Wednesday, 26 September 2018

Post PTM Disorder

"I have only one complaint about your child, she does not submit her work in time." I mentally rolled my eyes in angst. My daughter's teacher got a polite smile from me. We were at the legendary PTM (Parents Teachers Meeting). Is it possible for a child to be perfect for 12 years of schooling? I wondered. This is her fourth year at school, middle school freedom seems to have really grabbed my daughter’s attention. I know it because she exclaimed one day, “Mamma classes 1, 2 and 3 were just a prep, the real fun starts when you get to class 4.” I did not bother to dig too deep into this exclamation, because it is perfectly like a child her age to talk like she does! I wish the teachers had something more constructive to tell me about my child.

How about telling me about fun activities we can involve her with at home, which would complement her learning at school? No. How about telling me some of her virtues before criticising her! Oh no. How about asking why she is submitting her homework late? No not at all! ("Well, we have just moved to a new house," I would have replied, “and that has kept us all a little exhausted and consequently laid back in our regular activities!”) Oh no no... teachers just want what they want, in time, every time and then all will be well in their academic world. It is like having an elephant but talking only about its trunk. I wonder why I am so reminded of C-3PO and R2-D2 of Star Wars fame at this juncture! “Your-daughter-did-not-submit-homework…beep” Would R2-D2 be such spoil sport? I wonder.

Let’s not digress. There was this one teacher who stood out from the others. She was trying hard, really, really hard to say something really, really disheartening to us about our child. A teacher also is entitles to cheap thrills after all! And she was cut out from a traditional loom, where parents went to school to be ultra-modest and to be told, “for all I care you gave birth to a brat!” We did not show any interest in supporting her effort. We are the new age parents after all. We know how futile school education is!

As an aftermath of our spoil sport behaviour, the very next day, this teacher criticised my daughter in front of the class with a derogatory comment. Oh well a teacher has her powers, doesn’t she? Funny though that my daughter is a performer! Not that that makes her any better or worse than all children her age. She is the apple of our eyes and has been so for much longer than she has even lived!!!! I loved her when she was the size of a pea in my belly.

My daughter was taken aback by the comment and was quite disheartened. She is a conscientious child, full of respect for her teachers. She came home to me with this wistful episode to narrate.

I immediately understood the event for what it was. This was a call from the teacher for am Armageddon with us. A teacher has her whims after all! Now it so happens that she had once been our neighbour. I renewed acquaintance with her during the PTM. My mistake. She realised probably in that moment, that she had to perform her neighbourly duty. Albeit to an ex-neighbour from distant past. She felt compelled to let down my child. This is a neighbourly tradition since the start of time, trust me! Mother's boast about their children much less than they indulge in criticising their neighbour's kids. A more easily accomplished task.

I have always taken a cautious stand in matters relating to my child’s teachers. It was now my turn to surprise and even shock this genuine piece of an ex-neighbour in her alter ego as the all-powerful teacher.

I bothered her not! Silence can be a perfect answer to so much worldly nonsense that I wonder why it has not been declared a global weapon of mass destruction in peace times! It can kill, trust me. It kills the spirit of battle in any mortal. It leads to so much mental anxiety to the active types, that it totally mows them down.

But I never fail to add insult to injury. And this is my way of doing it! “Pity her” I advised my daughter, "no one can hurt you for anything, whatever be the reason: bad marks in a test, forgetting your homework, dozing off in class, whatever (I use whatever for want of sufficient reasonable examples and what a vast chasm it fills,), nobody will hurt you unless the person is insensitive. You should pity a person who can be insensitive to a child. Imagine what a tough life she must have lived!” My daughter knows this trick right from her pre-school days. She immediately remembered this old trick and was back to her confident self again.

"Yes Mamma, I understood," she said impatiently, because it was time for her to change the topic. She does not like to delve too much in unpleasant. It was signal for me to stop talking about the incident immediately. And the incident was completely forgotten in her mind, pretty much from that moment.

I don't see why as parent, I should worry about my child's every test result, every homework and every bad behaviour. What am I? A vulture? Picking on rotten stuff? I am a mere farmer, a gardener you might say. I prefer to start fresh. I would rather sow the right values and hope that one day it will germinate into right ambitions, achievements and personality. In the meantime the little torpedo can go about hitting against the padded walls of school and home with her little misdemeanours. As long as I have the blue print and the plan in action. One might wonder how I can be so undisturbed and unperturbed in matters of my child’s education.

Don’t get me wrong. Just because I am playing the passive mom, does not mean I don't care. When it is needed, I ensure that my kid is vindicated! I have the same genes that every mother has, I charge back like a lioness or mother hen, a she ostruch or a she rhino at those who try to sully my kid’s reputation.

I so wanted to tell my daughter that you should show your teacher what you are capable of, in the next test... etc etc. But I had no desire to stress her into performance anxiety. Poor kid cannot be caught in the cross fire of two silly adults. It is still too early for that. Why bother her with results, when I can set her up to do well without even letting her know? Or better still when I have the choice to ignore the entire episode and just keep up with my daughter’s learning process. Moreover, I will never be able to match the insensitivity of the insensitive, I am better off just letting it go. 

Having dealt with the daemon of the day, I fearfully pick my phone and click on whatsapp. I am afraid I will learn about a test or a homework or some school work, which my daughter has totally forgotten about. I read and close the app. In fact I don’t even bother to read. I cannot remind her. She needs to bear the brunt and learn to be responsible. Another PTM away from some more feedback which has no bearing on my child's future. I remind myself that I am an adult I can take that! Let the kid be!

I need not terrify my daughter with my insecurities and fears. And much less with the insecurities and fears of her teachers and other moms. Since time immemorial parents have been disillusioned in their effort to create super achievers. It is so easy to get carried in that suction pump of Trojan parenting! Trojan parents are those parents who do homework and project work for their kids and disguise it as their child’s work. It is easy to not take the risk of letting the child fail! But I want my child to be a risk taker. And therefore I have to live in the fuzzy realm of good, bad and ugly all through my parenting journey. 

Saturday, 7 April 2018

Take Care of Your Mind

Not everyone gets a perfect balance between mind, body and heart. If truth be told, nobody really has a balance which we yearn for. But I am going to talk about mind today. The course of our lives is subject to our mind's abilities. No personal context, no physical health issue, no emotional distress has an impact on human life, as much as a disfunctional mind has. How?

Three people I know in my own life up close, living apochryphal misery are the burning example in my own life. Let me share a bit about their lives with their names changed.

I knew Asha very well. Infact she made great impact on my life in more ways than one. She had a case which is clinically called psychosis. Asha could not trust. She lived in constant fear. She did not have a close friend or relative. Even her children were afraid of her when young and weary of her in adulthood. Asha died of countless disease, but she had ceased to live even as she breathed. What was most intriguing was that Asha conjured stories which she believed were true. She faught legal battles in the later years of her life, for things which belonged to her only in her imagination. What finally deterred her from fighting her battles were the dibilitating diseases which took her life. Asha was curable. She could have lived a happier fuller life, if only she had chosen to be treated for her condition. She discontinued her treatment for fear of being ostracised.

Ashish was equally clse to me and made a great impact over me in my early years. Ashish was a doctor. He was also a very well read man. He was great academically, but his quirks as a kid were simply ignored. Some even encouraged. For example, his rude behaviour and criticising attitude towards others went unchecked. He was made to believe that he had a super brain and was the best, 'not one of the best' academically and even behaviourally. As he grew he showed signs of anti social behaviour when in medical school. He started chewing tobacco, talking in most lowly language and creating an environment of fear around himself. All this was ignored. Even when he began talking paranoically, it was all ignored. He lived in poor condition and died of heart attack at a young age. His body was later found in a decomposed state after few days of his death. Ashish could have been cured, he never took medical help inspite of being a doctor. Ashish was indeed inteligent and could have made a difference. But he is no more.

Suhas was someone I saw briefy once in a while. Stories I have heard about him is no different from Ashish's. A bright student, great hopes for future, over priding parents. When I saw Suhas he was just an unemployable individual living with his parents, because he could not support himself. His retired dad had made arrangements for Suhas's well being after he was no more. But this was not to be. Suhas died young of mental ailments while his dad still lives. Suhas could have been treated and could have lived a normal life.

All these three individuals leave a void in the hearts of those who were close to them, but more than anything they have left no pleasent memories to remember them with. Their loss is just pain after lot more pain that their families saw when they lived.

Truth is no one needs to live like this. There is cure. And it is mostly in the form generic drugs of minimal value, but enormous positive impact on the lives of those who suffer and those around them who suffer unfathomably.

I discovered my own learning disorder very late, I would not have left it untreated if I had known it earlier. I was called a fool or idiot or any number of names when I was a kid. I just couldn't learn or remember or perform in my studies. Even though when I applied my intelligence people were surprised by me. But that was not enough for me to be successful. I did not know what it is to be in chage of my own life till I met this Psychiatrist Dr. MJ Thomas by mere chance. He pointed out that even though I was trying to make sense as I talked to him, I was not making enough sense. Something was wrong. He asked me to take the decision to be treated and to come back. And I did.

Life never remained the same after I began the treatment. Being a Chartered Accountant and a blogger, I was not really in any misery, but I felt miserable all the time. And within a few months of starting the treatment it all began to change. I could remember, I could feel like and dislike, I could express my emotions... I was so complete I couldn't imagine how I had lived my life all these years.

1/7th of Indian population live with some mental illness which is never diagnosed. A population the size of Japan is living in a vegetative state with no hope of ever experiencing life in its real form. The social taboo against the discovery of mental illness is so strong, no one wants to get themselves even checked. Even when life becomes unlivable.

Who is to blame? Who will take the right actions? Are we going to ever outgrow our false ego and choose ability over hidden disability?

Saturday, 11 November 2017

A perfect Mom

My brain fried like omelette frying on a pan, spluttering and throwing tiny droplets of hot oil over the pan. "It must be checked," I thought, with resolve, "or it will blow me up." 

My daughter oblivious of my mental state went about with doing what she was doing. Ignoring me and not even bothering to listen, as she sat with her favourite book, in her room. A room which gave an appearance of a place, recently visited by a deadly storm, leaving behind the debris of destruction. And my little one sat on top of the pile of debris left behind, like a victorious soldier watching with satisfaction the favourable outcome of a Pyrrhic war. 

Aanya has always made the monster in me squirm, with so little effort, I have begun to wonder which is the real me: the cool organised woman of the world or the Mom who blows up at the slightest compulsion from her kid, rendered paralised by the sheer helplessness of being outwitted by a nine year old. 

I morph, in my mind, for a brief moment, to the mom of a new-born. The sleepless nights, the nappy changes, the endless struggle of the new mom, they looked like child's play now. Now was the time for some real matching of wits with a girl! Then it was the time for matching of wits with a new born. "They are both the same," I summarised at length. But the former was the war at hand. And therefore it manifested itself with more ferocity.

I shouted at Aanya one more time, "can you hear me? Please finish your homework!" 

She shifted just a little, for a moment raising my hope that she had heard me finally, I was ready to sing a victory song, but alas, she did not raise her eyes from her book. I was ready to pull my hair or to pounce on her, but I held myself back with a creative thought of a loser who refuses to give in, "isn't this what I wanted? For her to be a thorough book worm?"

And then the other sound in my mind raged back, "but she must do the homework!"

And then again the other sound quietened that devil again, "but she is so focused can't you see? This is just what you wanted for her, this is the precursor to some real success."

The other stern voice followed, "And what about her grades? She will downgrade!"

Then yet again the other voice said, "What are grades for, can't you see she is learning to take her own decisions?" 

My mind exploded, with the two mothers fighting over Aanya. Both right in their own way and none ready to lose the battle. Who has ever convinced a mother? And here in my mind I had two, equally confident and adamant in her own right. 

And I glanced at Aanya from the corner of my eye. Still reading her book with no notion of the war waging in my mind. 

And then at that weak moment, one of them won, I roared at the little girl, "I said home-work! Now!" And she raised her head just a wee bit and quite unimpressed with my blood shot eyes and maternal roar, sank back into her book. 

And then the other one brushed the brute aside, "okay 15 minutes and then you are doing the homework." I shouted submissively. Oh I remembered I had other things to catch up on!  I silently slid away from the battlefield, unsure whether I was vanquished or I had just won something very valuable. 

Sunday, 3 September 2017

Don't let the Blue Whale Get Your Adolescent

I was in my teens when Mahabharat serial by BR Chopra was aired on television. The Jarasangh Vadh episode, (where Lord Krishna tears apart King Jarasangh into two halves) made a couple of eight year olds to split-kill a play mate in a fatal play. The news was everywhere. Some years later Shaktimaan was taking rounds and several kids jumped to their death emulating Shaktimaan. Superman has had much the same impact on kids.

It appears as though those very things which appear quite innocuous to us and sometimes even educational, for our children, can have fatal consequences. Mahabharat was an epic serial and parents in those days insisted their kids to watch it religiously. Shaktimaan was a serial meant for kids, aired on the national channel.

The debate then comes to this, how do we instil the right values in our kids if there is a stream of unintended distractions? How do we save the kids from themselves? Judging by the seriousness of the impact of serials like Mahabharat and Shaktimaan, I would not consider Blue Whale half as risky as it is being touted on news channels today. Because blue whale is clandestine, but these serials were being watched by children under Parent's persuasion!

Some kids play dangerous games because they lack the fear for life, some play them because they are disillusioned by life in their own way, at a very young age, yet some others just like to experiment.

Reading these crazy blue whale suicides, one morning I woke up with a start, I wanted to know if all kids are equally exposed to such threats. How can I protect my child? This being on top of my stack of thoughts. Like all other parents, solutions to some of my concerns, I realised, were not under my control. I cannot be spying over my kid for example. If my kid is on the internet, I cannot always chaperone her online activity. I have made her independent and I want her to be able to make the right choices. Am I being adventurous in thinking that my kid knows what's good for her? All the thoughts led to nothing. I was going in circles. I was not coming close to any answers. 

I decided I needed to go down to their level to find why they do it. So I started thinking how I was in their age. I had a turbulent childhood and teenage, I waded past due to the presence of some very sensible friends. So my life is not exactly much of an example.

In those days the dangerous games were: Guys smashing glass pane with bare hands just to impress a girl, love letters written with blood, kids running away from home, a secret expedition to swim in a river and getting washed away. Teens are challenging adults, trying to prove they are better. At times these renegade behaviour cost them their lives. I can worry all I wish, but how can I stop my kid from being her age? 

I have walked on a parapet at the terrace of a 4 storied building at 2:00 a.m. all alone. I was very desperate then to prove to myself that I was not afraid! I remember the stress and pain I was going through at that time. One part of me did not care if I lived and the other, the basic human part, was scared of falling and dying. 

I know that, the lack of unconditional love during my childhood, left me without a solid base. I took risks because I believed no one cared. A lot of kids grow up with much the same emotions for various different reasons. Could that cause them to play dangerous games? 

Let’s not assume. I don't think there is one single reason for this crazy behaviour, I have known my most well-adjusted friend to take risks beyond her capability in a quest to show off her smartness. The thing is, her parents made sure that she understood what the consequences of her action could have been. Within a few years I saw the difference, she was far more cautious and mature than I was and she had lost interest in dangerous games altogether, while I was still fidgeting with the same thoughts. 

I have really invested in trying to be a good parent, I did not have the examples to make me a natural parent. I see my husband absolutely naturally be a good parent, I have to learn. But like all parents I suffer from many limitations. One of them being my own habits and responses! For someone who has been beaten as a child several times a day on a daily basis, scolded and humiliated as a practice, I have come a long way. But my impulses are counter intuitive to my desire to be a good parent. I realised that I was confusing my daughter, I realised it when she was still very young. 

I decided if I cannot change much about myself at least I can explain the reason for it. I spoke to my daughter at length, even when she was three and four. Eventually this is what she said to me one day, as I was speaking to her on our drive to her pre-school, "Mamma I know you love me, but you get angry sometimes. I don't mind it." I was touched by her wisdom. She was just a baby, but my efforts were paying off. Goes without saying I felt my eyes moisten. Was I really getting to wipe off the curse of my abnormal childhood? I have learned to control my impulses better, I am still learning. But that should not come in the way of my child.

And talking to her is just what I do always. Every time I have a concern, I just voice it to her. She talks to me openly. I tell her how happy I feel when she is happy, how sad I feel when she is sad. She has cried on my shoulder at age five over a boyfriend. She knows there is nothing she cannot share with me. Sometimes when her friends tell her to hide something from me, she tells me all of it under the pledge of secrecy. It is difficult for me to not pounce on her with my idea of good and bad when she shares these things, but my restraint has paid off.  

Parenting seems to be the ultimate act of daring. Let’s not forget that more adolescents die in India because for poor marks in board exams, than due to fatal games. There does not seem to be any quick fix solution to the Blue Whale problem, or the Choking Game problem, or any of such fatal games, but as parents we can take the place of our kid's greatest well-wishers. We can guide them at their pace and hope that they will tell us everything which bothers them. And if they are confident to do that, let’s hope no one else takes that place till they find the right person for it. 

Saturday, 5 August 2017

Puberty: the rituals and the shame

Seetha is thirteen, a Tamil, she just can’t wait for it… 

"Not yet," her mother said, one afternoon, “Sometimes it comes late.” 

"Akka (Elder Sister) got it at thirteen," Seetha said, with slight impatience creeping into her voice.

"Yes she got it early. It might take you longer. Don't you think it is good, you are saved all that hassle a little longer?" comforted her mother

"Oh but the ritual, I am looking forward to it. Akka decked up like a princess, she got such awesome gifts. I can’t wait for that lavish banquet. Get me the grand, blue Kanjivaram saree we saw the other day." In one breath it was all out! Seetha has fantasized a fairy tale ceremony. Probably grander than akka's. Seetha is innocent and impressionable!

She is talking about her impending puberty. Dear readers, you be the judge, don’t just take her words.

Custom has it that, her first periods will be a knockout event, with unprecedented celebrations A.K.A Puberty Rituals, culminating into a lavish feast. Everyone must know that this girl is now a woman! She wears the saree for the first time, with jewelleries that enhances her beauty like never before. No kidding, this young lady is now fertile and feminine and she and the rest better respect her for that! Respect her? How?

There is a spectacular grind to be gone through which includes- Offering her a frugal existence, in isolation, over probably just a mat, for 6 to 15 days. Number of days is a choice by custom or practicability. She will sit, sleep and eat on this mat alone. Feeding her traditional diet, believed to prepare the body for menstrual cycles. Rice, ragi and pulses being the main ingredients of food cooked at this period, supplemented with Sesame oil and Ghee. All food rich in vitamin E is to be offered, as this is the puberty vitamin. How? It helps strengthen the uterus walls.

Mother Counsel’s her, on the significance, the precautions, the frequency, and yes, the restrictions. Particularly those menstrual restrictions, will be spooled into her mind for future replay. “Your body becomes impure during periods, you need to restrict your movement,” a message every girl is given. On the 7th, 9th or the 16th day: as decided, her aunts will give her a bath, followed by a haldi (Turmeric) ceremony in which both men and women participate. They will apply haldi-neem paste on her face and hands- a cleansing agent!

Don’t forget the feast! One akin to a marriage reception. The girl’s Mama (Mother’s brother oh don’t mistake it for Mamma!) plays a major role in this ceremony. He is certainly the guest of honour and the main convener of the puberty ritual in most southern states. He plays an important role in matrimony of the girl later. Expensive gifts will be showered upon her, by family, relatives and friends from her community only. She will thus be initiated into the magical world of the sinful pubescent. This ceremony of Saddangu (Tamil Nadu), Aashirvada (Karnataka) or Tuloni Biyah (Assam) will let the community know, she is ready for marriage. The gifts in this party are primarily a preparation for her dowry. (Note: In Assam, men don’t partake in the haldi ritual, mama does not play any particular role either)

Hereafter, every time she has periods, for three days, she will be relegated to the same mat-at-one-corner. Rendered untouchable, she will be unable to touch most of her own belongings even.

Somewhere else many, many kilometres away from Seetha’s home, the scene morphs:

Anju has no idea why she has red spotting in her panty. Red like blood and with an unbearable stench. It could be cancer, she thinks, with a sense of urgency. At thirteen and a half, she is petrified. Should she tell her mother? Hailing from a small town in Utter Pradesh, she has not been exposed to puberty education in school. She gathers courage to whisper in her mom's ear, “I saw blood in my panty, I think I am seriously ill”

“Shh!” her Mom hushes her up as she tugs her by her arm, into the corner-most room of the house. She latches the door from inside, with a dramatic air. She gives her a pack of sanitary napkins, the ones Anju used to see in TV commercials.  

“You will need this, you have periods,” Mom whispers even behind closed doors. “You will get it from now on.” And that is that. With those few hushed words, Anju is initiated into a life time of secret-period-act, no drum beats, no fanfare, no adequate initiation, no sympathies either. Anju’s thoughts are fixated to the blood stench and nature’s abject unfairness towards her body. She has questions. Her mother’s face is contorted with shame, her words curt and precise, coming from another realm. Anju keeps quiet, attentively listening, cautious not to ask questions. She might check with her friends later. Scared sick and quite uncertain, she wonders, did her mother tell her the truth or does she indeed have cancer?

One country, two cultures, exact opposite! Complete overtness versus abject covertness. We the people of India, intertwined into single fabric of nationalism, yet so in silo.

I did not know, my Telugu neighbour, from Andhra Pradesh, celebrates puberty rituals. Despite living in neighbourly harmony for over 12 years. Having been part of each other’s functions and celebrations. How little we know our own neighbours!

The Tamils, the Malayalis, the Telugus, the Kannadigas, the Assamese, the Kulu Paharis are some of the people in India who celebrate puberty rituals. All these rituals have the same undercurrent, with slight differences. Confinement, Nutritious food and a feast, are the bedrock of these ceremonies. Maharashtra till recently had puberty rituals at an austere level, similar rituals but restricted only to women, a four day ritual.

I asked my neighbour why? Why the ritual? Why the untouchability? She, a believer, knows no better way to initiate the girl into puberty. And the untouchability? That gives you the much needed rest! My Tamil friend concurs. Not my Kannadiga friend, she feels it’s an invasion of privacy. “Times have changed,” she tells. My friend from Kerala agrees to that. Reactions vary, not on the basis of state, these are personal preferences; that is what I am assured. In a larger scheme of things, this tradition is under scrutiny today. There are believers and non-believers in all pockets. The opinion on the extent to which this event must be celebrated varies like the colours in the spectrum.

A small community in India, the Vohra Muslims, have a coming of age ceremony, at 16 for girls and at 17 for boys. Coming of age rituals are the society’s way to include young men and women into the adult pool. In the island of Pentecost, situated near Australia, man-hood is proven through Bungee Jumping, this is where this sport emerged by-the-way. There are various puberty and coming of age rituals across the globe, some even gruesome, while others celebratory.

Most northern states of India, from Kashmir to West Bengal, my own state Bihar, the states of Gujarat, Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, Punjab, none of them have puberty rituals. Then again some of the North Eastern states, to the east of Assam, have similar rituals. A closer look reveals a pattern of puberty beliefs on the first three days of periods, month on month:
-         Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh, Gujarat, Maharashtra – Mat-at-one-corner concept observed
-         Bihar, Bengal, Kashmir – Temple visits restricted
-         Punjab a definite exception – No restrictions whatsoever.

Why? The question looms large. The striking similarity of the puberty rituals across India, wherever it exists, matched by similar beliefs and customs in the whole country. Why did the rituals sever? Why did the customs sever? Let us leave the past to the past. Today we have other questions to ask.  

It is open to you dear readers, what do you prefer? Rituals or secrecy? Restrictions or relief? These questions have been opened up today. ‘Bleed With Pride’ movement, Haji Ali Dargah - high court approval for women to enter its precincts, Sabrimala temple - tussle over women’s age bar for entry, are cases in its favour. Who knows how stigma will finally be separated from this natural phenomena, sordid in perception, yet inevitable in perpetuation of the human race!

This article was first published in Women's Web: 

Monday, 31 July 2017

Yes, It Is True, It Is Possible To Be Promoted In Your Role As Mother

At 8 years and a half (That's my daughter's age), I find my job as a mother beginning to transform into that of a Manager, from being a Team Leader for past few years. Let me explain this. It is possible for a mother to be promoted in her job as a Mom, like they do in corporate jobs. Yes it is true.

Here's how, let's track from the genesis. At birth, our babies are a full time involvement, minute by minute, we are hands on with them. If they are
awake we are too. In-fact we are up and at their service round the clock. In corporate-speak this is an Individual Contributor role. The most grass root level work in our journey as parents. Hang in there, those smelly diapers, and messy baby food are all just a passing phase. 

Then comes the Team Lead role, at about age 5 through to age 8 (of your kid I mean), we tell them to do things, but most of the time we end up doing most of their work. This is the stage where we are training our kids to do things they must be doing as they grow up, and they can easily resist doing them. And they are oh so cute we can't do much about it. These oh so cuties will fight us, throw tantrums at us and do nothing that we want them to do. Oh well they don't care, the universe seems to circle around them!

At about age 8 (The child’s), we turn into a Managers. We begin to delegate tasks and expect them to be done as per the instructions. We are not always involved in performance of the task, we mostly come in the picture, if there is a problem or a need for guidance. And, trust me, there are way too many of those problems and needs for guidance. This stage is the most peaceful of all parenting stages so far. We can boss around a bit and even receive adherence. For the first time we as parents feel, we also have some power!

At about age 10 (the child’s), we become Senior Managers, having done the Manager's job for 2 years, it’s time for a slight career advancement, without much change in the role, but most certainly better experience. Now is the time when the kid for the very first time realises that, the parents are the boss in the establishment and kids are not the ones letting them live in the house, but it is the other way round. Some of them go through an ego crash phase, but that is okay, as long as they keep getting their favourite bar of chocolate and their favourite toys and games.

At age 13 (child's age remember!) we become Directors, no arguments about that. Now is the time to set their backside on fire and watch them run right up to the finish line, from a safe distance. Oh they don't like anything about the establishment, not even their favourite bars of chocolate bring about the truce at times. But we as parents don't budge. We are quite clear in our perspective.

We then turn into the Senior Directors at age 16 (child's age again, now for sure we cannot hope to be sweet 16 ourselves anymore!). We become someone to be feared and respected and someone whose orders can't be ignored, or else there will be consequences. Yes, 16 year old's know very well the consequences and they break house rules only to test water. They are old enough to play a few grown-up games with their parents, but not old enough to totally ignore them. This is the time minor world wars are fought in the homes, leading to the teenager's gradual realisation that their parents are also quite cool in certain very restricted manners. These kids are still quite dependent on parents, and they can't do much about anything as yet.

And then we become Vice Presidents at age 18 (our Kid's, though not much of a kid), this is where our role changes to only ensuring smooth performance and focus towards goals. We do not do any work for them, we just watch them and ask for regular updates on what's going on. We make some mighty big investments in their education. And they make some mighty big real plans for their lives. This is the stage where our kids basically become quite independent and even self-assured. But they do need constant guidance.

We become Senior Vice Presidents at age 20 (Kid's, who is not a kid any more). This is just a transition phase. We have done most of our work and we need a brief period of monitoring, before we let go of our responsibility and move on. At this stage parents appear friendly to the kids (who are not kids anymore). They even appear intelligent to them and quite up to the mark.

The final stage is becoming Presidents at around the ages of 21 to 24, depending on the career your kid chose. Having a work experience of 21 years, we are now free of all mundane roles. Our children are part of the mainstream now, so all we need to do is give them wisdom from time to time. Rest is up-to them. This is the stage when we just look on at the good work done and watch our little ones (they will remain little for us for sure) fly out of our nests and become people.

After this we need not retire, we have our unfinished tasks and dreams we have been battling with all these years while we were also actively parenting. We can pour in our hearts and a lot more of our time to these pursuits and live our lives to the fullest. Being a parent no doubt is the most rewarding of all the tasks we will ever do. We also have that person in us to tend to and there is a significant other, our spouses, who walked every step with us and made the journey enjoyable. And then there are some wonderful friends we made over the years, we need to get to see them more often too.

Our lives will keep getting tangled with our children's, over and over even after those 21 years. But those will be a different experience altogether. Those birds who flew off our nests, are no more the carefree kids, we once had all to ourselves. 

Wednesday, 14 June 2017

Healthy is Easy, No Wonder It's Underrated

Being healthy is not mandatory, therefore health is the most neglected of human necessities. 

Eat in time! 'Ah well too busy.' 
Eat Healthy! 'Huh but, who will feast on the cakes, burgers and chips.' 
Eat what you need! 'Oh no there is just so much food on the table, why waste it, let it go in and then we will see.'

Summary of all these little misdemeanours are the diseases, pains and physical discomforts which our bodies develop. Burppp... that is where it starts. 

When I read the discharge summary of my infant after her birth, it said, feed at regular intervals and burp after every feed… I laughed to myself as I read, it appeared much like a user manual to me back then. Ah but the point is, burpppp itself is not a problem, it is the very second thing one did when one landed with a thud on the planet, after probably crying out loud. The burppp of junk food is different. It has a life-cycle of its own. It is closely followed by gas, not the fuel for our expensive cars, nor even the LPG gas we use for cooking. It is the nasty, snarly gas, popularly known as acidity. Followed by the bile (the fluid released by liver to digest unwanted fat in the body). Bile is what does the trick, it slowly passes on the unhealthy contents in our food, into the tiny cells, each and every one of the millions, billions, trillions and gazillions of them. Bile makes the disease enter our cells efficiently!  

It much like the Pokemon, isn't it? It grows and matures and it attacks in every stage. First is the 'burpp attack', then the 'acid attack' and then the 'bile attack' and then the 'disease attack'... the final blow! Those of you who do not watch Pokemon, oh well, think of the life cycle of a Frog. 

Ever so slowly, our body begins to dissipate under its unmistakable pressure. We ignore a little bit of breathlessness, a little bit of fatigue, a little bit of obesity, a little bit of indigestion, a little bit of acidity. But the body is unmistakably complaining - help me I need health! Why don't we listen? Because suicide is a crime, poisoning another person is crime too. Slow poisoning oneself with bad choice of food? Not a crime, not yet! On the contrary, it is fashionable to be uncaring for one’s health. It is interpreted as selflessness and therefore surest act of bravery.

Is it indeed an act of bravery or is it just fat-headedness? And the answer is: it is only, but only fat-headedness. There is no need for martyrs in peace time. No one will reward us for being diagnosed with diabetes, hypertension, migraine, gout, ulcer, hernia, heart disease etc. etc. etc. Many will sympathise and many others will find our disease as an excuse to share their two cents of home remedies, to alleviate the trouble. But the trouble stays, never leaves. And we get to be the object of everyone's concern due to our suffering. No one wants to touch upon the delicate topic of our poor lifestyle choices. No one wants to blame us for our disease. That's sacrosanct! 

The truth is, we were warned much in advance, so many times. Listen to these... don't they sound boringly familiar? "Eat Well, Sleep Well, Breathe fresh Air, Think good thoughts, Be happy." Oh no those are just gospels, one listen’s to them under force, only just to be patient listener. There is no end to what one does out of social commitment, even listen to clichéd gospels, Isn't it? 

I hate to break it, most of these time tested, overused, clichéd, bits of wisdom on living healthy are significantly true, we cannot ignore them!!! Tchhh Tchh. My piece of cake, my chocolates, my chips, pastries, pastas, don't bid farewell as yet! We are throwing away our lives to packaged food industry, junk food industry, confectionery industry, pesticide industry, health care and health insurance industry. Such popular commercial successes, they even have annual revenue targets and they report year on year revenue growth. We fail notice our gullibility!

Living healthy is not mandatory, but each one of us have the right to seek health. That should be the most fashionable thing to do on the planet!