". I try to avoid this mess when it's my turn at bedtime by insisting that I choose all three stories or narrate them from memory/ imagination, and the strategy works some of the time.
Finally, somehow I settle on one of the beds, Bojjandi on my lap, while the other two try and squash in as close as possible, crib about how they can't see the pictures/ words and how it isn't fair. We try and read Bojjandi's story first, most nights, because that's the only way to shut him up while the other two stories are being read. Halfway through the story, Bojjandi tries to skip ahead and look at other pictures in the book, while we haul him back to what we're reading. We then read out the other two stories.
Once the stories are done and kids tucked in to their respective beds, Bojjandi starts his nightly queries about everyone on the house. "Where'sh abba?" "Where'sh ayoopa didi?". Then it comes to his playmates. "Where'sh miaow (his stuffed toy tiger)?" "Where'sh Gob the bildo ( Bob the builder)" He also answers many of the questions himself, which makes me wonder what the point is. "Gob'sh sh'eeping ( Bob is sleeping)". "Ayoopa didi'sh sh'eeping" and so on, till I issue a ultimatum about not singing until he keeps quiet.
Then come the song requests. Puddi usually wants 'a few of my favourite things'. She's also become fond of 'Wouldn't it be lovely' from My Fair Lady ( I think the phrase 'lots of chocolate for me to eat' had something to do with it!). Bojjandi used to ask for the Karadi song - 'The Bear went up the Mountain', which I sing in English and Kannada. The 'kookabayya' used to be another favourite earlier. Lately he's hooked on to 'Chim chimenee' from Mary Poppins, and keeps asking for repeats. If I start singing something he doesn't care for particularly, he's pretty direct about it, "Mamma, shwitch the shong off!" Chubbocks has no music requests and takes pretty much anything I sing in a sweet spirit. For instance, tonight I sang The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel and asked him if he liked the song. He said he didn't care for it because of the bit about boxing and 'cut him till he cried out' but generously stated that he liked the way I sang it. That's so much a part of his personality - not wanting to hurt the other person by any criticism...
After the concert, during which Bojjandi will talk continuously, along with requests to 'shcat my bat' - which he just says to copy his siblings, you could tapdance on his shoulder and he would think you were shcatting his bat, he will turn to his side and keep repeating your name over and over, a sure sign that he's sleepy. He's still pretty alert to any signs of wrongdoing, though - tonight, I started patting his forehead, hoping to make him nod off sooner, and he reprimanded me sternly, "Mamma, don't bang me!"
The other two wait patiently while their noisy and fussy junior gets to sleep, sometimes falling asleep themselves in the process. Then comes the argument about who gets their back scratched first and whose back gets patted first. Finally, when I think these two are sleepy enough to go off on their own, I tiptoe out of their room, wishing them, as per family joke and tradition, 'gooda nayatoo, sudarimasu. I love you cherry vammu...
Then along came Puddi, and we had to split the story-telling and back scratching/ patting between the two. And now we have Bojjandi, who's a pretty demanding little fellow. And we have sibling competitions on a nightly basis. Just to give you an idea of how a typical bedtime goes...
First we have a race up two flights of stairs to the bedroom floor. The first one to reach always has to proclaim "I win!", while the other two protest about cheating or how they had a stomach ache or had fallen down two weeks ago and were still nursing a stiff knee. Then, while A or I, or both, are turning back quilts and making the beds ready for the night, the three have a scrimmage at the bookshelf in their room, each picking out the book they want to be read from. Bojjandi, who has no concept of fairness, usually pulls out three or four books, while dropping half a dozen others on the floor, and insists that he wants to listen to them all, while we try to dissuade him.
Chubbocks and Puddi argue about whose bed the hapless parent will sit on that night to read the stories. Since this is supposed to happen on a rotational basis, one of the kids will always insist on having a convenient attack of amnesia about the previous night. Thankfully Bojji still sleeps in a crib, so he's not part of this competition. Then Chubbocks and Puddi will argue about whose story gets read first, while Bojjandi insistently yells out the name of his story, "Abba, yeed mine!( read mine)". I try to avoid this mess when it's my turn at bedtime by insisting that I choose all three stories or narrate them from memory/ imagination, and the strategy works some of the time.
Finally, somehow I settle on one of the beds, Bojjandi on my lap, while the other two try and squash in as close as possible, crib about how they can't see the pictures/ words and how it isn't fair. We try and read Bojjandi's story first, most nights, because that's the only way to shut him up while the other two stories are being read. Halfway through the story, Bojjandi tries to skip ahead and look at other pictures in the book, while we haul him back to what we're reading. We then read out the other two stories.
Once the stories are done and kids tucked in to their respective beds, Bojjandi starts his nightly queries about everyone on the house. "Where'sh abba?" "Where'sh ayoopa didi?". Then it comes to his playmates. "Where'sh miaow (his stuffed toy tiger)?" "Where'sh Gob the bildo ( Bob the builder)" He also answers many of the questions himself, which makes me wonder what the point is. "Gob'sh sh'eeping ( Bob is sleeping)". "Ayoopa didi'sh sh'eeping" and so on, till I issue a ultimatum about not singing until he keeps quiet.
Then come the song requests. Puddi usually wants 'a few of my favourite things'. She's also become fond of 'Wouldn't it be lovely' from My Fair Lady ( I think the phrase 'lots of chocolate for me to eat' had something to do with it!). Bojjandi used to ask for the Karadi song - 'The Bear went up the Mountain', which I sing in English and Kannada. The 'kookabayya' used to be another favourite earlier. Lately he's hooked on to 'Chim chimenee' from Mary Poppins, and keeps asking for repeats. If I start singing something he doesn't care for particularly, he's pretty direct about it, "Mamma, shwitch the shong off!" Chubbocks has no music requests and takes pretty much anything I sing in a sweet spirit. For instance, tonight I sang The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel and asked him if he liked the song. He said he didn't care for it because of the bit about boxing and 'cut him till he cried out' but generously stated that he liked the way I sang it. That's so much a part of his personality - not wanting to hurt the other person by any criticism...
After the concert, during which Bojjandi will talk continuously, along with requests to 'shcat my bat' - which he just says to copy his siblings, you could tapdance on his shoulder and he would think you were shcatting his bat, he will turn to his side and keep repeating your name over and over, a sure sign that he's sleepy. He's still pretty alert to any signs of wrongdoing, though - tonight, I started patting his forehead, hoping to make him nod off sooner, and he reprimanded me sternly, "Mamma, don't bang me!"
The other two wait patiently while their noisy and fussy junior gets to sleep, sometimes falling asleep themselves in the process. Then comes the argument about who gets their back scratched first and whose back gets patted first. Finally, when I think these two are sleepy enough to go off on their own, I tiptoe out of their room, wishing them, as per family joke and tradition, 'gooda nayatoo, sudarimasu. I love you cherry vammu...
Desi Mom
I just finished reading Amy Chua's book, and it was compulsive reading. Well written, fast-paced. At the end of it, I realised that I was made very uncomfortable by the WSJ article that came out and the book, because we share many of the same values when it comes to parenthood. I believe that kids shouldn't be raised to become praise-junkies. They should learn to take a fair amount of criticism. They shouldn't be given the option to opt out of any activity as and when it pleases them, because often they give up too easily at a young age. They need to be forced to practice various skills, because it's much more fun for them to play beyblades than do their casio routine. There are various skill areas or subjects in which rote learning lays a great foundation for life, e.g. maths, the scientific table. They need to be taught how to raise their own bars rather than having whatever level of performance they turn out being acceptable. They need to have a certain amount of their time structured. They do need to have and demonstrate respect for their parents, family. They need to know that family is one of the most important things in the world. I agree that parents, rather than looking for popularity with their kids, need to ensure they are doing the things that will equip kids better for the future, even if that means your kids hate you from time to time.
I started wondering if I was a Chinese mother underneath my ghunghat, but then I realised that there were a whole set of other values I believe in that Amy Chua doesn't seem to. I also have a fundamental disagreement with her methods - scolding a child or giving them negative feedback is a far cry from the kind of excoriation she seems to specialise in. It's kind of sado-masochistic, the way she humiliates her daughters in the name of helping them, and then talks about how bad it makes her feel. She's actually downright nasty in her conversations with her husband - surely parenting is meant to be a joint activity, rather than one where one parent takes control and runs everyone else down all the time. Judging purely from the book, I got the feeling that their household really is all about her - what she wants, how she feels. Even when she's speaking about getting her daughters ready to play at a concert, she says, "I had just a month and I was so tense", not "My daughters had a month to prepare and I was tense on their behalf". It's as if she is living vicariously through them, which is something I have a huge problem with. The other thing I have an issue with is how she feels that Chinese children 'owe' their parents their lives.
Coming from an Indian family, which up until my parents generation, used to be run on similar lines of thinking, I have seen the kind of havoc it can cause. Some of my friends have gone through those situations where a parent just decides to oppose a particular decision by their child, for reasons that have everything to do with the parents' happiness and nothing to do with the hild's happiness, and I feel it is just wrong. I'm much more of a believe in Kahlil Gibran's philosophy of how parents shouldn't make the kids feel they owe it to their parents to make them happy with their life choices(exact quote below, I paraphrase wildly!). First of all, making anyone but yourself responsible for your happiness or lack thereof is a lovely shirking of responsibility. Second of all, what a nasty burden to put on someone that you supposedly love!
I can understand parenting along similar lines as Chua is one if a first generation immigrant, struggling to survive or from a lower income background. I know that in such a case, the urge towards survival and the climb up the ladder of success would seem such a guarantee of stability, security and therefore happiness, that it would be the most important thing for the parent to push their child towards. But surely, those of us who are now in the privileged position of having become upper middle class or higher can have different dreams for our children.
Surely our dreams can move up Maslow's hierarchy of needs to look for self-actualization, rather than merely social esteem and success by society's standards. because if people don't evolve and move up to higher order needs, there will be no art, no social service, no community spirit, nothing apart from the kind of jockeying for success, status and more-self-important-than-thou spirit that one sees in Delhi and other Indian cities today. We ourselves will need to evolve and look for higher purpose and more spiritual satisfaction in life, once we achieve material security, so how could we deny our kids that?
They are the sons and daughters of life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday
Kahlil Gibran
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