Letting Go

An edited version of this appeared in a parenting column I sometimes write for an online newsmagazine in Bangalore. And just because I mentioned parenting don't think that you will find anything of great importance here. Just the regular vent of a mildly neurotic mom.   

These days when we get back from Wednesday evening drums class (which incidentally is in our vast and not very secure apartment complex), I let A boy cycle it to our building all alone. In keeping with tradition, I start off by shouting instructions loud: Keep to the side/watch out for cars/don't go fast, etc, etc. It doesn't last long as he is out of my line of vision soon enough.

When I reach our building, I find A boy waiting near the elevator, thrilled to bits at having tasted freedom.

I can finally understand what Lenore Skenazy was getting at. Sort of anyway*.

In 2008, New York based writer Lenore Skenazy let her 9-year-old son take the subway home. For weeks her son had been begging her to be allowed to travel alone and she finally relented by leaving him with a MetroCard, a subway map, some money and loose change in case he had to call her.

When Skenazy wrote about the experience in her regular column, there was a flurry of reactions that ranged from calling her a child abuser to appreciating the way she allowed her son his first taste of independence.

I remember reading Skenazy’s column when the incident happened and being in two minds about what she did. Was this right or was it being too radical? And would I ever be able to do the same?

A boy was only three then and safety and ease of travel factor in transport systems in India are vastly different from what they are in say, New York, but the question in my mind was, when would I finally have the courage to let him be on his own, without parental supervision in every step of the way? And given the way things are in today’s overprotected parenting world, when would I finally learn to let go?

My son is nearing seven now and I find myself facing that question again. We live in an apartment complex that is not ‘gated’ from all sides, leaving the road from our building to the park open to all kinds of vehicular traffic, from cars to water tankers. Sadly enough, the traffic peaks from 5 pm in the evening, just when children are out to play.

I would love to send my son out to the park alone, he’s at that age when he needs to go out and make friends on his own without mom hovering in the background. But even if I trusted him to safely keep to the (non existent) sidewalk and reach the park, do I trust the speeding cars, tankers and trucks? No I don’t and would rather not take that risk. At least till he is eight.

We are mostly a generation of overprotecting parents. “By the time I was seven, I would walk to the grocery store across in the locality and buy eggs for Ma,” says a friend who would cycle to said grocery store through roads teeming with scooters, rickshaws, cows and bikes. But the world was a safer place then, he reasons, because he wouldn’t let his 8 year old girl do the same thing now. “Not until she is at least 12 or 13.”

Are we ruining our kids’ lives and depriving them of some much needed life skills? In his book No Fear: Growing Up in a Risk Averse Society, author Tim Gill points out that activities that previous generations of children enjoyed without a second thought have now been labelled as dangerous and the adults who permit them branded as irresponsible. He says that childhood, especially the crucial years between 5 and 11, is being undermined by the growth of risk aversion and its intrusion into every aspect of children's lives, restricting children's play, limiting their freedom of movement.

This in turn constrains their exploration of physical, social and virtual worlds. The author is talking about UK here, but the situation could apply to India as well. 

Most parents I know (including yours truly) do not let their children venture out much on their own. Our justifications are unsafe roads, unsafe play areas and of course, an overall unsafe world.

We are being overprotective of course. But I trust that when I finally let him be on his own (another year), it won’t be too late for him to face the opportunities and experiences that will allow him to stand his ground and teach him to overcome his fears. Yes, but the solo bus or metro ride is still a few years away.

* Skenazy incidentally coined the cringe worthy term Free Range Kids. Just saying ;P 

Berry Weird Post

Made strawberry jam at home today. Turned out better than I had expected and was surprisingly easy to make. At least easy for me, not having made jam or even thought in that direction before. Had wonderful visions of serving only homemade fruit jams like strawberry, apricot, peach, plum, etc to my children and gifting them to people in pretty jars during Diwali, X-Mas, housewarmings, etc.
The dream ended right there of course. Because my version of gifting goes somewhat like this: I know in my mind it is Diwali/X-Mas/Whichever event demands gifts of jamlike proportions four weeks from now.

Week four: I keep thinking.
Week three: I think some more.
Week two beginning: I pass shops that could possibly stock suitable gifts but give them a miss because there are still TWO WHOLE WEEKS left.
Week one: I pass shops that could possibly stock suitable gifts and have a SALE sign. I give them a miss under the excuse that the older child needs to be picked up from bus stop (two hours from now) and the younger child is alone at home with the maid (and has been since 10 in the morning and not for the first time but still, you can never be too careful, right?). I have 7 days after all.
D Day: I rush to store I passed by earlier. Buy gift at full price when similar version was on sale only a week ago. Rush home. Realize have forgotten wrapping paper. Dig out Fabindia paper bag, put fear of God (and no TV for three weeks) into the older brat and make him paint it. After which we spray it with glue and then glitter, the boy having tasted the fun part of the activity now. Spend an hour doing Fabindia bag makeover after which I have barely 10 minutes to get ready. Realize as I'm leaving house there is glitter in my hair and the boy has some on his nose.

Now you know why I can never gift jam. Or, given the highly organised way in which I work, ever make it again.

This piece appeared in a parenting column I sometimes write for an online newsmagazine in Bangalore. And just because I mentioned parenting don't think that you will find anything of great importance here. Just the regular vent of a mildly neurotic mom.   

Good morning and welcome to the Mummy Pick Up & Drop Off service. I'm the chief operating officer cum chief pick up girl here. The job description fits me to the tee as I am always picking up things -- clothes from the laundry, toys from the floor, soap from the bathroom basin, child from swimming class, bus stop, playdate, skating class and so on. We welcome all sorts of applicants as long as they have spawned at least one offspring, possess a reasonable ability to be on their toes for the large part of the day, have a suitably haggard appearence while trying to appear cool and collected in standard 'Mummy Chic', i.e.,
one loose kurti/long top and slacks/capri. Please note that at least one of the above garments need to have pockets to carry napkins, house keys, car keys, wallet, lollipops and so on.

Applicants also need to be good multitaskers and skilled in one-handed operations such as folding stroller while holding baby, bag and other paraphernalia; feeding banana to baby on the hip while speaking to other moms about the older child's fussy eating habits and instructing maid at home over the phone; typing an email while reading bedtime stories to child; skateboarding while balancing the child on one hand and four tea cups in another. Ok so I made that last one up but I am quite sure there is some super multitasking mother somewhere in the world who can do just that.

For details regarding timings, rates and job satisfaction about the Pick up Service you could speak to some mommies themselves. They are found quite easily in parks, school bus stops and if it's holiday season near the swimming, art, craft, tennis and a million other camps. The perks of the job include almost nothing, unless you count hanging around aimlessly or finishing up your grocery shopping while junior does his training as a perk. Be warned that the job also has a good ability to play havoc with your mind as the brat whines about not wanting to go for Karate class, making you wonder if you are being the pushy mommy type. So you pull him out of it only to have him complain that AAAAAAALL his friends go for Karate and he is the only one left out. This of course makes you wonder yet again if you are a good mommy at all and if you understand your child. Our suggestion: Do not think. It interferes with the core job on hand which is to be shuttle service for child during school days AND vacations, along with in house chef, emergency playmate, boredom reliever and anytime cleaning service.

With such a massive job profile, when is the time to think?

What I would really like to say to some people I know.

What is an issue with you, a huge, life threatening, emotionally twisting issue with powers to wreck havoc with your mind, relationships and spirit could be an entirely non issue with me.

Not everybody is cut from the same cloth and even if the cut of that cloth may not fit or flatter you or not even appeal to your eye, it isn't necessarily a bad thing. It may flatter me. Suit my purposes. Make me adjust my world. Stay happy.

So don't get yourself in Gospel mode everytime you spot something in my life that doesn't quite match your expectations of how my life, and for that matter, everyone else's should be.

Just be. And let me be.

If only...:)

Doing nothing and other stories

This piece appeared in a parenting column I sometimes write for an online newsmagazine in Bangalore. And just because I mentioned parenting don't think that you will find anything of great importance here. Just the regular vent of a mildly neurotic mom.


 It takes you so long to write a 700 word story! Said the horrified editor friend of mine. I counted sheep in my head (helps me stay calm. Another good alternative is the in-your- head-grocery list) and waited for the one question that I hate hearing ever since I gave up working full time to be a stay at home mother: So what do you do all day? Really, what was it that I did the entire day? And what was it that the other mothers did, staying in this mysterious place called home where there really wasn’t much to do except manage a kid or two, keep them clean and well fed and keep the house looking like it wasn’t rummaged by a tornado. It didn’t require excel sheets or meetings so how tough or time consuming could it be? If general opinion is to be believed, there isn’t much that is done all day except for the above mentioned cleaning/feeding bits, along with copious TV watching and (gasp) even visits to the salon! With eight luxurious hours stretching before her, what’s a woman to do! Since I fall in the above category of moms with nothing much to do but still do not get the time to finish a 700 word article in 7 days, I decided to do some stock taking with other mummy pals of mine. Clearly I was a failure in time management and had it all wrong. I was sure they had it all figured out. So I decided to ask them them the question: So what is it that you do the whole day? “Umm...you really want to know?” Asked the friend with a four month old. The edge in her voice should have warned me off but I ploughed on. “At 7 I clean the baby’s diaper. 7.15 is feeding time. 7.30 there’s a diaper change again. 8 there’s some feeding again. By 9 I grab whatever food I can see around the house as I am so hungry I could eat an entire buffet and possibly even the baby. Happy now?” I hang up, longtime friendship at stake. The other one is better behaved but has no time to talk. “Sorry dear. My daughter’s friends are coming over and I need to make some nutritious homemade pizzas or else nobody will send their children over to our fast food consuming house again.” The third keeps it short and to the point. “Cannot talk. Filing the husband’s tax returns. After that need to take the car for servicing. Busy day. In fact this is how all my days are. I am the secretary cum driver cum housekeeper cum babysitter.” The fourth cuts my call. I had made the mistake of texting her my question. Amen.⊕

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” – Mark Twain There was a time when I loved that quote and thought I lived my life according to it. Do I do that anymore? I don't think so. I am too caught up with day to day life, domesticity and the web of homed-in haze it can sometimes create around you. And of course the children are there. I want to be where they are. Very consciously. It means not catching a certain amount of the trade winds passing you by but it does not also mean letting all of it go. Did I become what I thought I would be at 20? Maybe not. Maybe yes. I did become happier I am sure. But then happiness at 20 has a different meaning than happiness at 40 right? That was a different kind of happiness as perhaps, is this one. So why the complacence? Passing phase? Perhaps yes.

My son goes to a school where they place a lot of emphasis on Indian culture, festivals, etc. While I'm glad that he learns all that there is to about Holi, Diwali, Dussera, Id, Janmashtami and Christmas, that is not the reason we decided to send him to this particular school. It therefore amused me no end to hear someone mention that this school was perfect for him as on his own he would not have learnt about our cultures and customs so much. The underlying text being that with a mother who doesn't create too much of a fuss about rituals or fasts or temple visits, the poor boy would have missed out on his stipulated dose of Indian culture. Confusing culture with rituals and religion never fails to amuse me. Did you imbibe more values and culture if you grew up watching your mom and everybody around you fast during Navaratri? Is your culture quotient zero if your parents never really visited the temple or kept fasts or rushed you to Kolkata during every Durga Puja season? The more I see around me, the more I believe that people confuse the two. So I never visit temples unless there's something within prompting me to step inside one. Does that make me less of a believer? Why is belief and faith confused with your willingness to be first in the queue to get the charanamrita or prasad or pay hundred bucks extra for an express darshan of star deities at the country's five star temples? Yes I know rituals have a certain comfort in them and all of us have our favourite ones. I love the Aarti, especially one I watched on the banks of Ganga years ago as a child and the Dhunuchi naach during Durga Puja (though very smoky and not very comforting if said Durga Puja is being held in a closed community hall). I also love the gesture of 'cupping hands over the arati flame and raising it to the forehead.' To me it comes involuntarily and there's something about the lamp, fire and smoke combo that makes it alluring. But does it increase my faith and believer ratings than earlier? Don't think so. I remain as much of a believer or as much of a non believer as I was.

Inky's posts are making me nostalgic these days, especially when she writes about evenings in Paris and the waterways of Amsterdam. The nostalgia isn't because I miss spending my evenings walking the cobbled lanes of phoren lands or staring wide eyed at unending perfume stores in Rue Je ne sais quoi. It isn't even for the heady whiffs of weed or the drool worthy sight of crepes and freshly baked baguettes.
You see, Inky's posts are making me remember a time when I could just pull the door and walk out (which is exactly what I did in those lovely cities). More importantly pull the door and walk out with nothing but a set of keys and wallet. No diaper bags, no water bottles, no squabbling over coke or chips, no wipes.
Before you lynch me for such unmotherly thoughts, yes I dearly love the kids and am thrilled to bits that I produced them but a girl is allowed to indulge in a bit of nostalgia isn't she?