Who Took My Dessert Bowl? A Tribute to Sweets

There were sweets in my fridge, in little containers outside the fridge, there were sweets cooking on the hob and baking in the oven and there were sweets on my plate and in my mind. I am probably a honey bee, all laced up in sweet honey. Yet slowly and steadily the sweets disappeared, from my fridge and small containers first, from my oven and my hob next and then slowly they dissipated from my plate and now there are sweets only in my mind, somewhere in the deeper recesses, they are there for real. Who took my dessert bowl? 

Such sinful flavour begotten by the devil perhaps, because it is to be avoided and shrunk from at all cost. Just a month ago a doctor literally pounced at me, just because I said I like to have a teaspoon of sugar in my tea every-day! All hell broke loose. I seemed to have embarked her upon an anti-sugar campaign. She looked at me from above her spectacles with rabid eyes, a sugar apostate yet overweight too. She spoke in the choicest of defamatory themes, about the poor helpless crystals. Shiny diamond like crystals, that were now occupying my whole being, every bit of me, demanding of me to react, rebuke, to at-least speak up, for poor helpless them. Sugar is like caffeine she said, stop all forms of sugar... go to Himalayas she could have said, leave worldly pleasures she could say. Its sugar for god's sake, not cocaine I thought. Yet I heard her wide eyed with pained heart, in the end I decided... upon deferment of decision! 

Avoiding sugar is to decline my best friend's invite, on a warm sunny day, to go swimming or go shopping in the mall, with barbecue lunch thrown in between, followed by more swimming or more shopping again. All the while chit chatting, gossiping about friends old and new, sharing notes on the latest fashion and the best parlours in town, fussing over what suits each other and what does not, sharing little secrets of heart. And ending up the day with sipping tea served with biscuits and sweet bun, sitting in a patisserrie amidst the lingering fragrance, of freshly baking cake. Ahhh how could I miss that, even if it cost me a day at work, even if it cost me working till late and losing some sleep.  

These are ideal imagination, idyllic must say. Only in our imagination. But sweets they are for real... I dream of ice-creams, fudge, sundae, chocolates, cakes, biscuits and sweet buns and mithais of milk, besan, dryfruits and nuts, jalebies, gulabjamuns and puddings and kheer, gajar halwa, moong dal halwa, yum... and the crispies and creme that go with it all. Don't stop me in my musing, don't stop me please, for someone just took away my dessert bowl, can you find out who?

When I look inside, the one thing I desire is sweetness, sweetness of heart, sweet sunny day, sweet dreams, sweet smell of earth in the first summer rain, sweet heart, sweet kid on the lap to sweet talk to, sweet success or sweet scent of it, some lagniappe to sweeten up a deal, sweet smelling flowers in the garden, in vase, in wreaths and in garlands, sweet slumber and sweet awakening too, sweet memories from those sweet moments of life, sweet angels without and sweet memories within. Sweetness seems so inseparable from me. Why...? All our dreams are crusted in sugar, plated neatly like dessert, right there for us to chase them every waking hour. All the best thoughts are served sweetly by our mind. Why sweeten people's mouth when exuberantly happy... when sweet itself is an unspeakable sin?

Oh no don’t get me wrong. Don’t imagine I am in favour of guzzling down sweet meat, the question I ask is more profound than that, what if there was more sweetness in the world, no wars, no battles, no slavery, no killings, no torture, no murder… no heartbreaks, no pain, no suffering, no suppression… No one ever hurt another in truth or in thought! Served in fine china bowls sprinkled with sugar, topped with frothy white cream, garnished with chocolate syrup… Let everyone be sweet, sweet, sweet forever….

5 Things to do to Get your Kid to "Hurry Up and Get Ready"

Since the time my daughter began taking bus to her pre-school, she must have been four and a half then, getting her ready for school became a tryst with time. It was like a cock fight... I would keep telling her at short intervals, 'quickly, get ready quick...' Sometimes even yelling at her. I was right there with her, getting her ready. But she was not there, mind or body or both, getting ready. She would continue at her pace... The only pace she ever knew. With breaks in between, for thinking, visiting her play-room, playing pranks etc.

I could not understand why she could not hurry, in-spite of me telling her to do so. One day she thought that she should at-least try, to do what I was asking her to do. So... in the middle of her bath, she dropped every-thing...The mug of water in her hand, the soap, the thoughts that had just surfaced in her mind and she so desperately wanted to share and she started to hop, shaking her hand haywire, moving her body briskly from side to side, making the sound huh... huh... huh..., she looked like a cute Snoopy. I stood there puzzled till she asked... is that fast enough Mamma? She was trying to hurry up!!! And that is when I learnt that a 4, 5, 6 or 7 year old, does not understand what 'fast' is...

They do want to do things fast, but how? And here are few things I did:

1. Make task based mental deadlines: teeth to be brushed by 6:15, she should have had her milk or water and be in the loo by 6:20... by 6:30 she should be bathing... by 6:45 she should be wearing her shoes... etc. etc... Keep tab of how each task progresses, no point telling the child explicitly about the time chart, she does not understand how the watch works... literally.

2. Explain in detail: Talk to the child and explain, what doing things fast means, it is not shaking oneself up like a cold coffee shaker and then going at your own pace. It is continuously doing what she is supposed to do, without getting distracted. And do explain what distraction is...

3. Be there to monitor: Spend a lot of time with the kid initially, to tell her exactly how a process is performed, brushing, bathing, wearing uniform, shoes etc. Do it for her where needed to show her how.

4. Free up one task at a time: Once you are sure the child can do things on her own, start letting her do one thing at a time by herself, start with brushing of teeth, and keep informing her if she is slowing down...

5. Praise and reward: Praise her, congratulate her and appropriately reward her for getting something right, even if it is just one small thing. Don't chide her for being slow.... at the most you have to drop her to school, or she will miss the school. That way, you will get more time, to reinforce the value of doing things in the right way.

Today as we walked to the gate of our apartment, to catch the school bus, my seven year old informed me to my amazement, “Mamma now I have understood the value of time." Just this Saturday, she had received this zany watch as a return gift at her friend’s birthday party, with rubber strap of a wearable devise, the dial camouflaged behind the strap. You have to press a soft button on the device, for the watch to light up and show the time for a few seconds. In short it is a novelty for old and young alike. She added, "I realised, when I observed this watch and I saw how fast time is running."

I felt so proud of her... "You have learnt a great lesson little one," I said to her. This is a lesson that takes a lifetime to learn, I thought, my heart brimming with joy and pride in equal measure, even a bit of math on how she had made my task of parenting a little easier today.

In Every Nest There is a SAHM

Every home that has kids, or shall I say every nest, needs a caring hand. A member of the family who holds their little hands and shows them the path, to the toilet, to the play park, to the playroom, to the dining table, to the bed, to the aquarium, museum, library, swimming pool, hobby classes, to the school and back every day, to safety, to happiness, to the world…

I have felt many times, that the life that I carried inside of me for nine months, is now an irreducible part of me, I can still feel it inside me. I am no more a bountiful individual, the one who thought of scaling the Himalayas, rock climbing, para-gliding, bungee jumping, dirt biking, white water rafting... all creative ways of putting life to danger. I now think of living, so I can spend more time with that little innocent life, which lives just as much inside of me, as it lives outside of me. 

It is not as if, we gave birth and our job was done. No... We all know that bit very well. Yet, so many times, I have been truly amazed by a superwoman at my work place or in those glossy reputed magazines, someone with a meteoric career and I, leaping with anticipation, have turned the leaves in the books of their lives, to find their secret of success... And every time I have seen the story repeat. How? Successful in career... and never married, ...and no children, ...and husband took care of children, ...and parents took care of children, ... and... in rare cases... children were not well taken care of... their achievements later in the life speak for itself, It is unmistakably one of these... over and over, I am totally disillusioned. 

I don't know whether there is some breed of women called feminist... I strongly suspect that there are none... just like you can't breed butter chicken! No mother would, unless she had a reason, leave her child in unmatched environment, from the one she enjoys on a day-to-day basis, on a physical, mental and emotional level. 

Every home has that back seat right inside the kid's nursery, who is sitting in yours? 

I tried... With purportedly the best day-care in the city... oh but the location was all wrong, bang on a busy street. The two years she spent there was fraught with allergies and bronchitis. I just had to put an end to it. I tried with an amazing nanny, who has been with us since my daughter was three months old, who is still with us, and who cares for my daughter with utmost dedication. She took care of her for three years after we left the day-care for good. She got the nanny's love, but she was missing the love of a kin. I realised she had developed uncontrollable aggression. And then I tried the inevitable, a break from work, and the popular-work-life-balance-mom to my colleagues, became a full-time-mom, at-least for some time. And voila! She was the most docile child within weeks. The vacant back seat of my house was paining my daughter and was making her all shades of unhappy! I pulled up that empty back seat in my daughter's play room for myself.

It took me some time to realise that the world is not made of just careers, it is made up of choices actually... silly me. The whole concept of SAHM and Working Mom is a sham, there is a SAHM in every home, either a grand-mom or the mom or a grand-dad or the dad...

My neighbour, like me, continued with her career after she had her kid. In her case the difference was that, her son was being cared for by his Nani (maternal grand-mom). One day when I saw the grand-mom watching over the kid as he played, I went up to her to compliment her for how she was helping her daughter in her pursuit. I was surprised that, rather than thank me, she began to explain, how exceedingly difficult it was becoming for her to manage the growing child, who was now four. She had managed him since birth. I understood that she wanted someone to talk to, so I listened to her...

It is frustrating sometimes to be in the company of a kid all day long. They want attention, they don't understand that people need to rest, to take a break, to go to the loo, to be by themselves. They need tender care and attention every waking hour, it exhausts us. So does our day job, the meetings, the projects, the conference calls. Difference is, we get appreciated for it, we get paid for it, and we get bonus and promotions for it. But as parents we are already elevated to the highest possible position in our kid's lives. There are no further appraisals, bonuses and hikes from there on. I find one part of me, the logical one explaining this to this ambitious me... Let’s be logical, if every parent on the planet was working, how would we raise our kids? Who would diaper them, and hug them, and reassure them, and sing to them, and build their strength, and correct them, and teach them new skills? Who will stay by their beds when they are sick?

Jack Welch in his book 'Winning' says, 'there is no work life balance, there is either work or life...' (Not an exact quote) one chooses between the two. There are many calibrations in between the two extremes, but let’s face it, we can tell at work, our child needs us today. We cannot tell our children, our employment needs us today! You know all those messy days, when there was something so seemingly urgent at work and the nanny didn't turn up or the child was not well. Balancing between the Barbie dolls or GI Joe and your laptop, a lot of you have nightmares of the work suffocating you with its arms wrapped around your throat and getting tighter, while you lunge to catch your child from falling off the coffee table, even as the noose gets tighter. Either the noose will kill you or the child's pain from falling, which you just cannot bear... you are a turkey!

Some of us have chosen a different SAHM for our kids and its working fine... as long as it works... but there is no sense in seeing it as a permanent solution to parenting... at most it is an adjustment. It is not worth grudging another person's position. We must not forget to clap for those who have it all, and not forget the clap for those who do it all, under each tree there is a shade equally cool and reassuring. A disillusioned mom like me would say... to each his own! 

Sometimes the distance between Safety and Tragedy is God

There are safety measures, layers and layers of them, and then as each one of them fall off in a heap, like diaphanous sheer curtains, like that door lock that only needs a sharp saw to cut, the windows with glass panes - but with no grill - in a high rise, like that expired life-saving drug neatly packaged... all disasters waiting to happen... and then there is God. This is a story about how safety becomes a sham, how our reflexes, the ones that save us from injury and attack, can let us down... How the safest place in the world, our home, has a 'danger zone'! The one place which fosters family's health and happiness... "The kitchen"

It was one of those abnormal-to-the-core Sundays, the kind that weekends can turn into, sometimes. In the guise of making weekend fun, we end up having regulation outings. Rita had her periods that day. She was not totally in her best self. Her daughter however had a reason to go to Cubbon Park, a sprawling park at the heart of Bangalore, with 1.2 kilometre of greenery, equipped with a Bal Bhawan, a Band Stand, City central Library and a tennis club, organic fruit and vegetable vendors too. It is twenty kilometres from Rita’s home. And they had to go early in the morning, 6 a.m. possibly. And if not, as soon as it was possible. Her daughters playmates were going there early that morning, to have fun and play. It was a sudden plan made by Rita's friends, moms of her daughter's friends! They planned to go on this three family outing to Cubbon Park, six adults and five kids and one silent adolescent, just to get some fresh air, some real nature and physical activity for all.

The Morning Rita was the first to wake up. Despite the fact that they slept very late, after watching a movie on TV the previous night. She wanted her daughter to sleep longer, it builds immunity! Weekends are when her daughter can sleep late and make up for all the lost sleep during the week. But Rita knew that if today the little one missed her outing with friends, she would not hear the end of it. So she made sure they left home for Cubbon Park, in time. And it was not a mistake as Rita feared initially, her daughter was thrilled to see her friends in the park, and what seemed to be the making of a cold, catarrh and a few missed school days, actually disappeared. Affability also builds immunity!

The cool breeze of the park did not do much good to Rita though. She now had abdominal pain and felt weak. She sat with her friends on a cement bench, and chatted, she was sure she would be fine. Her friend's husbands felt that the ladies were doing just the opposite of what they had gone there to do, and prompted them to get some action, but they were quite comfortably chatting and they ignored all suggestions of moving from the place. 

After a round of Badminton, and a round of Frisbee, some running across the expansive undulating green and dog patting at the dog park, everyone went for a South Indian breakfast. An experience with good food and bad service, that they were all glad ended, all-be-it quite late. They reached home by 12:30 p.m. It was too late to begin cooking lunch, still Rita took a catnap on the sofa, to recover from the exertion, before cooking the late lunch. After lunch, there was extensive art homework of her daughter's that kept both Rita and her daughter busy, the whole afternoon. She enjoyed it, none-the-less she would have loved to sleep and just be lazing that day, with the weakness and continual abdominal pain, she felt she badly needed the break.

By seven in the evening, Rita was sure all she needed was to sleep. Asking her husband to hold the post in the kitchen, she took an early refuge to bed. And she slept for good ten hours. She woke up at 5 a.m. next morning, to pack lunch for her daughter, and to pack her daughter to school, just as she did every weekday. As she stepped down from her bedroom on first floor, to the kitchen in the lower floor, she switched on the staircase light. There was smell of LPG gas in the drawing room, where the stairs landed. The open kitchen looked as safe and silent in the darkness as ever. She thought to herself, "Not again Rita, remember this is just an obsession. You have always been proven wrong in your suspicion. Cool down, just check, and clear your doubt."

She switched on the kitchen light, not thinking enough, still groggy from sleep, now the gas smell was stronger. She had changed the cylinder just a day ago. She wondered if the cylinder had a faulty washer, it had happened before. The utility, where the cylinder was kept seemed to have no LPG smell. The cylinder looked perfectly normal, no hissing sound of leakage there. She went back to the kitchen and again the same strong smell of gas. She went to check the burner knobs of her cooking range. The moment she touched the third knob, a chill ran through her, it was left on, with gas leaking the whole night. She turned it off.

Her reflexes were not in check, early in the morning with piles of thoughts in her mind, what to pack for lunch, what to make for the breakfast, now I need to wait... till the gas dissipates... She was instantly upset with her husband for being careless and putting the family in danger! She opened the fridge... Oooh the fridge is left off all night... everything will spoil, the milk, the curd, the food...  It is customary in her house to switch off the fridge, when there is power cut. The back-up power does not support the fridge. Without thinking, she switched on the fridge. This was the third switch that day. She ran and opened all windows and balcony doors one by one, when she entered the dark playroom, she switched on the lights in that room too.  She knew she should not, it’s been played and replayed in public interest messages on TV and Radio and even on youtube. What was she thinking! In that moment she had no control over her reflexes. 

One gas leak and four light switches. God may have been kind to her. Rita's family was saved.

She realised that, this was the faulty burner that her husband had left on, by mistake. The burner just dies down sometimes when the flame is lowered. She knew it, but her husband did not. After the initial anxiety, Rita just sat down for a few minutes to thank God for his grace, for saving her family from disaster so many times over, that could-be-fateful morning. The faulty burner and the faulty reflex! 

Rita took a mental note of all that transpired in those anxious moments...

Always turn off the cylinder knob, Rita never turned it off! 

Always check the burner knobs after cooking, Rita's husband missed that step!

Never touch the power switch when there is gas leakage, Rita missed that point by several faithful switches.

She closed her eyes, this was overwhelming, her entire family sleeping, oblivious of the silent drama that had just unfolded in the household. Her silent prayers that she keeps sending to God, had been heard that day. 

How to teach your child to Read, Write and Comprehend - For Primary Schoolers

Schooling and teaching kids in today's context is an art. By the time we learn it, they don’t need it anymore!!!! But that is another story… Today’s Parents seem to connect with their child like never before. We as parents often find ourselves helpless, trying to correct our child and being met with resistance such as: ignoring, whining, yelling, answer back and the best of all, ‘my teacher told me!’ What could be better than a school which takes an initiative to educate parents over a weekend… To teach us how to reach out to our child so we can help them learn? Now when my daughter tells me, ‘my teacher taught me’, I will retort with, ‘your teacher taught me’… And no ordinary run-of-the-mill teachers these. They are some sort of engineers, equipped with tools and techniques, they know how to manage my kid better than me, at-least when it comes to her education. They seem to have mastered these methods that touches the child's psyche and lets her enjoy learning.

It was one of the best spent Saturday mornings, when I went to my daughter’s school to learn… along with several other parents. We were met with a bunch of highly motivated education engineers. We learnt some solid techniques to hone language and writing skills of our children. My belief is that language skill is the primary skill that we must teach our kids. We cannot do away with language no matter what subject they choose later. You don’t write a thesis in Maths with numbers, do you? To write a thesis you use advanced words, writing style and text!

Some easy steps that we learnt that Saturday, for our primary school goers:

1.     What is comprehension? It is the ability to understand a passage, a story or a book and to summarise it in one’s own language. It takes some time for the kids to learn this skill. Your child will be able to comprehend a passage fully by Std IV

Few aspects of Comprehension:

§  Making Connections

§  Visualising,

§  Sieving Out

§  Context Clues

And on higher order, child develops by Std IV:

§  Inferring

§  Summarising and Synthesising

2.     How do we help our child to write?

 

§  Help Them write thank you notes,

§  Encourage them to write letter and E mail to family,

§  Give writing as gift (A poem or a story),

§  Help them maintain a Journal or diary,

§  Help them make a travelogue,

§  Make a year review note book. 

Oooh that's a lot of work!!!! Easier said than done. In order for them to develop these writing skills...

§  Play stenographer initially… Write for them, while they dictate!

§  Play developing from kernel sentences...Example: I go... I go to school... I go to school on a bus... I go in the morning to school on a bus... I wake up in the morning and go to school on a bus... It is a game, each person takes turn to make the sentence longer... What say!

§  Use technology intelligently!!! Help them download some relevant aps. And we thought we could keep them away from iPads!!!

§  Use Graphic Organiser: An example of graphic organiser can be a chart - Write a word in the centre of a square, divide it into four parts, just like the 4 quadrants of 7 Habits, or like the 4 quadrants of the Johari window and on four corners write Definition, Characteristics, Examples, Non Examples of the word. Interesting isn't it?

Oh and if you thought that this is all that you could to do, look further:

§  When reading to the child talk about the style of writing. I will need to learn that all over…

§  Use writing prompts, such as a Mind Map, 5W one H (What, Why, When, Who, Where and How)... And you thought these are only talked about in soft skill sessions of corporate houses?

§  Start a story and let the child finish... How?

Ø  Start with Character Building, 

Ø  Build the plot

Ø  Find a solution

Ø  Have a climax. 

More tips: To answer questions, use the RACE strategy... What is race?

§  Restate the question

§  Answer all points of the question

§  Cite two to three examples

§  Explain how these examples connect with the answer.

Oh and if you have problem teaching the child to manage proper writing hygiene, here is a trick... COPS

§  Capitalise

§  Organise

§  Punctuate

§  Spelling

Make a COPS checklist, place it on the child's study table, she can check the points after she had finished writing.

You have done it all? Child will take time to learn don’t push her... of-course you don’t... This is what the teachers said:

§  Allow time

§  Respond meaningfully, don't tell her that you have done fantastic, tell her your language is good, your handwriting is good, you used a new word and that was super etc. etc...

§  Praise... if she got is all fine... If she got it wrong, don't tell her that, go to next step!

§  Help

§  Practice! Practice! Practice! See this is like Entertainment! Entertainment! Entertainment!

Don’t waste your time teaching grammar from a book, play some creative grammar games:

§  Picture cards for countable uncountable

§  Synonym Antonym game, you say present… she says absent etc.

§  Card Games for Verb, Adverb, Adjective, Noun... 

§  Card or word games for Singulars and plurals.

If you find your child using the wrong grammar, correct her, gently and subtly. One of the techniques I use is restating. Restate the sentence with correct grammar, without mentioning anything more than the correct sentence. And I agree they sound really cute when they use wrong grammar. Their teachers caution us, that it will become a habit and they will soon grow up with it!

No matter what the pressure, no point disheartening the child, confidence is the most valuable tool that we parents can give to our child. Some of us may never learn the grammar like our child will. Think of how it would feel if they started correcting our grammar in front our friends?

Some interesting Handwriting tips... wish someone knew this when I was a kid!!!! But now I mostly type...

There are two primary types of cursive letters, did you know that! Google these:

1.  Magic C words

2.  Tow Truck Letters

The cursive C is the key to correcting eighty percent of cursive errors children make, the other twenty percent is corrected by the Tow Truck Letters. But this is only my perception, internet is teeming with ideas you may want to use if you need cursive correction for your child. 

Did you know that, when the child writes with right hand, the right upper corner of the notebook should be tilted upward and for the left handed writer it is the opposite?

Did you know that, it is required for the child to use the free hand to hold the paper or note book when writing. If the child does not do it, name the free hand (left or right as the case may be… for example Charlie Chaplin) and when the free hand is not holding the paper, address Charlie Chaplin to please help her hold the notebook. Hmmm Charlie Chaplin will happily do it!

Okay so now you know…

Dear Readers, I am not an expert in this area and the above are my learning from experts in a meeting with them. I am sharing these ideas because I found them quite helpful as a parent.

Ek Chutki Sindoor.. How it Changes the Life...

My very first impression of marriage was from the Doordarshan Messages against child marriage and early marriage of girls. Marriage was always made to sound as bad as, or even worse than kala pani! And it was always projected as a crime against women, in those messages. It seemed marriage was detrimental to education and self-growth of women. You must marry only after you have finished your studies and worked for a few years, was a clear message. It seemed you can have only one of the two, marriage or happiness. Marriage sounded like an inevitable end to a woman's life. And I wondered if marriage is so bad, why should one even marry.

A similar drama was unfolding in my home, my Mother felt that she had been stunted by her family and kids due to early marriage. Almost every day of my life I have heard her complain how she could not complete her studies and go to work. And to top it, only because of us, she has to slog all day. She had misjudged her life and her stature by many miles. It was a pity to see her suffer as we grew, she was really unhappy.

I concluded that marriage was a dangerous affair. Having children was not far from that. I made weird manifestations of married life. It took a little talk from my brother, who first realised how I felt for marriage, to bring my mind to some kind of a truce with marriage. And I thank him for that from the core of my heart for having done that for me. Because I saw all my dreams coming true only after marriage.

If we leave aside all the ills that society keeps publishing and broadcasting about marriage, it is not a punishment after all. Doordarshan is indeed responsible for bringing up an entire generation of renegade urban girls. Particularly those who did not have parental guidance to help interpret those tragic sounding public messages.

For me, for once, it was like a war. I had to be strong enough before I got into it! Why is marriage made to look like a dangerous weapon aimed against innocent girls? Why are they not made to believe that it is a union of souls, it's about 'Loving, Caring and Sharing', it is about getting a companion for life, it is about finally becoming the master of your own life, it is about having children you can love, it is about making a nest of your own? Why does society make the most beautiful institution, sound like a ghetto for women?

 It is not far from truth for some, think of those heart wrenching torture some women have gone through. Some have survived to tell the story, some were not even allowed to live, burnt alive by the man who swore to protect her all his living life, some became baby making machines, some were beaten mercilessly… And think of women who never will think for themselves! No matter how comfortable a life they live they are just birds in their cages. One look at the plight of these women and I want to declare war against the human psyche, which causes someone to believe they can take woman for granted. I want redemption for every life lost to marriage!

How will the society answer for this? For killing love and making marriage into an assault weapon? What should a mother teach her daughter? To love or to doubt?

I wish I had answers to these questions. But then I learnt that if you, from the core of your heart believe, that the world is good, the world will be good for you. It sounds simplistic, but if destiny can't be controlled, the choice we get is to either go smiling or crying, to meet it every day.

We cannot damn the institution of marriage, it is a support system that has worked for thousands of years. It is a natural choice one makes. Can't help contradicting myself para after para. I am as much as each one of you, looking for answers, because one day, my child will want them for herself...

Dear readers, these are only my perceptions. I am sure some of you have had a more inclusive view about marriage all your lives. 

My Daughter's Father

To be a working mom, there is a simple recipe, Share parenting equally, Mom and Dad. My husband always supports my decisions, whether it was to work after my little angel was born, or to take a break from work, because my daughter needed more attention... She was becoming increasingly aggressive because of some reason and I needed to resolve it once and for all. 

Whatever be the circumstance, whatever be my commitment, father-daughter have always bonded together very well. She has grown up pulling his hair, sitting on his shoulder, taking pictures on his phone and his laptop, playing hide and seek with him, taking a ride in his arms, when she was too tired to walk, playing board games with him and fighting with him to win the games. Just as much as she has done those things with me. I see him tenderly press her head and whisper to her, when he comes down and finds her getting ready for school, put on her socks and shoes for her, even as I protest to let her do it herself. She may as well have two moms... only we both fill a different role...

If I did not go to park with my little one for a few days, I am sure to find that Papa has taught her a new trick or two in the park, whether it was climbing, hanging on monkey bars, walking up the slide, when she was smaller... or playing cricket, football, badminton, tennis, basketball and of course cycling. I must confess that the only sports I ever taught my daughter were, to drench herself in sand, till she was more sand than anything else, and to slide down a slide. Besides that, I have taught her artwork of different kinds, read her long stories from books, over and over till she remembered every word it and even after that, but sport is not my cup of tea. Her father makes sure she skates or cycles regularly, plays some sport regularly and keeps fit. Now that is what moms do, isn't it? 

My friends find it amazing that my husband can come back from work and immediately go to park with her, and also play with her and her friends. Some of the best videos of her are taken by her dad. In fact the one time when my daughter did not see her pic on her dad's phone, because there was a nice pair photo of us on his phone wall paper, she instantly objected to it and changed his wall paper, before he could even utter a word. Such is the relationship of this father-daughter duo. 

I always hoped for such a balance in life and I have it too. My view about fathering comes primarily from a research article published in Readers digest, which I read a few years before my daughter was born. It surprised me in many ways, some of them being:

- Fathers undergo hormonal changes during pregnancy and when their biological child is born.

- Fathers way of playing with kids differs from Mom's, they stimulate the kids by playing tricks with them, often annoying the kid. This is a natural process of preparing the kid for the outside world. Now you know, why you are always mediating between dad and kids when they play!

- Teenage girls, who have their fathers with them, are more balanced and well-adjusted and less prone to get into complicated relationships.

- Boys and girls alike are less prone to get into drug abuse.

- Children are more confident, choose good careers and do well in their careers, foster better relationships and are happy in their lives.  

Do you still think that mothers are the only indispensable pillar of the family? Would you still only say that, 'No one can love a child like a mother'? Wouldn't you also add, 'No one can love a child like a father'!? And that is equally true, because Mothers can't be Fathers.

Well, knowing all that, I have decided to play the tailor bird between father and daughter, when things go out of hand. But other times, which is most of the time, they are like best of pals. Fighting, shouting and playing with each other, without needing me much.

Therefore, I was quite surprised when my daughter started complaining to her Grand-parents (Papa's Mom and Dad) about him. We were visiting them for a vacation. I got to know that, she is quite upset with her dad. She wants many things to change in her dad, like how he troubles and irritates her, how he becomes hard on her when disciplining her etc etc...

I was surprised... I knew her concerns and I thought they were more or less under control. So I asked her one day, playfully... "Did you tell Dadi (Grand-mom) something about Papa?"

She was whispering now, "She is Papa's Mamma, so she will take care of him..." 

I said laughing, "It is good that you share your thoughts with your grandparents, but my dear, now Dadi does not have much influence on papa. Not like Mamma has, tell me what you want fixed about Papa."

We were both laughing now, she had many "Why Mamma", in between the little conversation we had. But now I knew, this was her nasty trick on her Papa, to get one up with him. All is fair in love and war... She had it all figured out, her influence over Dada and Dadi. Parent's influence over their son, in this case her papa. Hmmm some devious tricks up her sleeve huh! 

Dear Child Psychology Buster, Did You Ever Meet My Daughter?

Those child psychology tips online can sometimes lead you to misunderstand your kids’ psychological capacity. Some may work on older kids, like when they are thirty, not certainly on my bundle of joy, who is just seven (pun is intended). One such advice that I took very seriously was, 'how to make your kid do what you want her to...' like brush teeth, bathe, eat, play and sleep, in time.... Did I hear you all laugh at me? The LOL is loud and clear! So you know all about it... I seem to have just called out the elephant in the room. I can imagine some moms, with sore throat from calling out their kid all day, becoming really interested in this post... Oh I will hide nothing, this blog is just for you.

I read this about a month back, that if you want your seven year old to do what you think she should be doing... while she firmly thinks that dressing and undressing Barbie, making paper boats, drawing lines on paper, making art work out of little twigs, reading Geronimo Stilton is what she was born to do, everything else must and should be done by her boring and completely under informed parents, including feeding her after having found her mouth open, whenever she feels like it!... The post said that you should keep repeating the instruction, once every few seconds, mind you calmly and firmly, like a robot. It’s not like you lose your cool once in a while and say hey kiddo enough okay... I have said it a thousand times, now I am hiding your toy, feeding your book to the dog and such mild threats, with gentle rap at her butt etc... On the contrary, you should strictly stick to using words and clear short instructions, no ire and anger please. For example don't keep saying, "Go brush your teeth, change your clothes, brush your hair, clean your room, pack your bag and go to sleep…” every few seconds. Don't say that for God's sake, think about your lung capacity and her unique capability to completely filter out 'Parent voices'! 

Tell her gently one thing at a time, 'Go brush your teeth'. It is believed that after seven to eight repetition, she will listen and also do what she is asked to do. Hmmm I immediately shared this with my husband, with a victorious smile. I thought I had nailed it, generations of mother can benefit from it. One look at that incredulous smile on his face was enough to tell me, he was doubting it… The combined knowledge of all psychologist community and my mother's instinct. Or maybe he just knew my daughter's inability to empathise with the psychological breakthroughs in a quest to make kids more manageable and therefore more lovable. I put it to test none-the-less, left alone in my quest by my better half, the man who swore to be by my side in good and in bad. How easily water flows over that rickety contract! Just kidding! 

I tried and here is what happened... I told my daughter, 'Chiku go and brush your teeth!' firm and clear, after dinner on a school night, when my BP begins to play up, worrying if she did not have enough sleep she will fall sick etc etc.. Everyone in my house and any eavesdropping neighbour would easily hear what I said. (Please Note: My neighbours are all wonderful people, no one eavesdrops, and this is just on a jocular vein, each one of my neighbours are my pillar of support).

Chiku was busy, something really important had come up. Probably it was the shoe of a Barbie doll, the size of a large mosquito or a flipper of a diver from her Lego set, about the same size or smaller, that was not to be found and had to be found immediately. She did what she does to 'parent voices', she filtered it. I repeated again and again and again, maybe seventeen times or maybe twenty two, much to my husband's amusement. And then the purported miracle did happen. She got up, yelled that she is going and she went to brush her teeth. Very soon she was back at whatever she thought was important and now my next short instruction to her was, please change into night dress. After about six times I realised that, if I was ever sending her to school the next day, some desperate measures were needed...

Jokes apart, yes, it is difficult to make kids understand the value of time, to comply with rules, to finish up their tasks, to clean up their room, to get into bath, to come home from play, to eat all their grains, pulses, vegetables and fruits, if you are not already in a panic anxiety after reading all this, there is more to it. I read this somewhere, 'the choice is yours, whether you want compliant kids or confident ones' looks like, the twain does not meet! 

Dear Readers: This article is just on a jocular vein. It is not intended to question the psychology profession to which I am indebted to the core. Please also read my blogs ‘Our Little Chatterboxes’ and ‘It’s Okay to Cry’  

Oh MIL... What If You Were My Girl Friend!

I have survived a very disturbed childhood, have witnessed very strained relationships. If you cannot imagine how detrimental a family can sometimes be, welcome to my ex-world. There you will see deep craters where there should have been deep trust, incendiary remarks, where there should have been torches of hope and happiness, all out agonistic outbursts, where there should have been hugs and kisses. And why may I ask? Because this family was made by two individuals, who thought that others had been cruel to them, and therefore they earned the right to neglect and cruelty. This story of dysfunctional family is not very unconventional. Flagrant families are not inconceivable either. Must say they are invariably complicated.

When I got married I had no idea what relationships were made of. I did not know what love is, when it is exercised within a family. I decided at the very beginning, that I would treat my In-Laws as parent of my closest friend. No strings attached. Completely ignore whatever I did not like about them and appreciate everything good about them. This is the recipe for the best of relationships. Did my blistered past not come in between? Yes, it did indeed. I have seen many futile incongruous events, which I partially caused and partially got drawn into. Relationships are not for the faint hearted. You have to make your heart several sizes bigger, to take in all that comes with those relationships and to still keep them working.

Going by my experience of complex relationships, I have concluded that, most important thing in a relationship is the face time. If you know a person with whom you can have a quality face time, never leave her at the wrong side of you for too long. If you do not have quality face time with a person, don't even bother with complaining about him, he should be pitied.

But here is a woman who is the master of positive face-time, my MIL. In her presence time just flies. It’s like sitting with a dear friend at the bank of a silent stream and lazily throwing stones into the water or just pulling out random blades of grass from around where you sit and listening to tales old and new. We can chat endlessly. And she is like my friend philosopher and guide. She taught me, 'Love thy neighbour', 'Never deduct from your maid's pay' and many such nuggets of wisdom, which only a seasoned home maker knows. And oh yes, how to make momos and jalebies. After my daughter came in our world, I have taken every sound advice she ever gave to me. Massage her well, speak positive in her presence, give her lots of love, "girls need a lot more love", as she would put it!

I remember many times wishing she was my girlfriend rather than my MIL. She is neither perfect nor extraordinary. But there is one thing she has done extraordinarily well. Love her children and raise them tenderly. I am just learning that tenderness and love watching and learning her little tricks and improvising upon them. It would be nice if I did not have any reserves with her. If we could just chat and giggle and be friends no matter what. It’s a good thought to hold on to.

In many ways she made up for the things my mother had no idea even existed. My mother, as much a sufferer as the cause. It’s the same for all of us. You either solve the problem or be it. You are never on the fence. So I would not like to complain about who caused the most havoc, the wildfire does not ask which tree started it. It just engulfs and cinders the entire jungle, innocent and guilty!

Sitting at the edge of a little place at a very scenic spot, in a school, as my daughter takes her art class, I listen to four happy women, chatting fondly about their childhood, home and memories, I cringe once again. That is exactly what I don't have in common with them, fond memories. But ask me about creating new ones and I would be the most verbose in the group. 

Dress Your Age... What Age Am I Anyway?

I am growing... actually I have been all my life, that is what humans do best. They grow up, they grow tall, they grow out of their clothes, they grow into something, awesome, fine, beautiful, charming or balanced (like breakfast cereals!) and then they grow old... I have no control over that. There is one thing I can control, what age I feel! I feel seven with my seven year old, I feel sixteen when I am dressing up, I feel twenty when I am reading a junk fiction, I feel twenty five when I am cooking, I feel thirty when I am working, I feel thirty five when I read 'chik lit', I feel forty when I read Thomas Piketty, I feel fifty when I read J Krishnamurty and I feel ageless when I meditate. In spite of all the commotion in my mind about my own age, I find, women have an unspoken pact to dress age appropriate. What should I wear? Or should I keep changing as per mood?  

I cannot forget this one page write-up, at the back page of a reputed newspaper. This was about a fifty-five year old, medium overweight woman (I add that detail of 'over-weight', because that is what made me judgmental about her), in red and yellow coordinated micros and minis and low cut tops, with the highest of high heels, gorgeous make-up, fab hairstyle and the most happening fashion jewellery, all gold and diamond, because she could afford it. At fifty-five you can afford a lot, no kidding! I could almost smell her perfume. Her dress and her style did not all look appropriate to me, I must confess. To her merit, she knew how to carry the awesomely out of place cloths. She had a sex-appeal of a 35 year old. She knew exactly how to show off her legs and her attitude for a glossy photo. She was a fashionista! I don't remember her profession or other details. 

I was still in some mould, back then. Pleasing others was the single most important goal of my life, like many other women my age.  My immediate reaction... "If I cannot wear a micro and low cut tops even at 30, what with my slender tall figure, and the advantage of age and beauty on my side, how can this woman confidently show off her 55 year old body, so proudly and unabashedly? Oh she is a snob," I concluded, "she would not know what the world goes through... Would be blissfully unaware of famines and droughts and disasters the world over, and pandemic, and starvation and wars and Ethiopia and Somalia, because she is too busy putting on her make-up." I was judgmental to the core. As if, in my sleeved up jumpsuits, I was sitting tight and worrying myself sick about the world issues! Each one of us do our bit for those serious issues, but on a day-to-day basis, we have our breakfast, lunch and dinner in measured intervals and go to bed daily to get enough sleep. 

What struck me about the article though, was why should a reputed newspaper choose such an obscure topic to write on? Why do I have to visit the personal wardrobe of a fifty five year old woman and appreciate the scarves and the jewelleries and the clothes and the socks and the shoes and get acquainted with her personal fashion designer? And now I understand... this article was about feeling young inside, as your body ages from the outside, inevitably. Women keep forgetting to do that. At 30 we are still young and we don't really know how it is to be older. How it is to see the first strand of white hair on our head and realise, that the earth will not stop revolving around the sun anytime soon, but our body... oh, it will be ashes one day. Why start 'courting the ashes' before we get there? Why dress to impress others, when we have the liberty to impress ourselves and love ourselves every living moment? Why fall in a mould - Unless we are a fine cake batter? Let others get jealous of us for our spunk, let us be free to choose what we wear, whatever it is. No one will shed too many tears over our ashes when we get there, we will not want them to. No one will reward us for being old ladies, when we have the choice of being young, energetic, charismatic, charming, spontaneous individuals till... ashes ashes we all fall down! 

Why deny ourselves the sartorial pleasure. The ever changing fashion: Chiffon, georgette, silk cotton, jute. Short dresses, minis, micros tights, culottes, palazzo, shorts, sarees, kurtis, jumpers, jumpsuits in red, blue black orange purple or mango yellow, floral or striped or fringes, frills and furs. Low-cut tops, spaghetti, bustier, off shoulder, sleeveless, turtle neck. Red, blue, orange, purple lipsticks with glitter or matte. Green, orange, blue, brown, translucent nail polishes. High heels, low heels, medium heels, boots, pumps, belles.  Jewelleries in pearls, diamond, gold, silver, white metal, terracotta or some junk. Eye shadow, mascara, concealer, eye liner, glitters and polishes. And of-course the perfumes... No one told me I can't buy or wear something that is on sale! Once in a while, if I find I am dressed all wrong, would I stop loving myself? Oh no... On the contrary, I must believe I am beautiful and the world loves and adores me. No one else but I need to believe that!

What we cloth in, decides our age too. Because it’s not the real age, it’s what everyone thinks we are, that is truly our real age. Our body does not have a pact with the SUN! No one dictates its aging process besides us ourselves. If our "body year" is longer than 365 days, so be it, this is not hiding age! This is assessing the right age as per our body's calibre. This is called asset revaluation in commerce! Never go by the calendars. In fact let’s add a few months in our own personal calendars, to make the years longer and more fun. A 600 day calendar is what I would like to see, when counting number of years of my life! One day, no matter what calendar we follow we will be ashes... that is true. But before that, we are all blood and veins and breath and vanity, the world makes no exception for numbers. We are all struggling for the same trophy... Radiant Survival!

I Just Changed My Past!

What is past if not the memories? Vague images! Some true, some fictional. Should a whiff of wind just overturn an image, you might find the past has changed for you!

Leena and Madhu were sisters. One day when they were returning home from school, when Leena was ten and Madhu eight, they heard a loud noise from behind the trees in the mangrove, beyond the boundary wall. Their school was just across the grove. Aaaaa! A loud shrill cry for help and then silence.... and sound of feet scampering. The two girls walked on, Madhu was panicking now. 

She imagined, ghosts and kidnappers and all sorts of images. Once they had crossed the mangrove Madhu asked Leena, "what was that? I got really scared." 

Leena, who was tall enough to look across the boundary wall around the grove said, "I couldn't see it clearly, I saw a pair of grass scissors and a boy running away. Funny, what could that be?" And then after thinking a bit she added in a dramatic way, "Let us keep this a secret Madhu, what if that man with the scissors has seen us and comes after us, if he finds out that we told our parents about it!"

Madhu thought that made sense. She had to be careful, what if she gets into some morbid, dreadful trouble. She constructed manifestations of the event in her mind, most of them related to gruesome killing of the boy or enslaving him to beg on streets, after making him blind etc etc... 

"How was school?" their mother met them at the door of their little home with a garden, not very far from the mangrove. Madhu looked really scared and Mom asked her, "What happened?" 

Madhu would not let out a word. Her mother hugged and cuddled her and made her feel safe, but when Madhu refused to open up, mom gave up for the moment. She asked the kids to have the yummy meal that was waiting for them at the dining table. Mom went about with checking the homework and lunchboxes of the kids. 

Madhu had eaten only half of her snack at school, mom chided her gently and lovingly. Leena had a lot of homework that evening, mom spent some time planning how it would be completed. She then turned to Madhu and sat down with her. The kid sure looked scared and silent. Before she could strike a conversation, Madhu's friend called her up to play, Madhu was looking her normal self on hearing from her friend. She remained that way, till she came back home from play, till she had had her dinner, till she had had the pillow fight with her sister. Once in bed she had trouble sleeping that night, but eventually the whole matter had been put to rest.

Madhu asked her mother to come pick her up from school the next day. Dad used to drop them to school. The girls would walk back home on their own, because the school was just a stone's throw away from home right across the mangrove. The roads were safe, Leena was old enough to walk a few hundred meter on her own. Mom did not mind going to pick them up that day, knowing that Madhu had been really scared the day before. She hoped that, whatever it was that scared Madhu, would pass away on its own. Try as she would, Madhu would not say a word.

For weeks this pattern continued. Mom did not mind coming to pick the girls, as she got that time to chat with them, without distraction. Slowly Madhu stopped asking to be picked up and things were normal again. Or so it seemed. 

As Madhu grew up, her parents noticed that she was not be as bold as Leena was. She needed company to go out. If Leena could not come, Mom or Dad had to fill in. Oh, the parents said, "All kids are different! Let her be, she will eventually grow out of it." Sometimes they complied with Madhu's demands, at other times they refused, or were just too tied up to help. At times Madhu would not go out to play, because no one was coming with her to drop her to a friend's house. 

Over years Madhu realised her fear would not leave her, no matter what. She might have been fourteen when one fine afternoon after school, as the two girls had their meal, while casually chatting with their mother, Madhu mentioned... you know Mamma, we never told this to you, a boy was killed in that mangrove one afternoon, when we were coming home from school. We were afraid he would come after us if we told you and Papa.

Leena snapped, "That's ridiculous! I don't remember, when was that? I can’t imagine such a thing." 

"But you were right there with me!" Persisted Madhu. "You told me not to tell anyone."

It was then that Leena burst out laughing, "Are you talking about that day!!!! Oh I remember that! I was fooling you...The Gardener's son was playing with him and he was scaring the kid playfully, with a pair of grass scissors. The kid just shouted out in a peek-a-boo game and ran off fast, so we could not hear him after the loud shrill cry. What did you imagine?!!"

"You said I should not tell anyone! I was scared and I did not!" Madhu said at length, "You said that man would come after us, remember?" And then after a pause, "but why didn't we hear the boy again?"

"How would I know? I used to see him in the grove sometimes, and sometimes hear him laughing too. Maybe you did not notice!" 

"I thought that was the boy's ghost! And then after some time the laughter also disappeared." Said Madhu now becoming really interested in this revelation.

"Yes," said Leena, "After some time I did not see the boy and the gardener anymore, he was replaced by an old man."

"When I was older and able to see across, I kept thinking that old man was the killer! I was always afraid he would recognise us and come after us." Said Madhu trembling a little as she remembered it.

Leena made faces at Madhu and said, "It is so easy to fool you Madhu!"

But Mom was not amused at all. She probed, is that why you are scared of going out alone Madhu?  

It was quite some time since the incident, Madhu was not quite sure!

But the very next day Madhu was peering into the mangrove and walking home all by herself. Leena had a special class and she needed to stay back at school that day.