It's all Newton's fault

It took me a few years, and two kids to figure out that the most interesting thing in life for kids of all ages, sizes and mental faculties is to drop things down. And this is one scientific discovery they make very early in life.
Aniruddh must have been about six months old when his experiments with gravity began. I watched in great pride as he dropped his new (and expensive) toy repeatedly "He is learning about gravity" I informed everyone who cared to listen, or who didn't. "We have to encourage his appetite for knowledge". Four years later, his "appetite" for knowledge has resulted in a truckload of broken articles. Now the younger one is also learning about gravity, my appetitie for knowledge lies on the floor with the broken scientific experiements. The gravity of the situation is now, all on my face.

Showing where the fan is

A few years ago, my friend and I had an animated discussion about obnoxious parents who want to show off their little children. What is your name, say hello, say bye bye, shake hands, give flying kiss etc... but what takes the cake is "show auntie where the fan is". "The heights!" my friend would fume, "I mean don't I know where the fan is or what?"
Now, that my little one is almost a year old, I am reminded of these must-dos in public life. A genial neighbour, after pinching cheeks, pulling fingers, touching hair, trying to grab him and walk away etc. (my child, oh my child!) finally reconciled to giving my baby back to me intact. However, in order to sustain my baby's interest (if only he could have spoken...) , she proceeded to have a conversation with him. "What is your name?" "He is not yet one..." I simpered. "Ah," she said, putting a world of meaning into it and giving another long look at the baby. "Shake hands" she said putting out her hand. If I could believe a 11-month old capable of a dirty look, then my son is very capable. He was not however upto the task of shaking hands. Not one to give up, "Where is amma, say amma" said my neighbour again. My son stared at her stonily and for some reason gave her a smile. (what a silly question this big person is asking me, perhaps). However no reply came. The dreaded crowning glory came soon after, "Fan enga fan?". I had to interrupt. This was too much. "He doesn't do anything," I said. "He doesn't talk, he doesn't show things, he doesn't do any tricks." I smiled winningly at her. She looked incredulously at me. "You leave him with me for half a day, see what all I can make him do. You have to teach children learn all this.... " blah blah.
Even as I was looking for a way out, my little one, my wonderful adorable brat of 11 months, came to my rescue. He leaked his pee all over her carpet. Children have their own weapons and methods of communication and my little one had just got his message across.
Now we smile when we meet at the car park, but she has never renewed her request to train my child to show where the fan is.

Teaching World Peace to Terrorists

When they ask these Miss India types - what do you want? and they say "World Peace", I want to invite them home. Come and see what creating world peace involves. For four years, I kept my son away from the world of toy guns. He was to be the epitome of peace and calm behavior. Of course, on occasional visits to other "boys will be boys" houses, he would invariably pick up his friends' guns and unleash his pent-up energy. Finally we relented. Let us not be too harsh on the kid and so finalllly... a little green gun, masquerading as a top was his. To us, it seemed the most innocent possible gun, and it would give him a chance to indulge his fancy.

But.

It has given him a new identity. Now my son struts around with a pair of coolers (even tho it is disney branded with a cartoon image), a red cap (that was picked up during his spiderman-crazy phase), AND the gun. He waits for every opportunity, and sometimes for no opportunity at all to take us to task.

"Mommy!" He shouts, when I invite him (yell at him) politely (threaten with dire consequences) for dinner "You will be sent to a house for naughty persons". I speak my thanks and repeat my invitation. He glares at me from below his cap and coolers and points the gun in my direction. "I am very upset with you"

I cringe and wait for the smallest opportunity to do away with the mischief-making gun. The four-year old still struts around yelling for revenge! How, when children are born with such aptitude for terrorizing their family and neighbours, can this simpering PYT talk about World Peace, dammit. Come home darling and I will show you world peace.

Now I am preparing my younger son to walk on the path of peace. No guns for him, no sir. He will grow up to be the epitome of peace and calm behavior (part 2). Yesterday, my non-violent epitome II, proceeded to watch a live ant crawl on the floor, in fascination, and in a sudden movement, picked it up and plopped it into his mouth. We rushed to the rescue (of the ant) immediately and finding it in his mouth, still squirming, deposited it to safety.

Now I have written to the organizers of the Miss India pageant and I wait, hoping for an acceptance for my invitation. RIP!

My baby, my shadow, my love

My latest project is to think of a strategy for homing devices. No technology for me. Just mapping my son's route. The little one has an uncanny knack of smelling me out. No jokes, I mean smelling me out. One moment he is this bubbly, cheerful, active, playful little doll. All that I have to do to unleash his Mr Hyde is to walk into the room / walk past him / walk towards him / talk to him / leave him playing oh-so cutely and quietly. He homes in on me.
Then the wailing starts making me feel as if I have been torturing the poor dear. After approximately 35 seconds of resistance, I have to and will pick him up.
My routine activities are a hide-and seek. I tiptoe from room to room trying to walk past him, behind him, so he does not realize what is happening. Very often he still catches on. And proceeds to crawl after me with of course, the wail in place.
And so my movements around the house are tempered with this little lovable being trailing me, waiting for a chance to be picked up, looking up with "big sad soulful eyes". Sometimes, he even sits himself on the floor by my feet as I eat, whining away. Sometimes absentmindedly I even feed him little tit-bits and then shake myself in remembrance that it is my son seated not a puppy.
All this talk about spoiling children by picking them up or relenting when they wail, or giving in to their every whim... ah well. The sheer joy of seeing him crooning or burying his face in my neck or his baby babble are enough to keep all these reservations at bay. I know that I will keep picking him up every time and enjoy the little one and his love. After all, that is what parenting is all about.

Work @ Homethought

Ten months into baby no. 2, I am still getting used to the question "So how is it combining work and home?" Wish I could say, it's great, my children are little works of art who watch the day go by quietly till I reach home; we spend a quiet and loving evening, after which I cuddle into bed with them reading a story and ourselves to sleep. Of course, meanwhile, it is great at work, as I pull myself through with dedication to my job and come out with flying colors. The perfect professional, the perfect parent.
Wish. Wish. Go on with you. The fiction stops there with a polite smile and an awkward change of subject.
So here I am telling an audience of parents most of who fear they have inadvertently birthed juvenile delinquents... Will the true parent stand up? The one who says they can get by through a few hours of work without imagining the most unspeakable terrors taking place at home to their little dearest devils? I notice a seated audience. The only guy who got up, had a call that his 5-year old had climbed onto the cupboard and wouldn't get down. He left the room, while the rest of us nodded knowingly.
So here I am charting my workdays' schedule. If you're looking for deadlines, financial year closings, important days etc., forget it. My workday vs productivity chart is as follows.

1. Excellent day at work = no one tried to break anything at home
2. Good day at work = we tried to break something but did not succeed
3. Fair day at work = we only broke the 2nd best "exquisite" vase; and we broke the pair
4. Below average day at work = we tried to break the neighbour's kid's tooth
5. Bad day at work = we nearly succeeded while pretending to be power rangers (we lost)
6. Worst day at work = we succeeded (we won) and the neighbour knows and has turned up at home and wants to know what kind of parenting we receive and wants to talk to you right away and wants you to come home right now and will not be placated by the fact that you have told us on the phone that you will kick us into obilivion though we don't know what that means so please come home

The only good thing is, there are good days and bad days. Work gets by. In the meantime, those who would like to know how I combine work and home. I don't. I just work in constant terror.

Furiouser and Furiouser

Being a parent can change you so completely that it brings out a new you. I have read this some years ago. Images of a caring parent, tender, warm, affectionate, creative, friendly, fun all leapt to my mind. Of course I was every one of commercials that show motherhood and fatherhood and whatever-other-hood to a point of complete sickly sweetness. But the "new you" that I found is well, something else.

It is like a time bomb ticking in me. A book thrown here, a scribble on the wall, a broken piece of furniture, a smart-ass reply to an instruction - the fuse is extremely short and ready to ignite. And voila! The new me! "f you do this," I say, "I will throw you out of the window." (We live on the fourth floor of our apartment complex). "I will take money from your piggy bank to pay for the wall cleaning" (guilty; yes please, but how many scribbles can you stand by and admire as work of art?) And - this is a more effective threat - "You will have to go to school in your night suit if you don't get ready on time". So the list grows..
I have become a maniacal, loud, threatening, bullying, overpowering, jarring parent. Sometimes I can't believe it is the same person. Sometimes I feel like a complete jerk. Look at the poor innocent, how sweetly he smiles and this is what you do to him. "Come to me baby" Then the poor innocent proceeds to take my favourite perfume and run around the house using it as a room freshener. The devil unleashes inside me again.
Now I am resigned to my fate. I am a two-faced parent and I want to stay that way.

In a world of men

An elderly family friend with two sons was disappointed by a succession of four grandsons. She worried about who to leave her fabulous jewellery to. We made a pact that if I had a daughter, some of it would come my way. "Kaliyugathila Kai Mela Palan" my mother used to say (in kaliyug you get your desert in this life itself). One boy followed by another; I bid a mental goodbye to my share of the exotic collection.

For years, my firm belief has been that the birth of every girl is a gift to humanity, and every man will improve his life so long as he takes time to observe the women around him. God is laughing right up her sleeve I'm sure. For all I do these days is observe the three men in my life.

My little ones have a great fascination in watching what seems to me mundane activities such as changing a battery, repairing a toy or going to a car service station - and of course playing cricket. Some inbuilt mechanism begins to tick during each of these activities.

At garments stores all of them shop on one floor while a completely clueless me tries to "help" select from the mass of male attire. What can you do in a male section beyond shorts or t-shirts, trousers or shirts. Ah yes, sometimes you can wear a shirt over a t-shirt.

I can't help looking towards the girls section - at the pinks and the frills and bows and accessories - and the rows of varied clothing.

Sometimes, we are shopping for my clothes and then there is a free-for-all as the brightest colors are pulled out by the brats for my benefit. As I am usually outvoted, my wardrobe looks like a landscape in technicolor. My jewellery and cosmetics usually intrigue them. Bangles are most fascinating toys. Nothing more.

However, on the bright side,

• I don't really need to lock up my accessories or have sharing anxieties.
• They do not want to pick up hair bands, clips or other accessories.
• They can get three haircuts (and more) for the price of my one.
• Shopping for them is a speedy affair.
• When it's time to go out, it takes five minutes flat to get them ready.
• Whatever I dress in, I look great to them - no matter how badly co-ordinated.
• I can step out in house clothes, and they will tell me "you look great".
• I am the authority on females in the house.

Ah well, sometimes it is good to have only men around.

Perpetual Summer Camp

During weekends, summer or festival holidays, parents are usually faced with a tough choice - what are they going to do with the children on their hands. (Note: Give them up for adoption is not a socially acceptable choice, though sanity rules otherwise) Our situation is a little different. In a moment of weakness and utter foolishness, we were heard telling the 6-year-old in the next block, "Come home anytime you want." The word spread thick and fast among children and relieved parents alike. So it is, that on Sunday morning, 8 am the doorbell rings,

"Hi, Ram, (athithi devo bhava) how are you, how nice to see you early (have you come to take our children out to play), why don't you sit down."

Over time, that is, in the space of about 7 minutes - there is a small gathering at our house. The eldest is about twelve years old, the average age about six-and-a-half. Mentally waving goodbye to 1. peaceful breakfast, 2. peaceful lunch, 3. peaceful siesta, 4. peaceful dinner, 5. peaceful sunday, 6. peace in general - we watch the proceedings from far. It is too much to try and join them, we would like to remain in one piece (for a wonderful monday at thank-god-office)
"Uncle", said age 7, "can you help me move this sofa." We don't bother explaining that furniture is not to be moved about, stood on, eaten upon. Sometimes it's just simpler and safer to move it. Sometimes it is better to just move ourselves to a neighbour's house. We tried once, but after taking one look at the contingent that was likely to follow us, they went out - for the whole day and night, just to be on the safe side.

Age 4 is notorious for his ability to fall. It really worries us, because we managed to save the music system, television and the washing machine, but he managed to immobilize the desktop the last time he visited. His mother was most sympathetic to us. "Adi" she said, "Don't fall on anything valuable or breakable, fall little away from that." She is a right-thinking woman.

"Auntie" said age 4, "I am taking 2 more chocolates after the juice". Nobody can say that they don't make themselves at home. The only surprise was that he actually informed me this time.
Soon they adjourned to one of the bedrooms, and at one point, they played this very entertaining (no comments) game, that involved one of them getting under a sheet, and trying to scare all the others. This game played with much abandon, and raucous (i know what it means, believe me) laughter finally ended when one of them broke a tooth, another had a nasty bump and a third tore her favourite frock.
We requested them to go home (drove them out of the house) and finish their homework (chew their parents' heads for a while). Meanwhile, we sat down to what seemed like half a minute, before our home-grown brat pack started - "I am going to shoot you... yaaa" (battlecry). If only...

Thank god for mondays...

Brotherly Love

It was a bright sunny morning; the birds were chirping, the air was humming with peace, and ...

the brats were yelling. "What happened?" I ask the elder one. Thankfully, the younger, just a few months old, is yet to start talking (back) to us. "Nothing mummy." Dangerous ground, very dangerous.

We tried rephrasing the question. "What we want to know is, what wonderful thing did you do just now?" (the false smile in place. perfect). "You know mummy. I wanted to play with my brother but he is only crying."

Whew thank god, only some childish desire to bond with the brother. "That doesn't matter, we will help you two play together. What game did you want to play?"

"I was only playing throw-the-cushion and sit".

A couple of minutes later, the game is clear. The elder one rushes in full speed, with a cushion held tightly in his hands. With careful and unfailing aim, it is directed on the younger - and before the little one can figure out what clouded his vision, he has a loving elder brother sitting on his midriff.

Calm down, we tell ourselves, for he is only a child. Calm down, for this is only his way of showing bonding.

"He is too young to play this game, sweetie" (after two years, he should be sitting on your face, but why warn you now). "Play something else."

Birds chirping... etc for five minutes and then the unmistakable wails. "Now what?" Pat came the reply "Nothing mummy". Here we go again...

Giving Space

As parents, we believe in giving space to our children, letting them grow, do their own thing, learn in an environment of complete freedom.

Well, actually, we have found from life's blunt truths - we don't have a choice, really.

Give directions

We encourage our son to understand directions, know the way to different places, especially to our house. Exercise the mind, sense of direction and all that blah. While returning home after an outing, we decided to instill some of these skills in him as good parents. As we were quite close to our house, we asked Aniruddh to guide us. Now tell me, how do we go - straight, left or right?
Of course, children always come up with the unpredictable. Pat came the answer "U Turn!"

Can I be Krishna?

Children have a vivid imagination; but it is also fascinating to see how they have thought things through in depth also. During our conversation before dropping off to sleep one night, Aniruddh was looking very pensive. When asked, he came up with what was occupying him. "I am wondering how to be a flying character, like Superman". The alarm bells went off and several patient minutes were spent explaining the difference between fact and fiction, reality and comic strips etc. Peace and sleep. Or?
The next morning and again, we find a pensive boy staring at the ceiling, tapping his lips. Again the concerned query from parents, and his reply "I am wondering how to become Krishna" (his current favourite DVD). Krishna is God and we can't become like that etc... followed by his reasoning. "But we can. I will paint my body blue and put a peacock feather in my hair."
And to think we thought nothing would go wrong with a little religious values instilled early in life!!

The Kid-Friendly Route

Parents are suckers for everything that is "meant" for children. I am yet to figure out how we, as adults manage to live in a world that is full of harsh clothing, dangerous food, uninteresting personal articles etc. The children, however, have a great life. Custom-designed, copyrighted images sing on their clothing, we cannot bear to see them to eat on any plate or drink from a cup that hasn't been exclusively labeled and designed exclusively, their weekend activities invariably culminate in specialized places that make you believe they enjoy and of course for all of this, there is an exclusive price tag.

We have hassled ourselves about not doing quite enough. Oh we haven't picked up a toy in one whole month; oh he only has six pairs of shoes, oh the imbecilic cartoon character on his cup is getting worn out etc. Never mind that the favourite toys include those that are never featured in a toy shop - to list: broom, bucket of water, tongs, important files, the sofa cushions...

The pick of the kid-friendly items is the baby clippers. I spent three years, convincing a bawling kid to cut his nails with baby clippers. See the picture of the shweet fairy on your very own nail cutter, sho shoft it ish and all such baby talk to no avail. Confronted with a broken baby clippers and nails that threatened to become dirt tanks, I pulled out our own un glamorous, matter-of fact, adult size nail cutter in desperation. But the battle I steeled myself for never happened. For the first time in 3 years, Aniruddh cut his nails without a whimper. He enjoyed being a big boy. He found the clippers much more comfortable and he was least bothered about a shweet fairy not peering out at him. Ah well... baby factories need their business.

Mummy, Don't Sleep!

It seems almost as if they have planned it. Never to sleep together. I mean, never to sleep at the same time. So much that each day and night becomes an unending saga of wakefullness, or sleep. Aniruddh has this charming habit of waking me, when I inadvertently doze off, in the midst of a story, playtime or even sleep time. He must sleep first, rather, I must be awake so long as he gets to share my time and space. Mummy wake up, I hear him shriek right inside my ear. He doesn't want to waste any bit of sound from his mouth. Sometimes he also has the charming habit of switching on the light. At 5.30 am - good morning, wake up everybody he says. My career predictions for him include - hostel matron, army major-general, dictator, boxing instructor etc.
Did someone say how cute? Cute is not exactly what strikes you when you get woken up at 2 am for days in a row by kid no. 2 to finally hit the sack in the early morning, and then to be woken up by no. 1 early in the morning -- well he's nice and fresh with his full sleep and raring to go... and take me with him! Then by the time he's tired, no. 2 is ready to take on. This momma is good fun, he thinks. Let me play with her again. My worry is that Advaith seems to be a fast learner, and his only teacher so far seems to be elder brother!

The only thing I pray for nowadays is sleep. God, I say, let me sleep for some more time. The place, position, the time, nothing matters. God gave me the answer. The toilet seat has never been a more welcome place. What bliss in being alone.

But then, even before your eyes fully shut you hear the door banging so loudly, it's a wonder it's still standing. "Mummy, don't sleep!"
!!!