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.

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!

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.

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

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 :)

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!!!
*************************************************************************************

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!

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...

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

Heil Chinese Moms, but I'm a desi girl!

Read the article on Chinese mums in the WSJ, and all of a sudden that whole foot-binding thing started making sense. Daughter cries - oh, my foot is really hurting, it feels like it's going to break. Chinese mum - you wuss, stop snivelling and start tightening, it should break at least twice! Just kidding...

There are a couple of points that made sense to me, but on the whole, the article smacked of a dictatorial, parent-oriented style of bringing up the kids that doesn't bother seeing the kids as individuals and wants to push them through a cookie-cutter of some kind.

Okay, on the whole, I'm not very liberal with praise. I don't think everything my kids do is wonderful or fabulous ( well, that's not true, I do but I keep that to myself!). No, kidding again, I tend to be quite critical and objective when I look at what my kids are doing, and sometimes, I'm honestly surprised when someone else praises their efforts because I didn't think what they had done was praise-worthy. I don't want them to become praise junkies, and I want them to be able to take honest criticism and build a desire to improve. I have high expectations from them at school, across subjects including gym, and I make it clear to them. I don't think it's ok for my kids to give up on some activity after checking it out a few times, because at this stage, I think they don't know enough to take that call, and may just be wanting to take the easy way out. I make sure that they give an activity enough time and also, to be honest, I picked the activities that I thought they showed interest and aptitude in, and I do push them to practice and excel in those.

But I'm also a firm believer in extra-curricular activities, in playing with friends, in having unstructured free time to just chill - and heck, yes, I'm a lazy mom, I like to have my free time too, so I believe in a reasonable amount of benign neglect, after ensuring blunt instruments and sharp knives have been put away. I cannot believe the amount of micro-managing that the author of the article believed was necessary - not allowing kids to play any other instrument than piano/ violin? why on earth? Why not have them participate in a school play - they'll learn about emoting, public speaking, working with others...and besides, school is the one time in life that they'll actually have the free time to be able to do it.

I do see a lot of parents around me who seem pretty stressed out by the efforts of competitive parenting, and it freaks me out. I attended a school event and spoke to Chubbocks' classmate's mom. She said that her daughter had been going to dance classes for a couple of years and loved it but now the kids were in second grade, she felt there was too much academic pressure and had pulled her daughter out from all activities! There are kids who do kumon and music, sports classes and tuition, in Class II. Sometimes I wonder if I'm being a slacker but I don't want to structure their life so much that they're busy rushing around from class to class while life passes them by.

My dad was pretty Chinese-mum-like when I was growing up. He always expected me to be studying and I remember if he ever entered a room unexpectedly and I was reading or doing something else, I'd jump. We moved overseas when I was 12 and I attended American schools, but he was so concerned about me learning 'american' ways that I was very restricted. Extra-curricular activities were not allowed - I of course rebelled and participated in the school play anyway, much to his displeasure. (His argument always used to be that I had to focus on studies and that there would be plenty of time in life for those activities. Well, guess what, there really isn't any time, after you start working, even in a liberal/ creative field like advertising, to run around acting in plays, singing in bands and so on, unless you choose to make those activities your work.) No sleepovers, ever ( strangely, my sister was allowed to go for them!). Very rare visits were allowed to friends' homes.

And when it came time to attend college, he forbade me to study anything other than Economics. I did Eco Honours, was miserable, barely understood the subject and scraped through with a IInd Div which gave me an inferiority and stupidity complex for years. So what exactly did I learn from the hyper-controlling?

I learnt that I don't want to be so in charge of my kids life that they don't fart before asking me (pardon my french). I want them to grow up and be mature adults who can weigh the pros and cons and consequences and make choices for themselves. I want my kids to have their own opinions, even if that means we're at loggerheads sometimes, because it means they are thinking. I don't want them to be mediocre, but I want them to define success on their own terms, not society's. I want my kids to have free time and friendships that last, and the ineffable pleasure of being able to curl up on a fine day and do...nothing at all. I want my kids to have a life, not lead one. Most of all, I want my kids to be individuals in their own right, who aren't dictated to by society as to what work they should do, whom they should love and what they should think.

Form Morning

Puddi had a performance at her form morning at school – she was part of a puppet dance. She showed us a couple of steps at home, singing the song out loud. Cuute, we thought, and in our usual proud-parents style, looked forward to her performance. She had to go dressed in a very pretty red and yellow costume, with make-up on. Shyly she confided to A while he was dropping her off at school, "Abba, I like make-up! My parents came along for the form morning and we settled in to a long loop of kiddie songs. The show theme was 'A few of my favourite things', meant to encapsulate all the things little kids love.

The first dance was full of kids dressed like bears and monkeys and so on, gamboling and prancing on stage. Very cute but nothing unusual for a kiddie performance. Then came the puppet dance. These kids waddled onto stage exactly like Indian puppets, and once the performance began, we were spellbound. Of course, we were helped by the fact that Puddi was centerstage. But the thing that truly astounded us was how Puddi just upped her level of performance to an unbelievable level – she was the puppet to the life (pun intended!)! She held her body stiffly, moved jerkily, didn't smile and didn't once wonder where we were and try to trace us out. Her entire concentration was purely on her performance and she did it to perfection.

Once the entire form morning was over, all the kids filed out one by one, Puddi amongst them. Very orderly, again she acted like a professional performer and didn't wave out to us or try to catch our eye, even though she knew where we were sitting. And then, just as she was getting off the stage, she turned to us and made a spontaneous gesture with her hands as if she were taking a photograph of us, and jumped offstage.

What had us electrified that day and even today when we think about her performance is how she upped her game at the right moment. She was cute and competent when she showed us the steps at home, but up there, she was something else. Every fiber of her tiny little being was concentrating on the dance and the music, nothing else.

Not only the dance and her talent for it, but the performance showed us many other things about this little girl whom otherwise we just see as a cute, loving sprite. Her power of concentration, her goal-orientation, the perfectionist streak in her, the ability to hit the right level of performance when required…all coupled with a deep sense of fun. We started seeing her in a whole new light all of a sudden, and while of course we adore her, it gave us a new sense of respect for her. Hats off, Puddi!

Chubbocks big words

A to Chubbocks: How are you feeling?
Chubbocks: Given the circumstances, I am feeling ok. (???)

***********************************************

Chubbocks observes Bojjandi practically running up the stairs and exclaims, "Fancy that!"

***********************************************

At a spelling bee, Chubbocks observes the 6-8 year old contest and says scornfully, "That's hardly what I was expecting. It's too easy!" ( well, he is a 7-year-old who can spell 'circumstances' and 'pursuit'

***********************************************

I made Chubbocks read Tales of Shakespeare by Charles and Mary Lamb. Chubbocks disdainful remark, "There's too much romans in it. I don't like books with romans!" ( he means romance!)

************************************************

Bojjandi wails that he wants to sleep downstairs with Didi. I insist he come up with us, so he says tearfully, "Didi yoygee" ( royegi, i.e. didi will cry!)

************************************************

I put some make-up on the Puds, as instructed, for her school form morning. Says she, confidingly, as abba drops her to school, "Abba? I like make-up!"

Gombe-Dussehra 2010

I'm not a very ritual-observing, religion-maanoing person on an average day. I do have a very strong belief in God and have my chats and spats with him ( sorry, feminists, it's a him in my mind!) but don't really get all observant on a daily basis. But come festival time and I get all serious about the rituals. In some ways, I see the rituals as cultural, even more than religious and I'm desperate to embed my children in Indian culture. Be it the festive food, or dressing up traditionally and dressing them traditionally, following the cultural rituals that my family followed since I was a child, I feel it also gives them a link back to the past. Particularly since my kids are Mundus and city-slickers, I feel I should make an extra effort to teach them things that link back to their maternal side and that connect them in some way with all their ancestors and traditions. I'm of course equally happy if A were to take on teaching them about traditions from his side of the family but I don't think they were raised particularly traditionally so that hasn't happened so far.

This year I decided to start the tradition of gombe koodusode - golu, as it is known in Tamil. Dad says the tradition began as a way of worshipping God and teaching creation to young kids. I see it as a way to celebrate and thank God for everything he has created in the world today - be it transportation or make-up, travel or animals...The display is put up by the first day of Dussehra and in the south, people are invited to each other's homes every evening for arshna-kunkuma ( haldi-kumkum), where they gather, sing classical devotional songs and eat traditional shundal. I and my sis used to have loads of fun at dusehra when we were kids, as mom had heaps of southis friends and we'd be out every evening doing this. Mom even had a friend known as 'dollmaami'( also called nannoottu-rendu maami because once upon a time she had lived in flat # 402!) because she used to decorate and dress up dolls as a hobby and set up a massive display every year. Setting up the gombe is meant to be a fun, interactive process with lots of participation from the kids in deciding what we should display and so on.

As it turned out, this year the process was short-circuited quite a bit. When I began, my parents were a bit under the weather. By the second or third day, a full-blown epidemic of typhoid and dengue was raging at chez parents, with grandma included, and we were running daily trips to the emergency at Max Hospital and others. One of those days, somehow I managed to take out an hour and put the display together - that was before we knew what the ailments were and were hoping it was just a viral of some kind. I shamelessly foraged and pillaged all possible display-ables from my parents' house, and culled the few toys at home that weren't in a hopeless state of destruction and put something together with a few sheets of chart-paper and an hour to spare for the task.

Eventually everyone wound up being hospitalized and we were being hospital attendants since the hospy said they didn't provide attendants so haldi-kumkum was given a grand miss. Thankfully everyone started recovering pretty fast and finally a few days ago, a full ten days after Dussehra, since I hadn't yet had the time to remove the display, I called Chubbocks's and Puddi's neighbourhood friends over, had them see it and gave them all some shundal. I'm happy I finally started the tradition and hopefully next year will be less dramatic and more fun! Here are some pix of the display:

The lowest tier was where we performed the puja on the few days that we could. The books are from Saraswati Puja - when I was a kid I always used to keep my Hindi and Maths books there so I wouldn't have to study them during the holidays!

The top layer always has many statues of Gods and Goddesses, with the woden dolls in the middle. These are typically given to girls when they get married and represent Vishnu and Lakshmi.

The middle Tier was a display of some of the countries/ places we have visited - Thailand, Toronto, Singapore, Italy, Switzerland, Venice, London, France( see the Asterix), New York, South Africa...

The thing on the left was meant to be a conservation message about saving our forests. In all the chaos, Chubbocks never made the poster stating that and the gardener forgot to water the 'trees' so that by the end the forest did look in dire need of rescue! On the right is a transportation display!

Shundal recipe:

Soak black chana overnight, then pressure cook until soft. If you want it very soft, add a little baking soda. Make a tadka with mustard seeds, green chillies, curry leaves, lots of heeng. Add the cooked chana and stir for a few moments. Turn off the heat and top with freshly grated coconut and lime juice and salt to taste. Tastes heavenly, hot or cold!

Bojjandi grows up too fast

It seems to me that Bojj is growing up too fast - much faster than either of his siblings. Maybe it seems that way because I'm clinging on to my baby and don't want him to turn into a boy, I'm not ready for it. Though I say sometimes, just to scare A, that it's time we had another baby since this one's growing up, I know that Bojj is my last and I'm jealously clinging to every moment of babyness. Probably we're going to end up spoiling him a bit - we're only too glad when he clamours to sit on our laps or asks to be carried here and there, which also happens too rarely already.

From barely lisping two-three words, he's already jabbering away in full and long sentences. the other day when I was taking the kids to Dilli Haat, he asked me 'whey ay u going?' and when I threw the sentence back at him, he replied, "I'm goin to office". He asks intelligent questions about things he sees, remembrs and comments on stuff, recites full poems instead of being able to pipe in the last word of each line...yesterday I was holding his hand and realised with a pang that from being soft, dimply, cuddly little things, his hands were turning into hard, boyish paws, all capable and coordinated and everything.

He's already fully into playing with his siblings and they spend all day giggling together, playing silly games and fighting. He's also learning empathy. yesterday Puddi was crying after being scolded for not eating her vegetables at dinner. Bojjandi, who's usually quick to give her a thump or a push, came up behind her, all concern. "Kyo yoyi ho?" ( Kyon ro rahi ho - why are you crying?) he asked, and then without being told, pressed a warm kiss into her back.

I'm hanging onto the last baby things about him that I can, given he's going to start proper playschool from next week, i.e. without a parent accompanying him, and all five days of the week. I'm resisting getting his soft baby curls cut off, even though A says he looks sissy. I love the way those curls dance in the air when Bojjandi runs with his head down or shakes his head in a vigorous Okay. I love twining them about my fingers and feeling the soft downiness of his baby hair...Time goes by too fast when you have a baby in the house!