A date with the Grocery Store

I don't know why they stopped having small provision stores and replaced them with large supermarkets. I couldn't wait to race out of those claustrophobic shops, smelling of rice, oil and cardboard boxes, littered with rat shit and cockroaches. Buying necessities was so damn irksome. I remember, at around age 13, I saw sanitary napkins in the glass desk of a local grocer, displayed within lock and key! I announced aloud, "we should buy that," because I thought sanitary napkins meant paper napkins, I simply ignored the word sanitary. It would take me another 2 years to find out what they really were. Yes, I am a lucky one in this respect. But that day I was far from lucky, my Mother, of the traditional breed, looked embarrassed and severely upset, She would disown me that day, if that was even remotely possible. All hell broke loose on me. Those were the days when such faux-pas was even possible. These days the supermarkets are air conditioned and arranged like an art gallery or a museum. I walk into these super stores quite frequently and mostly never feel the need to leave the place unless under duress. 

As I walk in, the first thing that greets me are items I can do without.  for example rice, dal and salt will be hidden at the back of the store but candies, chocolates, sweets, cigarettes are kept in the front. I have never known anyone dying for want of these later items. I have heard of many dying of over consumption of some of these. Truth is I don't need them, but the packaging is awesome. They could become an artist’s muse!! Hair colours come next. I would certainly not need that product, I prefer visiting the parlour if I need any hair colouring. But the glowing smiles of models on the packages are really tempting. No harm looking at the packaging, reading the contents etc. even if I don't need the product, purely academic interest. 

Shampoos and Conditioners takes a whole isle. And still more often than not the product I was looking for is absent. Shower gel and soap take up another aisle and I don't have any idea which one is worth its claim. The price tags can be deceptive. Pricing is mostly for the packaging, not necessarily for the quality of product packed / hidden in the packaging. 

By this time I have come near batteries, cigarettes and condoms. Why they appear together, no one knows. Why are there no iPills? I wonder, like any self-respecting feminist would do. And also some pepper mint for the smokers appear right next to the cigarette packs. I repeat to myself for no particular reason, 'cigarette smoking is injurious to health', and even question why do some people smoke? I am so distracted by now, I have forgotten why I came to the store in the first place. Feminism and shunning substance abuse was not on my list till that moment. 

I still have to drag myself to the unglamourous rice and dal aisle, but first I turn towards the snacks isle. And there they are, fried, salted, tasteful, silent killers. Finally I heave a sigh of relief, I can pick at-least a few of these! And I do. Sweets come next, mouth-watering, delicious, loaded with sugar and completely unnecessary. I pick some again. 

I remember the sanitary napkins, I always pick them up with the first few items, because that way it will get hidden under the other things I stack on the cart. Well they are also stacked on half of an aisle. I pick the one I always buy and leave hastily. Being caught when buying this item is a cardinal sin. In fact sanitary napkins are like Christmas presents, we make everyone believe that they are delivered by Santa (the female version maybe) through the non-existent chimney, right into the back side of our personal wardrobes.

At this point I realise that I must have forgotten something. But before I can think what, the buy one get one on the toilet papers catch my attention and I pick two packs, though I must admit, that the house is already stacked up with them, as if we are preparing for a toilet paper famine. Right next to the toilet papers are the fanciest utensils in china and steel and glass, which I don't need. But no harm looking at them, and they are all on sale. I marvel these fine exhibits with awe and despair for some time, only to remember that I forgot to pick the popcorns at the snacks aisle. I return, to notice on my way that the tapioca chips are back, they were not there last week, I pick two packs of that too.

Before I can reach the rice, I cross another aisle of juices and squashes. The green ones look awesome and then there are those purple, amber and red ones. Yes, you guessed it right, besides the flavour, I pick my squash for their colour too! I pick one and then add a bottle of soda too, to give the squash a punch. The freezer is right there, I take in… the cheese and curd and butter and bread spreads and tofu and paneer and khowa and flavoured yogurt and batters, before I pick one pack of idli-dosa batter and a pack of cheese spread and move to the rice and dal.

It takes me just five minutes to pick these essential items. 5Kg rice, 1 kg each of four varieties of dal, 5 kg aata, a kg each of besan, chura and suji. A kg of sugar and a kg of salt, two litres of oil and a dozen of eg

I walk to the house cleaning products aisle and pick some regular stuff, I seem to be done. But there is a vanity section in the store, I rush to it to fill myself in with all the novelties occupying more floor space than the essentials. I don’t need any of those items, lipstick, nail polish, eyeliner, concealer, compact powder, eye shadow, rouge, mousse, serum, gels, face masks etc etc etc

The sausages and ice-creams are kept in the freezer just on my way out, with sliding glass lids. I marvel them, though ever since I became diet conscious I have not been having any of those. But oh the awe of looking at them.

After another half an hour, I am rescued from the store by a phone call from home. Alpha calling Charlie type call. Mamma come back I am alone, scared and I cannot find the TV remote type emergency. I bill and climb into my car like a Viking returning from a successful raid with her spoils. As I am about to drive, I pull out the grocery list. Uh oh I forgot the onions and the drain declogger! But I spent 2 hours and paid a lofty sum at the store!

Precipice

Arun looked up at the hill just across him, and wondered, what it takes to climb it. Raju had done it just last week, all the way up to the top and had come down, with only a few scratches on his knees. It couldn't be very tough. But Arun, he would never go up to the top of the highest peak in the village, therefore he would never be a man. The village tradition dictated it. He would always be a lesser man, never enough.

Presently Raju was coming towards him. He had been bragging about his climb to Lamba Pahar ever since he came back from his trek. Arun prepared himself to be party to some munificent brag session. "Listen to him and ignore him," He could hear his mother telling him.

"Hey Arun, how are you?" Queried Raju flippantly, not appearing much interested in learning how he fared. Arun just smiled back condescendingly. He had learned this trick, as more and more of his friends conquered Lamba Pahar and he kept falling further and further behind, culturally.

Raju did not wait for the response anyway, he went on, "You know it is not very difficult till you get to the last 100 meters, even you could do it. The last 100 meter though tests your manhood. It is certainly not meant for women, I can vouch for that, I have been there. There are these two rocky pillars, one about a feet taller than the other, there is a wide gap there, between the two towers. And the only way you go across is by jumping. And everyone chickens out just there. That is why Raghav went there three times, before he completed the whole trail. But I had gone there with one and only one aim, do or die. I did it at the very first instance. Didn't give much thought to it, before I knew it, I had gone across."

Arun listened to him intently, he was not ignoring Raju, he was hanging on to every word Raju spoke. He loved to listen to this part. He knew somehow that this was the spot of transformation and he hoped one day he could also transform. But he was not climbing the Lamba Pahar, he reminded himself for the n'th time. He looked up at the sky and smiled. Just a smile with no particular objective.

Latika, the free spirited girl of the village, was presently coming towards them. Raju whistled aloud, Arun cowered with embarrassment, Latika couldn't care less, she shouted at Raju from 100 meters away, "look what the new man of the village is up to. You just wait, I am going to Lamba Pahar very soon and then I will whistle at you."

Raju laughed an audacious, deprecating laugh. "Women are not allowed anywhere near the Lamba Pahar, let alone climb it. You will be burnt alive if you as much as try to touch one stone of that hill. And who do you think will fire you up first?" He was demeaning and suggestive. Dripping arrogance. 

"We'll see," Shouted back Latika, ignoring Raju's leering smile, Arun shyly looked on at her, disappearing in the dusk.

"Look at you, you are all pink and blushing," interjected Raju. "Women are not to be treated with that much importance. You want her to notice you, you whistle at her. She should know who is in charge. I know all about it, I am a man after all." Boasted Raju. Arun now knew it was time to give him a deaf ear. He did so.

Raju continued bloviating another twenty minutes, when they saw Latika coming back, she must have gone to the forest for her evening duty, she was the only girl who refused to go in a group and also the only one to go to the forest instead of the edge of the village, where all the other village women went. Raju whistled again at her, "look who is back so quick, couldn't stay away from me I believe. I have climbed Lamba Pahar, but I would not as much as look at a girl like you, who goes about her business in the jungle. But if you want, I can come with you to the forest, you know what I mean?"

Latika did not speak, she just walked right up to Raju, smiled and crash landed a slap right across Raju's face. Livid, Raju slapped Latika back with such force, she stumbled and fell on the ground, her shoulder hitting a rock. squirming with pain, Latika got back on her feet, a little dazed.

"You coward, you dare to eve tease me! I will teach you a lesson." She pounced at Raju with blood shot eyes.

"I am the man you bitch, I will show you how to behave with a man," Raju screamed and held Latika by her wrist and twisted it back. Latika kicked him between his legs, Raju screeched in pain, "Don't keep reminding everyone that you are a man, or you will get it very often." Latika scorned Raju.

When Raju turned towards Latika again, Arun knew that look. He walked towards her menacingly, held her left leg and dragged her to the ground, once she fell, Raju began tearing off Latika's clothes, holding her mouth shut. 

Arun kept a sickle on the side of the wheel-chair, to protect himself from the wild animals. He was the cowherd on wheels as the village called him. He only wanted to stop Raju. He cared for Latika. He stuck with the sickle on the head, Raju was bleeding.

"You bastard," he turned and shouted at Arun, but those were his last words. Raju was dead.

"I can't let him do that to you," Arun kept repeating. He could still see his mother being held back, her mouth shut with one hand of the assailant, the other digging into her clothes, he could see himself tossed to the corner of the room, bleeding and scared. That was the last he saw his mother alive. He had limped and run to her rescue, but he was too small for the assailant.

Latika was back on her feet and she was holding Arun's hands and assuring him that it was over.

Raju looked up at Latika, her eyes a mix of anger, fear, frustration and just a trace of gratitude, as she looked on at him. For the very first time in his life, Arun was not inhibited by his polio "Does that make me a man?" He asked Latika in a husky voice he couldn't believe was his. 

Men Are Going To Mars To Let Us Sleep

Everyone was rolling in laughter as Sarita shared jokes on everyday life. Her friends believed she could be a great stand-up comedian. In her presence, they naturally got caught in a flurry of satire, comedy and slapsticks, that brought out squeals of laughter. Today the girls were talking about sleepless nights. Thanks to their children's final exams, the stress was taking a toll on them. And Sarita was prodding them with her comic responses.

This was the ladies get together that the neighbourhood women indulged in every month. 15 girls in all, got together, to just laugh their way out of their worries, after their children had gone to school. It was largely enhanced by Sarita's jocularity. Everyone looked forward to it. 

Sarita had been silent for some time. People had distributed into small groups and were sharing stories and jokes, the room was filled with murmur of overlapping conversations. Sarita called everyone's attention by chinking her sherbet glass with a spoon in a very toastmaster attitude. She said, “Girls I am proud to share with you this piece of fantastic news. And this time I am serious.” Her friends became serious too. They did not get to see Sarita serious very often, so they fell silent, some in surprise and some in anticipation. She announced, “Girls, I slept 8 hours non-stop last night, as I have done every day of my life since I was a baby." 

Everyone waited for more, but there was nothing more coming. Sarita sat down and started sipping her sherbet. The hostess embarrassed and confused, cheered for Sarita. More like dousing fire than lighting the flame. And then to everyone's surprise, Sarita stood up again and said, "How many of you believed me? No kidding! Did you really!" 

Now the joke was on them, and they began to laugh! First mildly and then louder and louder. 

“But this is no joke,” someone said. And now people began squealing with laughter, eyes watering. “We don't sleep we are actually the zombie association,” someone quipped.

Sarita had more coming. She waited for the laughter to die down, and then she continued, “You know what I saw when I entered my house the other day? My spirit was sleeping on my bed and that is when I realised for the first time, how I manage to do so much every day.” She could hear murmurs of spirit on bed? What spirit?

“And if you want to know what my spirit was doing away from me,” Sarita answered, “do you really need one to go around doing grocery, washing clothes, picking up laundry, driving children to and fro in crazy traffic? I thought I could do with a little less baggage and I let it go home.” Now people caught the joke…

“I was okay with my spirit sleeping without me,” Sarita caught them in the midst of bursting into a laugh, “till it kicked me off from my bed and said don't you have work to do?” Now some women were already laughing aloud, “So I decided to kill my spirit.” Said Sarita solemnly, “But that fellow is a real survivor.” It asked, “You too? Aren’t there enough number of people killing your spirit already?” Sarita said wistfully, “It saw me confused and it fell back to sleep.” The laughter now was a din.  

“And did you know what my maid told me today?” Now Sarita brought the emotional and highly charged subject of maids into her comedy. People silenced. Sarita Continued, she said, “I want a raise!” I asked, “Why?” She said, “You hardly sleep and you make the house dirty when you are up. Compensate me for that extra work.” I asked, “How?” “She showed me my ice-cream bowl, snack wrappers and liberal smattering of crumbs on the floor, my midnight snacks. She also pointed to the broken vase, which fell in my effort to walk around in the dark, so as not to wake someone up. I reasoned, that if I can do without spirit, I can do without light too!” Squeals were drowning Sarita’s voice, so she took a break to have some snack, while others urged her to go on.

“The other day I heard Narendra Modi, our honourable Prime Minister, in a speech,” she continued, “he said, he doesn’t sleep too long.” I looked at my snoring husband and said Lier! Anyway he is the prime minister. He better get less sleep, else who is going to permit surgical strikes if he sleeps. But who am I! No Prime Minister, no celebrity or no tycoon. Why am I up?” Sarita ended with a wide eyed, innocent, questioning gesture. The laughter now getting even more boisterous.

“You know what my husband said the other day?” Sarita was at her next quip. One on her husband was unavoidable. He said, “Buy yourself a lullaby track maybe that will make you sleep. I don't understand why you keep getting up in the night?” I said to him, “No wonder you can’t hear the alarm at 7 in the morning. Have you ever heard the kids? They cry in the night sometimes.” He asked, “really?” so nonchalantly as if it was an epiphany. I took the chance to ask him, does he have a volume shut button in his ear? And he looked at me incredulously, as if I am from Venus and He is from Mars. People were now gasping for breath with laughter, their jaws aching, but there was no stopping Sarita.

“And that is the whole problem, Venus and Mars.” Sarita said alluding to a book which claims that ‘Women are from Venus and Men are from Mars’. “The bloody sun is so hot at Venus, why did they have to get us from Venus?” She paused, “Someone, I think that crack, Elon Musk, is taking all men back to Mars! At this point her audience howled in laughter. “What should we women do?” Sarita kept a straight face as she continued. “We have no one taking us to Venus. The last one who tried was, well nobody! Nobody ever tried going to Venus and that is how it will be.”

“I think there is an international conspiracy by men, we women are not aware of.” Sarita spoke in a whispering tone. “Did you notice how hot the Earth is becoming? Those men kept saying it’s a man’s world and made it hot like Venus! Men can't take it anymore, so they will just leave the planet, so we can save it from further destruction.” The haw-Haw was uncontrollable.

“Have you seen how many men are storing their semen in the freezer?” Sarita said conspiratorially. She had to stop, for laughter to die down.  “We will have no problem when they are gone! I don't know what those guys will do! Maybe take the robot Sophia with them.” Another uproarious laughter took over.

“Anyway. Who cares what they will do. Think of what we will do with the time.” Sarita said in a meaningful tone. “We will finally get to know what this 8 hour sleep is, which they keep talking about.” The women were now, not just squealing with laughter, they were crying with laughter! It was lunch time and the group had had a great time. But they all wondered will they ever get that sleep?

I Want a Baby

Angela sat in the passenger's seat as I navigated homeward from work, 5 kilometres of straight road, made in hell. Angela was pregnant and in her eighth month and so was I. It was a series of co-incidences which brought us together. I saw Angela first in my apartment and then at my office and then at the Lamaze class I was attending in a nearby hospital. I caught up with her at work one day and illuminated her about the coincidences. She may not have noticed me for the same reason that I did. She is European and therefore stands out in the crowd, while I am a local and therefore quite hidden in the crowd.

Angela turned out to be fun to be with. Her boyfriend lived in Delhi and she worked in Bangalore. Being a person of foreign origin, she had a work permit in India and it lasted only till she had a job in India. And now that she was pregnant, with a man of Indian origin, she wanted to marry him and stay back. She saw a better prospect for herself here than back in her own country.

As we talked about this and that while we drove back home, Bangalore traffic, colleagues etc., Angela mentioned another European friend at office who was single-ready-to-mingle. What she said next was humbling. I would not have understood it if I was not myself a soon to be mom. She said that her friend Joan, wants to have a child now and therefore is looking to be in a relationship. 

I was speechless to say the very least. East was meeting west and getting to know each other! Isn't it true for every woman? At one point in our lives, we want a child, more than a happy relationship, more than a soulmate, more than true love, more than a companion for life, we want the child. It is probably our body clock ticking. We have a short shelf life when it comes to bearing babies. This biological need makes us prone to making commitment, as long as we get the baby any man will do. It makes us vulnerable in the hands of men. A woman in such compromise, is identifiable. And the hell it wrecks to her relationship is no secret.

1100 kilometres away in Bombay, another friend, in an abusive marriage, echoed the same sentiment. “I wish he would agree to have a baby,” she confided ruefully in me one day, “I don't care about how he treats me.” I did care how he treated her but I remained silent. Since nothing much changed in her marriage for six years, she finally separated: divorced, happy and empowered yet feeling incomplete, not for the absence of the relationship but for being child-less. Today she regrets giving the best years of her life to the abusive relationship and finds it hard, as she nears her forties, to admit that she may not bear a child. Her regret is palpable, radioactive. It drills through my bone whenever it comes up. I wish I would never have to discuss this with her, ever.

2500 kilometres away in Jharkhand, another friend is coming to terms with the same pain. Al-be-it in a different package. She married only when she was into her forties. The pressure to bear a child came to her from her own family. Being in a position to be able to share my opinion, one day I tried to argue the dangers of bearing a baby at forty. None-the-less she did give it a try. She admitted to accepting the idea of adoption only after four years of trying. Time is ticking for her. She will be in her fifties before she really gives in to adoption. I hate to judge her for her angst. She is not to blame. She deserves compassion. Is there a way to console her for the hormones she never experienced, even though she was capable? It’s like tearing away the vagina from a woman.

My European friend, Angela, after she had her baby, was brimming with joy. In a desperate move, searching for the security, European women are no more wont to, she moved to Delhi with her boyfriend. Hoping he would marry her. Risking her job and career in India. But her relationship had turned sore and abusive. She soon returned to her home country, with her child, to a difficult life of a single parent. But she had what she wanted. Today she is happy for the choices she made. The hormones, the baby and the love all settled with that one little individual.

My other friends let go of their real need. Did they have a choice? It is not feminine in our culture to seek happiness. It is not even feminine to admit to the need to be a mother. Because the implication itself is enough to tarnish an unmarried girl. Therefore they waited. Too much was put at stake over an unpredictable occurrence. And then they learnt, the hard way, that babies don’t just occur out of marriage. But they were so unprepared to see this in the first place.

I remember the woman I met at a training I attended once, years ago. She was a single mother to an adopted child. An Indian, she obviously did not dare to have a baby of her own when she chose not to marry. She seemed so fulfilled, she was simply ecstatic. But did she never regret losing out on the joy of bearing a baby?

Modern women vehemently oppose the idea of having a baby and letting go of career, yet wanting a baby is so natural. It is absolutely unavoidable! Women want babies, and often they submit to commitment, to get just that. Most often than not, such commitments are compromise, not marriage. Fertility clinics flourish for the metrosexual. Because in their fertile years, women work and make money. But they can’t do without baby, so they go for the next best option.

I know how I tugged on to every moment of my baby's first few years of life, as I do now too. She is 10 now. I can't imagine life without her. 

Not that we don’t want a lover, a companion, a partner in life. We want them all. We want a husband, who can be our friend for life. But we can do very well in their absence too! Let me tell you what we cannot do without. We cannot do without a baby of our own. It is like having a fairyland on earth. The need for a baby is so intense, sometimes women even steal babies. 

It is time we all empathise with, understand and encourage a woman who says, ‘I want a Baby!’

Author's Note: Dear Readers, this blog is written based on true incidents. However all names have been changed to maintain privacy.

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. 

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?

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.