Parenting pressures

 Parenting is a tight rope walk. There are no role models because very child is unique and every parent is different.

While there are hundreds of books about parenting and huge discussions both online and offline about styles of parenting, I sincerely belive there can be no rule book.

What worked for one parent and child may not necessarily work for another. 

It's the road unknown, though it has been travelled so often.

While we surely can draw from.yhe experiences of others and look upto how we were reared in our childhood, each parent will have to chart his or her own journey. 

So how does one parent a child for the unknown future using unknown techniques?

Parenting is a life long commitment. Once a parent, you cannot reverse the role! It's not a job that you can change nor is it a marriage where you can walk out.

Society keeps throwing models of parenting at us. We have our parents, neighborhood uncles and aunties who will give you free dose of parenting advice. There will be people at random corners dolling out what you need to do with your child or for your child. The markets are abuzz with schools and organisations who claim they are giving you the best for your child.

In all this chaos, how do you sift information and do what's needed for your child? 

Believe in your child. As soon as a child is born, we usually hear many of these statements- looks like the father, acts like the mother , just like uncle etc etc. While these are definitely expressed outvof love and affection for the child, begin your parenting journey with the fact that your child is not a replica of  the father , the mother or of any other relative. The child is an individual who deserves to grow into his or her own space.

Observe  your child. Recently I was telling my daughter , how she as a baby would refuse to be swaddled and tied up into a bundle (as is traditionally done with babies after their bath). She would fight her way out and sleep only once her arms and legs were free. She turned towards me and said,' Amma! I think I just knew nothing can tie me down.' Yes, even babies display their inherent personality of we care to see. 

Be aware of their ideas. As children grow up , they have their own dreams and ideas. Sometimes they follow norms. My daughter went through the Hannah Montana amd 'I love pink' phase. My son went through the ' I want to be an engine driver to a car designer phase'. At no point , belittle any of these. These ideas may or may not match your ideas for them. But know that they come into the world to live thier life, not yours.

Help them discover their strengths. Society and schools are framed to show what a huge failure you are. Winners are felicitated. Rankers are awarded. Teach your child that one needs to be a winner to one's conscience. They may or may not do well in school. The academic performance doesn't indicate their strengths. Learn to recognise their potential. As parents we usually focus so much on the academic part of schooling that we don't realise that may be that's not what the child wants.  Sports, music, dance , painting , coding, languages and so many other areas of learning may fascinate the child. Observe what the natural inclination of the child is. Strengthen this. Empower your child to make choices.

Encourage and empower. My son loves to read brochures and user manuals. He began this as a child of seven. No new equipment  could come into our home without him not having read up the manual. Our initial amusement turned into thankfulness when we realised that he is the only one at home who would immediately know what wrong in a machine when it stopped. Today this habit has helped him tremendously. He will not debate without facts. He will ensure he has the right information before taking a decision. He will not jump to conclusions.  Encourage your child to empower them to do the right things.

Be a learner. This means that one needs to be aware of more than rules and regulations. While we tend to follow rules , because it's either the done thing or its the best we know. A parent has to be a learner. Each day your child will teach you new things. New challemges will unfold everyday. Be mindful of what your children teach you. You do not have to do things just because the grandmother's of the world did it before you. While I don't deny the value of traditional wisdom, I would advise prudence while choosing to follow everything. 

 

The loss of a year

 The loss of a year.

The Covid 19 pandemic has hit the world real hard. The education field is no different.

Schools, colleges and educational institutes find themselves unprepared for it and are scrambling to find ways to keep organisations afloat online. They are experimenting with new methods and trying to use technology to reach to the students.

In all this a question that is constantly popping up from all sections of parents is how soon are educational organisations going to be fully functional. 'When is the board going to decide the exam dates? What about the competitive exams? What about regular schools? When will they teach and when will they do the assessments? When will preschools be fully functional? My child will lose one full year! Who will compensate?'

My child will lose one full year! Who will compensate ? 

When you hear a parent saying this, it gets me wondering what are they talking about. What do they mean by one full year?

Being an educator associated with the school sector,  I have always wonfered about the pressure parents, schools and children have put on themselves about losing a year. 

How does one lose one year in that, just by not being part of an organisational set up.

Education in India was highly skill based till the British took over and converted our self sufficient model into something that would develop educated clerks to run their offices.

The present model of schools has time and again come under severe criticism by many educational thinkers . Within school systems , there are many teachers who try to break the rigid models and help children blossom into wholesome adults. 

Why do we then  have this question? 

I have come across this question from young parents whose children are just two or three years of age and are looking for admission into the play schools. 

There are parents of students appesrnige for board exams who have the same question.

There are parents of students who have prepared for competitive exams asking the same thing.

There are parents of university final year graduates asking the same question.

This only brings about the total dependency of the human community on institutional eduaction. 

How does one lose a year? Its not a toy or a book to be lost. A year is 365 days of experience. A year is days and nights of learning with or without an institution behind it.

A year is days of reading books, singing songs , dancing, cooking, playing and living life.

Friendship : Changing perspectives

 So today is International friendship day. I always remember celebrating friendship day in August and many a time it coinciding with Rakshabandhan and the stale jokes of bhaiya saiyyan that went along with it.

Friendship and me are actually not very friendly.

I am generally not the one to make friends easily. Its with great difficulties I let people in my inner circle.I think as a kid , I ended up with other kids who were staying in the same colony or with kids studying in the same school. I strongly remember my dad taking my friend and me to school daily. We would pass a paanwaala and we would very happily sing khaike paan banaras wala , the hit Amitabh number. 

Then we moved residence. From one colony to another and one school to another. Change is not easy for children and I remember very specifically my inabilty to make friends in the new colony. Though I went down everyday to play, the games were different,  the language was different and the people were different.  So i rarely participated in these games.

Once again we moved the very next year. My dad was transfered to the city of Trivandrum.

Once again change of residence and school.

This time round, we were in a bungalow and had to ourselves the company of other tenants in other bungalows. Thankfully there were two young girls just like my sister and me and a tiny little boy who used to live in the neighbouring homes. We used to be constantly in and out of each others homes and spent time making gun clubs, playing UNO , watching movies and other regular stuff that kids do. And as is probe to happen, we lost touch.Never did I make any attempt to connect either. 

At school I did develop some good friendships and mind you all were only girls, because our conservative school, though coeducational did not permit boys and girls to talk. 

To this particular school, I will be ever grateful for bringing into my life, my ever lasting friend, a girl with whom I have grown old now! 

As I moved on in life through senior secondary school and college, many people came and went.

Some made no impact, some impacted moderately, some I have fond memories of and some I would rather forget. 

College life is surely the golden time of life, when relationships are forged without care, when emotions rule roost and life looks magical. This part of life, especially when in a hostel is engulfed  by classmates,roommates and hostelmates who become your anchors. As you sashay through the years, you lean on someones shoulder, you lend yours to someone, you laugh and cry together, you party and bunk classes, you prepare for exams and have breakfast , lunch and dinner together. 

Real life hit me  outside the campus. 

It was no longer about the dizzy college friendship post that. It is always about bonding .

Marriage introduced me to a hearty group of friends. My husband had a very different trajectory with friendship. He grew up with his friends  and they go back to over five decades now. 

So his friends and their wives,  we form a motley group that has been together for almost 25 years now. I met many people at my workplaces. Some stayed on to remain strong pillars of support.

All these people are an integral part of my life and my go to people at times of trouble. They taught me that you dont need friendship bands and songs to prove your friendship. All you need is a call or a message that says, chal milte hain...plan bana. Or in today's time..zoom call karo! 

You dont need to feel the over rush of mushy cards and oaths of friendship. All you need is a message that says, kya hua..all good?

All you need is someone to whom you can say... I need to run away now. Help me. And you know that you can run away to a safe space for sometime to return to your daily fare.

While thanks to the internet, I happily reconnect with old friends,  we all know life has changed and taken us ahead. We are different people now.  While we cherish the past, we work on creating new memories. 

Friendship today for me, is not about being available exclusively to the people I consider special but knowing that there are people out there who consider me special enough to take time for me, to communicate with me, to reach out to me and to just be there for me! 

 

Fresh and Juicy

 The November of 1996. I was heading towards my 23rd birthday. Married for just two days, a few friends of my husband decided to host us a dinner. I was just a year old in Bombay( as it was called back then), having grown up in Trivandrum and Mysore.

So Hubby and me left home around eight p.m and I was led into a fancy restaurant called Chopsticks in Bandra. I was already sweating. I dont know how to use chopsticks I told Hubby. He reassured me that there will be other easy to use equipments like forks and spoons. Gulping my palpitation, I walked in. 

In came some of his friends and I was propped on  a seat near a wall.

The conversations didn't seem to stop. For almost twenty minutes, no one came to take any order. I was hungry. But the last thing on anyone's mind seem to be food. Why were we here, I was asking myself. I was almost dropping off to sleep. I cupped  my drooping cheeks into my palms and ensured the brittle nails of mine pinched me awake. I am sure the little finger nail.cracked that night!

Finally a waiter came and handed over the menu. The menu was incomprehensible. After all the places I ate out usually served pav bhaji, chaat , sandwiches and medu vada. Obviously Chopsticks didnt have all this on their menu.

As a student of English, I could read the menu. As a person who was uninitated into Chinese cuisine I stared at the words wondering if a menu in Chinese would have made any difference. 

I looked helplessly at Hubby who understood my predicament immediately and told me, Dont worry about the food. Just choose the drink!

So I decidedto do that. What was there to decide? This was easy, for sure.

 In three seconds i realised that if the food menu was Chinese, this was Latin.  There were sunrises and sunsets of different types. There were a few bombs, screwdrivers and axes. Was this a drink menu or  a tool box? 

I shut the menu. I looked up confidently at everyone at the table and announced 

FROOTI! Fresh and juicy, sang my mind..

I am sure hubby didnt know where to look and gingerly ordered a lemonade. 

 The mission of his life  when he stepped out of Chopsticks was to educate the girl he married on the nitty gritties of fine dine and wine!

P.S. Chopsticks no longer exists. I no longer order Frooti! 

The Upside Down Boy

 It was the year 2000. The month of January usually saw schools take their students for picnics. The school where I worked was no different. I was the class teacher of grade seven which had  A bunch of naughty boys and girls. 

We headed for Esselworld, an amusement park that was very popular among the youngsters of Mumbai. 

There was a new ride called the Thunder, in which the participants were suspended upside down for arpund two to three seconds.

There was a lit of discussion enroute Esselworld about who would do the ride.

Laughing, cracking jokes amd singing, we all reached Esselworld.

Even as I was monitoring my students,  one of the boys from my class came up with a few more in tow and said, " Maam , we want to ride the Thunder. Do you want to join us? You will not survive it! Challenge!"

What did these pithy kids think of me? I was a veteran at such rides. Whats a bit of it being upside down? And so I marched with them into the queue.  And rode the Thunder like a boss. 

( that I didnt sit in any other ride, post Thunder was soon forgotten by all).

Two days later,  I had a major bout of nausea and vomitting. As I was planning my second baby, I went in for a pregnancy test. The result was positive.

While the family was rejoicing,  I took my husband aside and told him,  Two days ago I rode the Thunder and was suspended in air upside down! I need to get to the gynaec immediately to know all is ok with the baby! Blood drained from hubby's face! He anyway hated such rides as he suffered from vertigo! 

We finally reached the gynaec who informed us all was ok and baby was a strong one. 

Five years later I realised that my son's favourite sitting position on the sofa was with his feet up on the backrest amd his head down! The Thunder had a thunderous impact on him, for sure! 

High Five

 

In the first  year of matrimony, Baby no: 1 was on the way. Rituals seemed the order of the day with the religious ones interspersing the hospital ones.  Appointments with the doctor became routine. I was meeting the doctor more than I was meeting the Hubby.

On my first wedding anniversary, I went into labour. Hubby and me were excited at the thought of sharing the date with our baby. But Baby had other plans. Baby ensured I got admitted and then went into snooze mode. The next two days I was sweeping the hospital floors as if it had never been cleaned for the last two decades. The more I swept, the better chances I have of a normal delivery , said the doctor. 

If I ever got tired and stopped sweeping, a nurse would come and make me push the wall as if it needed to move to the next two stations. The wall doesn't move, I told her. No, she declared, you idiot, it won't move. But the walls of your uterus will be strong to handle the delivery! 

Finally baby decided she needs to bless the world with her presence. All I remember is being scooped on a  stretcher. I hear an ambulance screeching and then I see the planets! Wow, here I am on the tour of space. There is a lovely Jupiter with the  moons and Saturn with the rings. I hear voices of people telling me ,push hard, the baby needs to come out , not go back in. But I am  happily gallivanting in space.

A few minutes later I hear a screechy cry. I find myself holding on to my husband who is weeping.Why was he crying when I was the one who went through the pain? People were congratulating each other as if they had won a race. Wasn't I the one who bore it and did it all? Well, I was stitched up , cleaned  and packaged back to the room. 

A few minutes later a nurse appeared with a bundle. She gave me the bundle. So baby was a bundle! 

See your daughter, she said. 

Bundle  stared at me with big grey eyes. 

I looked at her, wondering, ok what next? What am I supposed to do with this? I smile at the bundle. The bundle continues to stare back and then yawns, closes her eyes and goes  back to sleep.

The next few days are a blur. Feeding  burping, cleaning,  sleeping swallowed each day. I realise my home window has 24 grills and there are 14 yellow flowers on each curtain and 28 red squares. The design is awful, I concluded. Designs hardly mattered when I  soon realised that the only design that mattered was that Bundle  has three forms:

A two piece baby, when she is all wrapped up after a bath in a swaddle, the pieces being the head and the body.

A three piece baby, when she manages to free her arms from the swaddle

A five piece one when she refused to be swaddled , with a head, two hands amd two legs. 

Bundle definitely believed in slapping a high five !

Home grown Amitabh

 After a long days work, I return home and plonk myself on the sofa. Hubby dear brings me a hot cup of tea and settles down on the sofa too. Even as i snuggle into the sofa comfortably , sipping the hot adrak chai, hubby switches on the television. The surfing stops at Agneepath, the 1990 blockbuster.

I stared mindlessly at the screen , hoping that it would change in may be a fee minutes.

Suddenly I could hear the dialogues beside me and almost like a forward time lapse. 

Hubby was totally into the movie , mouthing not just the dialogues of his idol, AB, but of every character in the movie. Back ground music played twice! First on the sofa and then on the TV. 

Yeh humara family ka bachha hain , shouted Hubby! Haan I said..looking at my son...aur kiska hain.

Yeh humara family ka bachha hain, says  Mithuns character exactly three seconds later... Oh woh family and woh baccha.

The next hour was a roller coaster. Not because of the cinematic excellence of the movie, but due to the hilarious rendition of Agneepath, Agneepath, lathpath, lathpath...dialogue by dialogue ( with own ones for additional impact) by Hubby dearest.

Even as the movie ended, I wound up the day wondering if Mukul Anand amd his team would ever have imagined that this movie could make people laugh, even more than any Golmaal or Herapheri! 

Home sweet home

 The house i presently occupy is my tenth place of residence. In the four plus decades of my existance , variety has been the house of life for me.

My parents tell me that when I was born, they shifted from the staff quarters of RBI to the officers one. A9 , in RBI quarters , Santa Cruz was my home for the first decade of my life.

I remember vividly the huge housing colony, the ground floor home, the wooden slide  in a sand pit and the wonderful ground that the colony had. It was a typical colony that celebrated festivals together.  There were movies screened every Diwali and Christmas. Every  building had four floors and every house was accessible. There was one telephone in someone's home. The entire colony would get their calls at that home. A staff bus would take all employees to office daily morning and bring them back home every evening. This was the place where I learnt how to cycle,  fell down on the water tank and broke my teeth( the repercussion of which I am facing till date...thats a wholly different story!)

Every evening all children would come down to play. We would play till late evening. Moms would come out to chit chat while we continued with games under the srreet lights. I would alide down banisters all the way down from the fourth floor. 

One of the strongest memories of this house was me getting locked up in one of the bedrooms. Appa had to climb in through the ventilator and rescue me. Till date he hates closed doors!

From here in 1982 we shifted to Vile Parle. Many members of the society were the same as the new one Snehadhara was a residential self owned colony of RBI employees. Yet the feeling was not the same. Snehadhara was scattered,  the dynamics were different and people shifted in at different times. The magic of the staff quarters was never replicated. They tried to host programs and recreate Santacruz in Snehadhara , but the leaky buildings and the varied infrastructural issues caused more turmoil in Ashrudhara as people began calling it.

Wadala tatha shifted in with us. He was old and sick and in pain. He spent his last days in this house.  Soon after his death we moved cities and went to Trivandrum.

Trivandrum was a wholly different experience. On one side there was the excitement of getting to live in a bungalow. The only other bungalow in my life was that of my Poona tatha and paati where I spent my vacations.

We shifted into this double storied house which had a huge terrace in a quaint place called Kuruvankonam. The house was located on a slope. It had a cocoa bean tree and a champakai tree. The champakai fruit became one of my favourites ever since I tasted them there. A few months into our stay in Kuruvankonam, I was bedridden with a bout of chicken pox. The reason I fell sick was the adventure Pushpa and me decided to emabark on , while comjneg back from school one day. We saw a lovely green patch of grass and were lured towards it. We stepped into what unfortunately was a deceptive puddle of slush. Both of us developed rashes and fever and mine developed into the pox. Amma decided we need to move near the school, so that such adventures or rather misadventures could be avoided!

We moved into Smrithi at Pattom, which later on became so popular at the Post office that just Smrithi, Pattom Trivandrum was enough for any  letter to reach us. This was thanks to the daily correspondence that Appa kept with his circle. Smrithi housed us for the rest of our tenure in Trivandrum. It was a small little bungalow, with a lovely garden , that was developed by Amma. We spent a happy time , watching Malayalam movies at theatres  near by, going to the zoo regularly and the rose show at Kowdiar palace. School was a stone's throw away and we walked everywhere. 

In 1991, I shifted to Mysore and in 92 the rest of the family  came back to Mumbai. Appa had got himself transfered back to Mumbai. The higher officals in RBI had forgotted he needed to return and he had to jolt them back to awareness.

In May 1992, we flew back from Trivandrum to Bombay for good. Snehadhara became my vacation home for three years.

Ganga hostel at the Regional College of Education was my home for four years.  Room no:160 in the first year and 64 in the next three have so many memories in them. Years later when I revisted the hostel and entered Room no: 64, I burst out into tears scaring the present inmates of the room. I would travel from Mysore to Bombay twice a year. Bombay trips meant shopping, replenishing stocks of achar,  thogayal podi and other snacks that would last atleast a month ahead. I used to shop not just for myself,  but also for friends who wanted clothes from Bombay. 

In 1995, I came back to Snehadhara. But I was not destined to live in that house for long  Groom hunting had begun and in 1996, post marriage I shifted into tiny Kulsum Mahal. I have thanked every single day in Ganga Hostel which helped me adjust in the small house with my husband and his family. Seven years and two babies later , we bought our first house in Kalina.

Four years later,  when the children were growing up,Gopal and me decided to buy the present house that I reside in. Since 2010 I have been in the present house ! But whether this will be my last house is destiny's call. After all I am the one with erratachuzhi on my head...the one who can never be in the same place. 

What a Paav!

 Tiĺl the age of 23- the only meaning i knew of paav was leg. Then I reached mumbai

Mumbai taught me that paav was a type pf bread that was had with vada in vada paav and with bhaji in paav bhaji.

Then I got married. And what does marriage have to do with paav? That too in the Iyer community?

In my life,  a lot.

Just back from our honeymoon, even as  I was settling into the new home and the new family, I am informed by my mil that I needed to go across the road to the bakery and get some paav. Its a crisp sunday morning and I tell her, OK, I will go after breakfast. She gently informs me , that is breakfast! For someone who has seen paav only outside the home, this is the mildest of the quakes. 

So I  bring in the warm soft paav home. I wonder with what it has to be eaten. I didnt see any bhaji. 

And lo and behold, my husband has replaced the dosa with the paav. There is dosa molgapodi and the til oil on the table to be eaten with the paav. Or rather the paav to be eaten with typical south indian accompaniments. I was duly informed that paav is highly accommodating and could be consumed with anything. As the first year of marriage chugged on, Paav was had , on most Sunday mornings with curd and sambar powder, with sambar , with moru kuzhambu, with dal or plain with it being lightly roasted in ghee. I ensured that I have my share of dosa batter in the frig, as I could never develop a taste for paav for breakfast.

As a young married couple   we were called for lunch to a friends house for lunch. The lady took me into her kitchen and showed me all her preparations. There were varieties of gravies amd curries. 

Ten minutes before lunch i realised both the husbands were missing. On enquiring I was informed that they went to  buy the ubiquitous paav  that was to be had with all the sumptuous curries she had prepared. Paav surely ruled roost here! 

My children religiously follow family tradition. They adore the paav for breakfast and can eat ot for lunch and dinner. Woe behold if one of them is not satiated with the number of paavs. Before every purchase,  a count is taken. This count is sacrosanct. You cant claim more than your share. You cant eat less and insult the paav.

I have survived the last two and half decades telling myself, Hold on to your dosas, you have nothing to lose but the paav! 

(Dinner today was Dahi Misal paav...sigh) 

Dosa delights

 One of my fondest memories of childhood is the dosa. I am a big fan of a crispy thin round dosa. And the only one to blame for this is my mom.

When my sister and me used to come back from school, there would be hot tiffin  waiting for us daily. It would be upma, poha, bread toast, idli or dosa.

I eagerly waited for the dosa. All other items would usually be ready by the time we reached home. But not the dosa. 

The dosakallu would go on the stove just when we opened the gate. Even as we cleaned up and got ready to tackle the evening, the first two dosas would be made for my sister. She was a regular dosa eater and didnt trouble amma with too many rules about the dosa. As she settled into her dosas , mine would arrive royally!  

Mine had to be  hot , crisp, round and slightly brown. No cold ones for me. No white ones for me. No thick ones for me. And definitely no torn ones for me. I remember amma narrating how as a toddler I had asked her to stitch up a torn dosa! She used to make  dosa after dosa and I would gobble them up even as the next one got ready. There would be days when I would ask her, how many did I finish? Eat as many as you want, she would reply, why count? 

When I got married, my mother in law obviously never expected a dosanazi as a daughter in law. She usually prepared dosas and kept them aside, as one by one people kept walking into the kitchen picking them up. She informed me that one of the major life hacks she had learned with four hungry teenagers, a ravenous husband and a band of motley relatives who perenially occupied her home was to make fat thick dosas so that no one demanded a third one! While the hack worked for her, my dosa sensibilty refused to toe the line. I offered right away to make my dosas myself,  so that I could make them crisp and brown and thin and hot and eat them even as I was making them! 

Sonny boy and me love it hot crisp brown and thin while my husband and daughter need the dosa slightly thick, white and warm. It may be served with molgapodi or chutney or sambar or even jaggery or jam. That is immaterial.

What is supremely important is it adheres to my standards of being dosa! 

My Great Indian Kitchen

 

This list is not just a random list. Each of these incidents have happened to me! 

Patriarchy is alive and kicking!

All the people who are mentioned here are not just educated, but highly so! 

Male members in my family leaving chewed up drumsticks and unclean plates on the table to be cleaned by the women.

Males being served food before women. 

Male members in a friend group asking my husband why he allows me to express my opinion openly in the whatsapp group!

A female member telling me that her prayers  have been granted when my son was born, as now I had a male heir( to what grand palace , i still wonder) 

Female members insisting on me following period rules and eating last.

A plate of food being hurled across the room on the floor towards me by a female.

Female members in my family asking me why i wanted to clear my post graduation  , now that I was a wife and a mother.

My son being gifted a gold chain for his naming ceremony,  while my daughter was gifted a dress as she was just a girl! 

Male members especially telescopically related guys who wanted to know if we have released the horoscope of our daughter the day she turned 20 into the marriage market! 

Patti and me !

 

She wept copious tears at my wedding , even more than my mom! When I asked amma why she cried so much, amma told me that she was so happy at the wedding especially since I was a late  arrival  to the world and their first grandchild born after much prayer!

My paati as I remember her was always draped in a typical nine yards saree, madisaru.  She loved her jewellery and wore many gold bangles as well as chains. Diamond earrings and nose rings adorned her face. A huge red pottu with her hair tied in a neat bun. The bun always had false hair in it. I used to enjoy combing the false hair, rolling it up and keeping it safely for her. A net would be set up on the bun, neatly tucked in with U hair pins. Finally a gajra  of mullapoo or kanakambaram would surround the bun!
Her sarees were grand. She had amazing silk sarees in the most vibrant colours. She was poona paati to me, but she was Seth maami in Pune. My tatha was Seth Maama, having set up his own business there. She was Manni to all. Even her own children followed their uncles and called her Manni and my tatha was called Anna by the whole family.
Tatha was usually an angry man who snapped with most people, but with his grandchildren he had all the patience in the world. Paati was his backbone, pandering to all his fancies and whims.He too took care of her like a gem. After all she lived with him since the age of 14! They grew up together!

Poona meant vacations and cousins. When my mom and us, and all my aunts with their kids would assemble at Pune for every single vacation, be it summer,  Diwali or Christmas.
Paati used to keep feeding us. Apart from the regular breakfasts,  lunches and dinners, there would be a constant flow of snacks from the kitchen. Murrukkus, vadams, karuvadams, thenguyal, manoharam, mysore pak, barfi, theratipal and many more would keep coming into stainless steel boxes. It was almost like she woke up with an agenda of making some new item each day.
Evenings would be dosas, idlis, bondas, bhajjis and such savouries which we would happily devour before evening trips to the local temples or gardens.

We never returned from Pune without two or three extra bags of snacks or fruits that would last for almost a month or two.By then we would be ready for the next vacation!

She stayed with us very frequently at Trivandrum. Even there, she would hatch up plans for snack making with my mother and the two of them would conjure up something by the time my sister and me returned home. These were apart from all the snacks she was already carrying with her.
She showed her love and care through her food and her gifts.
She bore six children, four daughters and two sons.  She saw grandchildren and even great grandchildren.  One of my prized possessions is a snap of my paati, amma ,me and my daughter!

She died a Sumangali on a Friday, like she always wanted and went away in her brightest saree and her big red pottu. I am glad she went away thus as it would have been painful for all of us to see her in any other way!

And thus it began...

 I had just cleared college and got into a job. During my second year at the job, one Sunday I planned a movie with some of my friends. Mom  declared that I couldnt go for the movie and a family was coming to 'see' me. I asked her what time they were expected. I would go for the movie once they were gone. " Your movie is not so important,  she snarled. This meeting could lead to the wedding."

I went to my room upset about the lost movie and irritated that someone would plonk themselves on my sofa on a Sunday morning.

The three days next were a whirlwind. My aunt and uncle came home early on Sunday morning. The saree I chose was rejected promptly. My aunt had brought a saree and insisted I wore that one. Finally by ten thirty, I was ready. 

I said I will not carry the tray with tea. Mom and aunt  were glad I was decked up with flowers and jewels. All I could think of was when these visitors would go and I would be free to go for the movie.

They came. And the groom to be was not there. That irritated me further. They said the family came to see me. If they approved the boy would come. 

Oh the high and mighty dont do normal stuff , I thought and went out in the  living room to greet them. I met them with a smile. Some usual questions , some normal conversation and tea and snacks and they left .

A telephone call in the evening confirmed that next Sunday the boy would also come. Oh god! I wailed. One more Sunday gone. 

I am not going to deck up now , I protested. I will wear a sinple saree. Thats enough for the boy who needs two visits to see a girl! 

And so Sunday , I meet the guy. He is tall, dark and handsome. My heart skips a beat. The wait was worth it! 

He tells me he is a workaholic,  but loves to party and travel and he watches movies when he gets time. My ears perk up. The guy watches movies. He clears my test. Thats all I needed. 

The rest is my parents look out. They can figure it out. 

I say ok. He says ok. We get engaged. 

Two weeks later he offers to take me for a movie. I am ecstatic. We will go town side he says. Town side in Mumbai is the hotspot for fashion and entertainment. 

He comes to pick me up in a motorcycle. Wow. This is getting better I think. A movie, a motor bike and a TDH guy. This is dream stuff. 

Halfway through Mumbais skies open up. Even as we drive down the streets getting soaked, my heart sings.. Rimjhim gire saawan... 

The movie of my life has begun. Could it have begun better? 

The Onion

 Mine being a typical tam brahm family, the family had found a chamathu payyan for me for kalyanam. Little did I know that I was enegaged to a life size onion. 

Having grown up outside Mumbai, I didnt know much of the place. So the few evenings Onion  and me met, we went to a near by restaurant called Verandah. The other reason being the timeline set by my mom. Everytime we went out, my mom would insist on me being dropped back by eight p.m. Considering that Onion  would reach only by 7.p.m , that's the best we could manage. Onion would complain, who goes home by eight? I leave home by eight! 

During these outings, he would constantly brag about the wonderful places in town! He casually enquired if I have ever eaten non veg food. I told him that I did taste some fish from a few hostel mates, but never went beyond it.

So finally we decided on a full day outing with a movie and lunch in town.

Post the motorcycle ride, before the movie , we went for lunch to a resturant. The restaurant served sea food. My curiosity was piqued. This is a non vegetarian place. Yes, he said. If your trust me, I will ensure you have the best lunch, he said. Ok, I quipped, I guess I have to trust you, considering I decided to spend the rest of my life with you!

There was a lot of hustle in the restaurant.  He knew the waiters by name. They fawned over him like he was their blue eyed boy. He ordered a beer and I ordered lime juice. 

I asked him, you drink beer regularly? Not really, he said, just when I want to have something light! Little did I know that beer was light when conpared to his staple Old Monk Rum! 

He ordered chicken biryani and some fish curry. But this was just layer one of the  Onion.

Halfway through lunch, Onion vanishes amd doesnt come back for a good ten minutes. This is the pre mobile phone days. I am stuck at the table, wondering where he has gone. 

Then I see him chatting with the manager and smoking a cigarette. The next layer  is peeled. 

Onion is a pattar who drinks , smokes and eats non veg food. 

Post the movie, Onion gets philosophical and says , this is the real me. I am a pattar by birth, but I am this guy. I smoke,  drink and eat non veg. I love to party and  stay out of home late night. I dont wear the poonal. Nor do I follow all religious stuff. I pray in my head and not at temples. 

What do you have to say?

What did I have to say? 

My parents picked up a chammathu pattar  payan  whose horoscope matched mine. His credentials were checked by other family members and duly stamped amd certified. But here he is confessing to a lifestyle that is wholly different and as non pattar as can be. 

What did I say?  I know for sure I am in for a lifetime of adventure. I say, Chal bike start kar. That backseat is now booked forever! 

The Gap year

 

Oh god! Won't she lose a full year?

How can you let that?

This was the question that people asked me when my daughter decided to leave Kalakshetra and come back home. The idea of joining Kalakshetra and focussing on dance hadn't gone down too well with everyone in the  family.

Now she had the audacity to leave the course! 

The idea of losing a year in an academic career is blasmephous in itself in our country. It's a crime. It's a crying shame

As children grow into their teens it's has been noticed that their thoughts are fiddled.  They lack clarity. This happens because of the way the brains are wired.  

While we expect them to grow smarter and sharper as promised by the multitude of health drinks and the schools campaigns we may not see that happening. This doesn't mean schools didn't do thier job or health drinks didn't work.  Teen brains function like that.

Some teens need that one year gap to just get their thoughts in place. Some are not clear with what they want to do in life.  Some are not clear how they will reach there. Some are not sure what's your role in helping them reach there.

One of the saddest part of parenting is parents usually are the last ones to know of the dreams of their children. 

Being an educator helped me bridge that gap. I knew what my daughter wanted and was ready to support her through it. Or so I thought.  

When she told me kalakshetra was not working for her I was convinced she was not working at it. I tried to motivate her to keep at it . I gave her stories of how all places are similar and problems never can be eliminated and how new places will have new problems.

Finally when all that didn't work I decided to bring her home.

One year gone! Was the reaction of many people.  But I figured an unhappy soul will not learn anything. One year in a long life is not everything.

She came back and joined a school as a pre nursery co teacher. She loved the job so much. The little kids healed her. She was happy ; dancing and teaching. She had more clarity in life now. She wanted to be a dancer and a teacher!  She told me now that she is very clear with what she wants to do.

In my career as a teacher I have met many students who are confused as to what they want to do with thier lives. Parents seem to stuck up with chooses of engineering medicine and commerce. 

There a strong star rating that parents in our country follow when it comes to careers

Five star for engineering and medicine and mba

Four star for commerce

Three star for architecture.dentistry and other semi medical professions

Two star for teaching 

One for preforming arts.

Vocational  Subjects are not even counted. 

This  star rating is so ingrained in our psyche that schools want to cater ot it ao that they can get in the numbers. Parents believe that a good life is possible only with this.

Teachers believe that they are in the teaching profession because they didn't succeed otherwise .

Tuition classes churn out toppers like icecreams in a factory.

In this when a seventeen year old says I am confused and I need time society comes down heavily on her/him.

I am glad mine stood up for herself.  She is today a post graduate in dance and successful teacher, loved by her  students. Most importantly she is happy with her self and has the confidence to take her own decisions.