Would Life Be Different Without Kids?

While driving home last night with my two kids in the backseat constantly chattering and asking questions I snapped.

“Just keep quiet please and go to sleep.” I regretted it as soon as the words escaped from my mouth. Poor kid, he was just innocently telling me that he saw a car or something. Silence descended in the car, but a conversation began inside my head.

Why did you do that?

I am tired, my ears are hurting after listening to the constant chatter, tantrums and fights of two young kids all day long.

Why can’t you be a little more patient?

Work, home, kids, limited support, travelling husband… sometimes it gets too much I guess. It’s not like I don’t try, every morning I wake up hoping to be the best mom I can be, but towards the end of the day I just run out of strength.

Hmm. Tough times, eh?

Yes, indeed. Life is like that, there are times you have so much to do. These are the years of my life I have to dedicate more to my kids than to myself. Sometimes I feel my kids have accelerated my ageing process. 

Would life have been different without kids?

I am sure, yes. Maybe I would have been doing a different job, getting a bigger salary, spent more on clothes and shoes, lived in a smaller house, travelled the world a little more. Life would have been different, but not necessarily better. Life would not have been so colourful and rich. I would never have driven an orange car and worn purple rimmed spectacles had I not had them in my life. They have altered the person that I am. Definitely more patient, forgiving and capable.

Capable? How so?

I would have never known how much I am capable of without them being around. For nothing else would I have multi-tasked and learnt so much. I would not have tried to squeeze the best out of each minute of every day had it . I would probably not have tried my hand at so many other things (including exercising, baking, writing and building a bond with other fellow moms) had it not been for them. They pull me out of my comfort zone, bring out something different in me, make me question what I really want in life and help me choose what I really should go after. They are my strength and weakness all at the same time.

Without them, I would never have learnt what it is to love someone much more than myself.

“Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven’t loved enough.”  - Elif Shafak

Adventures of the New Sofa!

Any new object in the house is a cause of excitement for the kids too, just that they cannot silently admire it and feel happy, they have to touch it, feel it, taste it and even sometimes destroy it in the process to fully enjoy it. Also, greater the need of the parent to keep it away from children, the greater is their need to have it too. Unless it is something small, which can be hidden away, it is at the mercy of the kids.

Even before buying the new two-seater sofa I knew it. I knew that the kids would surely jump on it, they would be attracted to it like moths to fire. We purposely choose a dark purple instead of my usual choice of beige or another light green that looked gorgeous at the store, keeping this in mind.

As expected, they were happy to see it in the house. On the first day, the kids and I sat on it and enjoyed reading a story. I even imagined it being our new ‘story sofa’, where the kids and I would escape into the world of stories every afternoon. Now, I can only laugh at myself for being so hopeful.

On the second day, I found them racing toy cars on the sofa. Cars climbing over the arm rests to reach the top of the back rest and then coming down the other way. Soon, followed by car crashes and what not. I shook my head and ignored it. This is what you expected, didn’t you? Yes, I did.

After a week, they were both gleefully jumping on the sofa.

“Why are you jumping on the sofa? Is it a bouncy?” I asked.

“Yes, it is a bouncy! Yay! Bouncy….bouncy!” replied my little one while continuing to jump.

Another day, just as I emerged from my room after a shower, the maid called out urgently, ‘Didi, idhar aao’. Our two-and-half-year-old had happily poured water on the new sofa! He looked at me with a guilty look on his face, before running away. I tried to blot out the excess water with newspaper, but the sponge in the sofa had already done a better job. I was surely feeling bad. The sofa was not even two weeks old.

“Sorry Mumma” a small voice said.

“Don’t do it again. Okay? Promise?” I said calmly. A little head nodded in response.

While drying out the seats and part of the back with a hair dryer, I marvelled at the capability of our kids to make us think on our feet, solutions to problems we may never even have to think about without kids around. With the sofa dry and no visibly lasting damage, I felt content, not so much for the sofa but for staying calm throughout and not scolding my kid for this. Maybe I was finally getting better at ‘patience’, the greatest virtue for parenting.

Last Saturday morning, I discovered something scribbled on the arm of sofa with dark blue ink! First water and now pen marks! How? When? Why? Which one of the two did it? I don’t even give them sketch pens to colour with. Later, my five year old admitted that he had found a marker somewhere and wrote on the sofa. I let him go after a ‘calm conversation’ and a promise.

The cushions are still played with, they are more exciting than the blocks, cars and toys and are found strewn across the floor more often than they are seen adorning the sofa.

When it came home, it was a two-seater sofa for watching TV, just a piece of furniture, but the kids have claimed it as their own, attached many memories to it. Hopefully, the excitement will soon be over and the sofa will be spared all the love and attention (read, water and ink) it has been getting over the past weeks. Fingers crossed! Anything can happen with the kids around. 

I Wished to Fall Sick

Wish I could fall sick, at least then I would get a break from the busy daily routine. The constant running to keep up with the clock…meals, school pick-up and drops, kids classes, my own work and so on.

Yes, it sounds silly but sometimes the idea of falling sick seems inviting, so I could stay in bed all day, be cared for and get pampered for a change instead of taking care of everything and everyone in the house. But, alas, we can’t choose the timing of falling sick, it just chooses us.

My silly little wish finally came true one night, accompanied with a sore throat, cough, runny nose and fever. However, the timing could not have been worse with hubby travelling and children still settling into their new classes. I was left with no option but to operate on “business as usual”, popping in more pills and gulping in way more tea than I would have done otherwise.

I found the otherwise sweet questions and calls for “Mumma” annoying but had to respond with a “Yes, Baby!” in as sweet a tone as possible, while I otherwise sounded like a croaking frog.

For a Mom, falling sick is a luxury. Hopefully next time I fall sick, it would be on a weekend, or at least when hubby is around to get the kids ready for school, pick and drop them, feed them, clothe them and patiently deal with all their demands and questions.

For now, I thank Crocin for helping me stay on my feet and helping me get through the week.

Stay Well, Stay Healthy fellow Moms…and if by any chance you are fancying the idea of falling sick, just take a break. You deserve it.

Being 4-Year- Old Again!

I had an opportunity to join my four year old son at school for his morning circle today. While I was in two minds to attend, I finally decided to go. As I entered the classroom, I spotted my son sitting at his desk, interacting with fellow students. He saw me and smiled, a smile that acknowledged my presence but also told me that he was not just my son here, he was a disciplined student of the class.

Within minutes, the educators began to sing a song and almost as if by magic, the children came around and settled into a circle on the floor to listen to a story. The story was of a seed that grew into a strong tree. Although the story was simple and meant for an audience of four-year-olds, I enjoyed it too and added it to my list of stories that I could tell my kids at home.

Once the story was over, the teachers again sang a song and got the kids to form a circle and moved out of the class for their morning prayers and circle time. It was remarkable to see the four year old students of Nursery conducting themselves in such a disciplined manner. I was also in awe of the educators for managing a class of almost thirty students so seamlessly, without a single instruction.

For the circle time the parents were also encouraged to participate and I, along with the other parents joined the circle just like the kids and their teachers. I recited all the prayers and songs and tried following all the hand and body movements too.

What I experienced at the time was indescribable. The energy, intrinsic joy and peacefulness I felt was unparalleled. It wasn't like anything I had experienced in a long time. I felt as if there was electricity running in my veins. Maybe, I felt like a four-year old child myself. I felt like spending the rest of the day in the class again, but unfortunately, that was the only glimpse I could get.

By the time I left the school, although I had a lot of questions on my mind, I felt a certain calm take over, a need to stop rushing my kids and myself all the time and believing that small children are capable of a lot more than we can ever imagine.

Momster!

Mostly parenting is joyful, rewarding and wonderful, just like the way we hear often, but there are also those days when patience wears thin, you have a million things to do and it takes just something seemingly trivial to tip the delicate balance of sanity.

There are times when you get tired of picking up the same toys, repeating the same instructions (a few hundred times), answering the unending questions and resolving quarrels between kids. There are times when the mantras of “Keep Calm, you are a Mom” and “This too shall pass” turn into, “I am a human being too”. There are the times when I find myself turning from Mommy to “Momster”, when I want to be mean, yell at the kids or ‘teach them a lesson’ the old fashioned way.

Earlier today, when my five and two year old boys got into a fight, the Momster in me unleashed itself, but within minutes the loving Mom re-emerged, cuddling and hugging my boys and calming them down.

Later, while scrolling through some old photos and videos on my phone I chanced upon a few moments from about a year ago. I was surprised to see how little my kids looked. I realized how much my children had grown in just a few months. My elder son had begun going to a proper school and he no longer looked so young. My younger son who had barely started walking a year ago is already speaking in sentences. He too joined a play school. I looked at them and my little kids suddenly looked all grown up.

I showed one of the old videos to them and we all burst out in peals of laughter. Just watching that video was a total stress buster and my heart was once again reprimanding me for being harsh on them earlier.

Parenting is not always fun, rather it is tough, it is full of ironies and paradoxes, compromises and trade-offs. And yes, it is also about turning into a Momster and then melting back to being Mommy again.

Many years ago, when I was fairly newly married, I happened to meet a simple man from a village who said, “In the village, we measure how rich a person is by the number of kids he has, not by his money.” I had found that statement amusing at that time. It did not make sense to me. But now, I fully understand what he said. If you are a parent, I am sure you understand it too.

What do you do? Clean Poop!

“Even after studying so much, what happened to you? What are you doing now? Cleaning baby poop!” My 85-year old grandmother commented. My mother looked at me nervously, expecting me to react.

Surprisingly, it did not hurt. It was true. Cleaning poop is part of my job description as a Mom. I had willingly given up my job to be able to enjoy motherhood. I had made a choice for myself, one that I never regretted. I thoroughly enjoy my time with my children, knowing that they won’t be so small ever again. Their innocent eyes make me melt every time I look at them. Their questions and comments, unaffected by the world of stereotypes and biases make me wonder and laugh. I am glad I could give them a gift of my time or rather, I should say, I could gift myself this time with them. I was doing this not only for them, but for myself. Besides, there is always a time when a mother has to clean her baby’s bum, however educated and highly paid or not she is. I did not feel the need to explain this to her.
 

The disappointment my grandmother was feeling accentuated the wrinkles on her face. I could see that behind her remark was her desire to see her granddaughter doing something more ‘meaningful’ with her life. I could understand her point of view and she somewhat reminded me of Amitabh Bachchan in Piku. Not only because she too discusses her ‘motion’ out loud with my father, but for her asking me not to lose myself in an attempt to be a good mother. There she was, a petite, wrinkled, octogenarian asking her granddaughter to leave behind the traditional roles to go conquer the world.

We were three generations of women in that room. I looked at my grandmother, my mother and then myself. All three are mothers, two are grandmothers and one a great-grandmother. Interestingly, I am the only one among them to have taken a break to be with my kids. My grandmother, was a physiotherapist of her own making, she was a widowed, single mother playing the role of father and a mother at a time when most women were limited to the kitchen and child-rearing.

My own mother, got just one and half months of maternity leave and managed to work for many years, perfectly juggling her responsibilities of a mother, wife and daughter-in-law. I still remember her running around the house every morning to finish her household tasks, before rushing out of the house with her breakfast of toasted bread in one hand and water still dripping from her hair, creating a wet patch on her blouse. She wasn’t alone in her generation to do this. I am sure you would also be able to see similar examples in your own family. These women refused to be bogged down by their traditional responsibilities. They did it all with élan and most importantly without complaint.

If I compare myself to them, I cannot deny that I have it much better. They worked much longer and harder compared to what I can ever imagine doing. Most importantly, if they could do it, so can we! I feel we are in a much better space than they were. We have the advantage of greater support and understanding. Luckily, Dads are a lot more hands-on than they were previously. Daycare and pre-school facilities that were non-existent earlier are easily available now. Corporates too have begun offering extended maternity leaves up to 5-6 months, along with part-time and work-from-home options. Most have Diversity programs in place to welcome women into the workforce. There are support groups, like SHEROES and Mompreneurs which are providing opportunities for women to get back to work. I don’t think there was a time better than today for Moms who want to do it all.

Sometimes, what stops us from achieving our full potential is our own selves. We just need to believe in ourselves and chase our dreams till they are realized.

“When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” – Paulo Coelho

Confessions of a Stay-At-Home-Mom (SAHM)!

I thrived in the corporate atmosphere, thoroughly enjoyed it for eight years and then came a time when I felt that there was another role that needed my attention. That there are two tiny people in the world who need me much more than the 3,00,000+ employee strong organization I worked for. I felt the need to seize the moment to fully enjoy myself with the two people I mattered the most to. It was difficult to let go of my career, of losing the person I became in office, of losing my financial independence.

People asked if I had a plan, if I was planning to join somewhere else or start something of my own, but for the first time in my life I had nothing planned, no agenda, no objectives to meet, no deadlines to run after. It felt surprisingly good, absolutely refreshing. I won’t say it was all fun and laughter, I do have my moments of doubt. I do have my ‘good days’ and ‘bad days’ as a Stay-At-Home-Mom (S-A-H-M). On rare occasions, I do miss dressing up for work and clacking in those glossy stilettoes. There are times I miss being among like-minded colleagues and I definitely miss my own money but never, even in those moments, have I regretted the decision I have taken. There are never any regrets when one truly follows ones heart!

Over the months, I have discovered various simple joys of life, connected with old friends, met a lot of new people, learnt new and varied things, picked up on new hobbies and in the process I made acquaintance with an all new ‘me’. I chanced upon a whole new world of possibilities I never knew existed. It is like opening a fresh new notebook and having the choice to do whatever you wanted to…write, paint, sketch or make paper planes out of. The options are endless. Additionally, I don’t have to worry about performance appraisals, project deadlines, meetings, e-mails and calls. No more Monday Blues (every day is a Monday or a Sunday depending on how you look at it.)

As a S-A-H-M, the hardest thing I learnt to do (and still trying) is to not have an agenda or a to-do list on my mind all the time. Throughout school, college and office we are trained to multi-task, project plan, keep everything organized, deliver as per timelines come what may and in the whole process we forget how to just simply relax. These days I am learning the art of doing nothing (dolce far niente) from my kids. It’s therapeutic!

A lot of times you may have read how hard it is to be a full-time mother and that it is the toughest job in the world! It sure is a difficult, complex, ever-evolving, challenging role, sometimes harder than a corporate job, if we must compare it that way. But, lately I have also come to believe that it is not really a ‘job’. Rather it is a ‘privilege’, a ‘luxury’. This is the only time when my kids are the most impressionable, the most delicate years of their life, when their mom means the world to them.

These are the precious years when we have all the time in the world for each other and I know fairly well that these years are going to fly past sooner than I know. Nothing seems to give me more joy than making my kids laugh, colouring with them, pasting stickers on the wall, pretend-playing and reading children’s stories with them. Sometimes I feel like I am re-living my childhood all over again.

Now, can I really call that a job? When I am having so much fun and not getting paid for it?

(To all the working moms...Kudos to you! I am really amazed by moms who are managing it all...Career, a Home,  Kids and slightly jealous of the ones who have grandparents staying together to provide full support.)

Would love to hear from you...please do leave in some comments.

(This post is also available on mycity4kids.com and has received over 1.7Lakh hits.)

The Game of Parenting!

Today morning, just as I open the fridge to take out some vegetables, my one and a half year old arrives and starts fiddling with the bottles on the fridge door. I see him pull out a bottle of chilli sauce. I ask him to put it back, he obliges and I turn my attention to the vegetables. Just as I take the beans in my hand, there is a loud crash! The big new bottle of tomato sauce has been smashed to bits. The poor bottle looks like a twisted, bludgeoned creature, lying on the floor. There is sauce splashed all over the kitchen floor, shards of glass everywhere and a shooting pain in my foot. I feel like venting my anger on my toddler but I stop and remove myself from the ‘crime scene’ to tend to my poor foot, while hubby steps in take our toddler away.

As I clean my wound, I observe myself firstly simmer and then slowly cool down as I make my way back to the kitchen to clean the huge mess. I would have reacted impulsively had I not recalled that I had lost my privilege of acting out as an instinctual human being the day I became a parent. Also, my acting out would probably not make my little one learn any lasting lesson about glass bottles being breakable.

I have learnt (the hard way) that for small children to process and internalize, even simple instructions need to be repeated (maybe a dozen to even more than a hundred times) before they finally follow. The hard part is not to repeat, but it is rather tough to stay calm, consistent and never lose patience in the process of repetition. I am not immune to it either and have heard myself start statements with “How many times do I have to tell you to….”

Another important aspect of parenting is Unconditional Love, irrespective of the behaviours our child shows. Our love for them is not so fragile that it can change and shift based on their accomplishments, acts of mischief or academic achievements. We may or may not like certain behaviours but we love them all the same. It does not matter how many times or how many ‘walls’ they make me climb, they are always the most loved.

However, our love for them does not mean a lack of Discipline. In fact the greatest gift we can give to our children is Discipline, but that too does not need the extensive use of our vocal cords or limbs. That would indeed be the worst for our children.

Even in my limited experience as a parent I have realized the importance of patience, practice and passion in mastering the science and art of parenting. The same applies to anything else we would want to master and it is true of parenting, only more so.

Just like in a video game the levels keep changing and getting tougher, the same thing happens to us as parents at every progressive stage of our child’s development. A game is always interesting and enjoyable and so is parenting, but this is one game you never want to lose!

 

Once you become a Mother…

Till you become a mother, your life is busy with so many things, your job, your friends, your relationships, your hobbies, your interests. Your mind is completely occupied by so many things revolving around you. Everything is more or less about YOU. But, when you become a mother everything is no longer about you, it is about someone who is more important than you, even more than your own self.

Even for a mother it is extremely hard to tell how much she loves her child. It’s impossible to quantify, yet safe to say that a mother loves her children enough to consider everything else secondary in comparison to the primary love of her life, including her partner and herself. Everything that she loved earlier becomes a little less important than her precious baby. I see many mothers around me and I know that they have put their child ahead of everything else, some have even sacrificed their aspirations to be the best mother that they can be. For many, becoming a mom is an achievement in itself, a realization of a dream.

Mothers may sometimes complain about their changed body, the sleepless nights, the endless toy picking, the constant running around, dealing with tantrums, the flu and fever days and the list goes on. But, if you ask her if she would have it any other way and go back to her old life, I am sure the answer is going to be a definite ‘NO’. Because she knows that one smile, one hug or a few sweet words from her child are the best things in the world. Once you become a mother, you are always a mother and you don’t want to imagine a life without your kids. With experience you become a better mother, sometimes you struggle, sometimes you falter but mostly you learn. As the child grows, so does the mother.

Once you give birth, you are more of a mother and a little less of everything else you were earlier. Sometimes, you are a little less of the daughter, wife, friend and employee you used to be to make space for the mother in you. Also, you learn to be a little less impatient, less selfish, less angry, less anxious, and at times less social (at least initially). Yet, you are so much more than what you used to be earlier. Your understanding of relationships, love, feelings and emotions deepen. Your life feels so much richer to have gained an all new meaning, as you learn what it really means to have your heart beat outside your body, to love someone more than words can describe and more than the mind can imagine, to care for someone so much that you want to bear their share of pain to see them smile. When you feel all this and more…you know you are madly in love…you know you are a MOTHER!

“Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn’t know you had, and dealing with fears you didn’t know existed”                                                               

                                                                                                                                          – Linda Wooten

Family Trademark!

It’s the Friday, the thirteenth, but the day began well for me with my post on parenting getting posted on the webpage for ParentEdge magazine. I proudly show the e-mail to my husband and he happily congratulates me. Soon after he leaves, it is time for me to give our one year old a bath. Like every day, he is playing a game with me while I try to massage him with oil. Every time I take my hands off him to get some oil, he crawls away from the mat and laughs when I struggle to reach out and catch him. The only difference today was that he seemed to a little more enthusiastic than usual. He giggled at me while rolling on the bed as I tried to grab his tiny little foot.

With tiny pink lips and curly locks of hair that hang on his face, he looks like a doll to me. He looks so cute that people often mistake him for a girl! It is such a joy watching him that sometimes I don’t want him to grow up. Once more, as I sit on one side of the bed and let go off him to pour some oil on my palm, he crawls away, smiling. He turns to see me and sneaks a mischievous look at me, waiting for me to reach out. I notice that he has reached the other extreme of the bed, I call out his name but before I can grab him, he rolls over, bumps his head on the side table before hitting the floor with a thud. He begins to cry in pain as I rush over and pick him up.

As I try to console him I feel like a failure as a mother. A mother who failed to protect her little one from getting hurt. I hold him close and as he calms down I find an ugly blue bump emerging on his forehead and a small cut at the outer corner of his right eye. Once he stops crying I take him to his bathtub and to my surprise he happily begins to play in the warm water, while a droplet of blood on the side of his eyelid mocks at me, leaving me feeling terrible. It is indeed amazing how soon kids get back to normal and forget their pain. I wish we adults could do the same. I begin to wonder if it is indeed something to do with Friday the 13^th.

I call up my husband to share my anguish. I narrate the whole incident and tell him how miserable I am feeling about the cut. Knowing that the skin near our eyelids is delicate, I fear that the mark would probably stay for a lifetime. He responds by telling me that it is our ‘family trademark’ since the three of us (My husband, elder son and I) already have it and our younger son just got his. I had not even thought about it like that and I realize it only when he says it. I feel a small hint of a smile emerging on my lips and fall in love with him a little more for diffusing my tension in the most unusual way possible. Interestingly, my mother too says the same thing when I tell her about it.

Later in the day I watch my brave little soldier play, smile and walk around the house as usual and I feel relieved. While he seems to have moved on and forgotten about the injury, I seemed to be hurting for much longer than him. I wish we adults too could put our hurt and pain (physical and emotional) behind us with the same ease as little children and move ahead in life with a carefree smile. We have so much to learn from them, to love wholeheartedly, forgive easily, make friends effortlessly, laugh freely, be surprised by small things, find joy in everything (except eating), jump without the fear of falling, forget pain quickly and focus all our energy in having fun all the time!


(Printed in the March Issue of the White Print Magazine)

I am working from home!

When I became a mother four years ago, I was working with a multinational organisation. I had a job that I loved and never could imagine that my becoming a mother could interfere with my career. I had no idea that my heart would begin to pull me in different directions. I had believed that I would be able to jump into my job as soon as my maternity leave got over, but I was wrong, so wrong. I discovered with experience that motherhood is something that changed my priorities for life.

Thankfully for me, the organization that I worked for allowed me to work from home (WFH) for a few months after my maternity leave was over. Although it was difficult, but it still was a big blessing for me. It allowed me to be around my baby for longer, feed him and watch him as he achieved some of his growth milestones. I could cuddle him and kiss him whenever I wanted. However, working from home came with its own challenges, such as working in an environment that was not as peaceful as my office cubicle, lacked the fancy telecommunication systems and the suave meeting rooms. The other thing that I missed out on was the ability to catch up with my colleagues and discuss things face-to-face with them.

However, what pinched me most was the perception of colleagues that when you work from home, you are not working as seriously. Interestingly, some family and friends also felt that since you are at home, your work is not as serious, which was far from reality. On the contrary, I ended up working all the time, late into the night or early in the morning and making the most of my time when my baby slept. While in office I had the chance to chat with people over a ‘chai break’, at home I began to feel guilty about getting up even to eat breakfast. On certain busy days I did not even get a chance to comb my hair. In spite of all these difficulties, I preferred to work from home since the control freak mother in me, found it hard to let her baby out of sight during the initial months.

Around the same time, I saw some of my friends in other organizations who did not have the privilege of working from home, either drop out of their jobs to become stay at home mothers or worse, suffered from guilt for not being with their kids for a significant part of the day. Often, unable to match up to the energy levels of their toddlers once they returned home from a heavy day at work. The kind of guilt mothers feel for spending time away from the kids is unique to our species. I barely see fathers feeling bad for spending long hours at work, travelling or spending time away from their children, having delegating their parenting responsibilities to their wife and other family members. Overall, I definitely felt blessed to be able to manage the two important spheres of my life.

Through these years, I really wished that more organizations offered a work from home option for their employees, be it women or men and more importantly offer it without carrying any bias, which would allow many more women to stay in the workforce through the tough years of child rearing. Secondly, I would love to see people who do not work from home treating those who do with respect. Respect for their work and for them as a person for juggling two worlds at the same time, while they themselves have to take care of just one at a time. Lastly, to all the mothers who are working from home, I would like to say…please do take care of yourself too. In our pursuit to be superwomen and supermoms we often forget our own selves. So, do make time for yourself, relax, it is okay even if everything is not as perfect as you would like it to be. While reaching the destination is important, enjoying the journey to get there makes it even better!

However, do not let the perception of you on others spoil the spirit within. Rise up and tweak the perception so that it is just right for you.

Originally published at Work from Home Divas India website (http://www.workfromhomedivasindia.in/wfh-peril-perception-dont-juggle-them-tweak-them-to-be-just-right/)

Thumb Impression

I will never forget the day my baby was born. He cried loudly just after being born and so did I on hearing him cry. While his cry was probably out of the discomfort of being born, my tears were entirely out of joy. The sheer happiness of hearing the first cry of my own baby. I just saw him for a brief second and he was taken away to the nursery.

Later, when my father met me he mentioned that our baby has a double thumb on his right hand. Although still sedated, the perfectionist in me questioned the imperfection. Later when I met my baby son, I kept looking at his thumb and wondered what may have caused it. Soon, I fell so much in love with him that I forgot about it completely.

Some people said it was lucky, some were amused, some said, “oh! Hrithik Roshan”. We even joked about it since my husband was working on brand ThumsUp , but to me, it’s just a part of him and I don’t even notice it anymore. It’s interesting how we stop noticing the flaws in people we love. When he was a baby, I wondered if other kids would tease him because of it. So far, in school, I don’t think it’s been a problem, but it’s definitely something that attracts attention from other children he meets at the park.

Some kids just notice it but don’t say anything, other smaller ones innocently ask about it. Occasionally, they gather in groups and stare at his unique thumb, especially the slightly older ones. While they are old enough to realize that it’s unusual but not mature enough to restrain themselves from passing an insensitive remark. So far, he has been a sport and it doesn’t bother him one bit. I as a mother, do not try to be overly protective either but do tell him that he is beautiful.  

A few weeks ago he came back with a sheet of paper from school with an impression of his palms on it, probably done as a part of the weekly art activity. I was admiring it closely, when I noticed a heart on it. After looking at it for a moment I realized it was the impression of his double thumb, in the shape of a neat little heart. It immediately brought a smile to me. That day I realized why he was born with a double thumb…He carries a heart on his thumb. It’s beautiful!

We all have our flaws, maybe not even as visible as a double thumb, but we often criticize ourselves and hate those flaws. I believe it’s best to be like a child, enjoying the little things around us instead of being self-critical. In any case, those who love us deeply, don’t even notice those flaws, rather we are the most beautiful in their eyes.

“There is only one beautiful child in the world, and every mother has it!” – Chinese Proverb


(Printed in the February issue of the White Print magazine)

Mother Extraordinaire!

Each mother is just as unique as her own child, but there is one thing that is common across mothers is the purest form of love in her heart, for her child. As a child I had read a story about a mother whose children were taken away and in order to get her children back she had to sacrifice her beautiful long hair, her pretty blue eyes, the rosy colour of her cheeks and she did so happily to get her children back. The story did have a happy ending when she gets re-united with her children. Even though I was just a little girl, that strange story played on my mind for some time and I felt sorry for the mother.

Now, that I am a mother of two myself, I notice all the wonderful mothers around me and some of the mothers remind me of the mother in the story. Some mothers are truly exceptional and extraordinary. These mothers touched my heart and will stay in my thoughts for a long time. A few months ago, I read about a mother who had chosen to donate her twenty-seven-year-old son’s organs who had died in a road accident. She had lost her husband when her son was small and had provided the best she could for him. She donated his organs including his heart to save the life of someone else’s child. While the newspapers had highlighted the high-octane run between the two Chennai hospitals, I was deeply touched by this mother’s pain and courage. Would this mother have given her all like the mother in the story to get her son back? Happily, I am sure. There are many other mothers too who have done the same, and I salute all of you!

Last October, there was a musical concert during Durga Puja at Sushant Lok (Gurgaon). What was unique about the group that was performing was that all the musicians and singers were visually impaired or blind. You may doubt the musical capabilities, but to everyone’s amazement, they performed beautifully, maybe even better than a lot of groups that have the gift of vision. In this group were two brothers, called Hrithik and Roshan, both extremely talented singers. Along with them was their mother, a mother extraordinaire! She was at all times attentive to the needs of her sons, offering water, wiping off beads of sweat from their forehead, guiding them in walking and even holding up their musical notes (in Braille) for them. What was also worth noticing was how happy and cheerful she was and the great friendship she shared with her sons. Would this mother have sacrificed her vision if only it could have been transferred to her sons? Gladly, I believe. I salute you, mother extraordinaire!

I know another extraordinary mother personally, my own paternal grandmother, who lost her husband in her twenties and was left with little money, no employment and a toddler to bring up all alone. A young widow was looked down upon in those days and shunted from the place she knew as home. She left her native village in Bengal and came over to Delhi in the 60’s. With some support from her sister and relatives she brought up her son, in a new city, in the midst of strangers. She learnt physiotherapy and worked as a therapist to earn a living. Each day for her was a struggle for her till her son (my father) was employed. Even till date, when she herself is eighty-five she wants to take care of her son as if he is still a teenager. Would this mother have sacrificed her youth and beauty to make her son happy? Guess what? She did! In her decades long struggle of bringing up her son alone, she never ever thought about herself, let alone her fading youth. She even lost an eye somewhere along the difficult journey. I salute you, mother extraordinaire!

Kudos to all you wonderful mothers! May all your wishes, desires, dreams and hopes for your children come true!

Life is Beautiful!

Writing has been immensely rewarding. It gives me the ability to flex my intellectual muscle and the rewards in the form of compliments I receive feel wonderful. It is pure joy for me when people tell me that they have enjoyed reading it, that it made them feel some emotions. A lot of friends told me that they never knew I could write so well. The honest truth is, that even I did not know that I could and that I would enjoy it so much, even if it is about small incidents from my life which can be easily forgotten with the passage of time. I did think about writing, many a times over the past few years, but actually got down to doing it very recently, only after I fell unconscious after a head injury. I gained consciousness to a new ‘me’.

Only after the incident I felt that I was missing something, that I had to do something other than what I was doing already, that I had to do something selfish, only for myself and if it brings a smile to others, then that is a huge bonus. There is a deep realization within me that there is more to life than the money we earn, the job we hold, the material possessions, the clothes, shoes or mobile phone that we have. Only if we choose to keep ourselves happy, can we make ourselves happy, or our days can be spent looking at life pass us by like we would look at the world from the window of a bus. I notice a lot of people complain and feel angry at a lot of things on a regular basis, life can be easily spent in dissatisfaction too. I am guilt of it too at times, but I try to avoid it as much as possible.

I write my blog to be able to share some thoughts and experiences with all those willing to read, sometimes, I write to my husband, to share some of my innermost thoughts and feelings with him, knowing that I cannot say all that I want to, verbally. I write to my children too, a diary in the form of tiny letters to them, about their growth milestones, about holidays we spent together, about the beautiful moments they have given me, even the things they have broken and how a touch, a kiss, a hug or a few words from them that make my life much richer than it ever could have been. They show me so much every day, that can only be experienced…words and photographs can only capture fragments of it. When I began writing the diary soon after my elder son was born, I could not really pin point as to why I write to him. But, lately, the reasons became clearer to me.

I write to them, so we remember the precious moments we have spent together. They would not remember these beautiful years of their life when they grow up and my memory might get hazy too with time. These letters would act as their external hard drives, so they can enjoy moments from their childhood again, read about themselves and have a good laugh, marvel about their own acts of mischief. Maybe, when they are teenagers or even older, they may disagree/argue with me, question what their mother did for them, they would still know that their mother loves them irrespective of everything else. Lastly, when I am no longer around them, they can still have a little bit of me telling them how much I love them. They will be able to relive the beautiful moments we have spent together as mom and kids.

I feel that we all lead extraordinarily beautiful lives, we just need to believe it and identify that beauty in our lives. Like I said earlier, only if we choose to keep ourselves happy, can we make ourselves happy. Dreams need to be chased, heartfelt desires need to be worked on and feelings need to be communicated.  I also believe that it is essential to celebrate, be it a birthday, an anniversary, all achievements, however small, in whichever way that gives us happiness, be it through a party, or a trip, a private dinner, anything….but it has to be something. Only when we enjoy ourselves can we remember it for long, we would not remember the uneventful, routine days we spent watching life pass us by. It is the special, happy, wonderful moments that make our lives worth living, and these moments need us to make them memorable.

“Memories have to be made in order to remember them. Make some really good ones every day!”

                                                                                                                               -          Doe Zantamata

 

Frustrating Motherhood

Have you heard a mother tell you how frustrating, tiring, testing and maddening motherhood is? Most probably not and if you are a mother yourself, maybe you know exactly what I am talking about. Before I became a mother I always had the perception that motherhood was about a cute little baby, the awesome heart-warming lovey-dovey feeling of holding your child in your arms, watching them walk, babble and how wonderful they looked on the first day of school. Well, to be fair, it is indeed all of that but for some strange reason everyone forgets to tell you about the other not-so awesome things it involves. It’s like a very well-kept secret, a well-orchestrated conspiracy to not tell prospective parents how painful parenting is.

What I had completely missed out on and learnt through experience is that motherhood is also about unending sleepless nights, continuous worrying, bottle cleaning, smelly poop changing, dealing with tantrums, flu, fever and runny noses, teething problems and in the process you let go off a lot of your independence, feel your equation with your spouse changing, experience the worst kind of suffocation and get driven up the wall sometimes. For some it even involves making drastic career or life changes.

Essentially, the woman who became a mother ceases to exist, at least for some time. Not to forget, pregnancy and birthing itself hijacks her body and leaves behind scars for life. Except for few women who are extremely lucky, her body transforms into that of an older woman. Caring for one’s own self often takes a backseat and you watch yourself age at an accelerated pace.

I have also witnessed how Moms tend to feel the burden much more than the dads. Well, the new age dads are often more involved than their predecessor dads but still it is the mother who is feeling guilty and beating herself up for not being the ‘best mother’ or living up to the perception she has of an ‘ideal mother’. The ‘ideal mother’ is always just a few steps ahead of what she is, so the ‘real mother’ is never really exceeding expectations. In her own eyes, she is almost always an under performer.

In the days of our mommies, the standards and practices of parenting were different and extended families were active partners in child rearing, with grandmothers and aunts filling in. I am sure that generation had their own fair share of problems but I feel that in today’s day when families are mostly nuclear the challenge for mommies has increased. The practices that were employed by our parents have largely gone out of style. The behaviours for which we had earned a whack or a harsh scolding as children now demand calm and constructive counselling from us as parents. Even when the new age mommy tries to look for answers online to some simple parenting questions there are multiple opinions from a plethora of experts which sometimes makes it even worse for the already troubled parent. You learn how to be a parent every day, on the job, often through trial-and-error.

So, dear friend if you are not a parent already, please think long and hard about it before embarking on the scariest roller coaster ride of your life. It’s definitely comparable to getting a tattoo on your face. Life will never be the same again once you become a parent. Do not give in to parental and societal pressures for procreating at all costs. None of those advisers are going to stay up nights for you. If and when you feel that you are ready to enter the parenting battle-zone should you do so. And if you are already on the same boat as me, please hang in there and keep telling the world how truly wonderful it is to be parents and post some pictures that show how angelic they are!

The Nasty Little Kidney Bean!

Two days ago my three year old came home from the Montessori with a kidney bean lodged in his ear canal. He had found it on the floor of his class and for some strange reason decided to put it into his ear. Thankfully his teacher called me to inform me about the incident and that they could not see it in his ear. When he reached home he was his usual active self and happy to be home. However, when I looked closely into his ears I could see a portion of a kidney bean protruding from his tiny ear canal. Instead of trying anything at home I called up my husband and asked him to come and take us to the hospital and get it removed safely. While it was a cause of worry I did not think it was too serious a matter and believed that a doctor would be able to pull it out easily with some specialized instrument.

At the multi-speciality we were referred to the ENT specialist. He had a fancy chair and a lot of shiny instruments but not the skill to pull out the partially visible kidney bean from my son’s ear. Our son resisted and cried while we held him tight so the doctor could fish it out but on the contrary the doctor failed miserably and he made the situation worse by pushing it further into his ear. We ended up with an agitated child in greater pain. He cried inconsolably for twenty minutes while I held him in my arms in the waiting area of the hospital. Irrigating his ear with water to coax out the bean only ensured that the bean now had lots of moisture to grow, soften and cause more pain by pushing against his ear drum.

The doctor smartly went on to suggest a minor operation the next morning to retrieve the bean for which we were asked to admit the child for a day. Since the whole procedure was expected to cost up to thirty thousand rupees we were asked to reach out to our insurance provider and make the necessary bookings at the hospital immediately for the next day. Blood work was also required and I had no heart to prick a needle into my already crying child’s arm. For some strange reason all this did not feel right and seemed to be a business move to me. I wanted a second opinion for sure before jumping into this.

After giving it some thought and discussion we called our trusted paediatrician for advice who referred us to another ENT specialist. We left the hospital without making any booking or doing any blood work since we simply could not trust this doctor’s intentions. In the evening we visited the other doctor in his not so impressive clinic in old Gurgaon. The absence of any specialized instruments and a small cabin in a local market complex did not do much to build my confidence in him.

Since our son had already been traumatized enough in the afternoon he used all his force to prevent the doctor from touching or putting anything in his ear. My husband tried in vain to hold his limbs still. Our son cried at the top of his lungs and begged for mercy. The doctor was able to pull out only small specks of the now softened kidney bean. He prescribed an oral sedative to relax him a bit but that too did not seem to do the trick the moment his ear was touched. There was no choice left for the doctor but to suggest that anaesthesia be used to keep him still.

Soon he was admitted at a small nursing home nearby. Our son slept under the influence of the sedative and we waited for the doctor to arrive along with the anaesthetist. I observed him sleep and wished for a way to transfer his agony to me. I was willing to go through his pain a hundred times over only if he could be spared from this trauma.

The operating room was nearby and soon after our son was carried into it we heard him scream, shout and cry for his father to save him. His blood curdling cries were unbearable. May no mother have to hear her child cry, while she stood there helpless. My husband knowing what a softy I am, expected me to cry and put his hand on my shoulder but I did not. Slowly my son’s cries and calls for help turned garbled and he fell silent indicating that the anaesthesia had taken effect.  Only when I could hear nothing but the constant beeping of the monitoring machines and not my son did a tear escape from my eye. For the first time in my life I fully understood what it really meant to have a heart outside of your body.

He was returned to the room after the longest twenty minutes of my life. The doctor showed us the nasty little culprit that had to be extracted part by part. My son now lay on the bed unconscious with a large oxygen mask on his tiny face, a clip on his finger to monitor his vitals and a canola taped to the top of his wrist in case any emergency medication needed to be administered. I called his name after twenty minutes of his return to the room but there was no response. He woke up only after about an hour and I used the time to write a mail to his school principal strongly advising against the use of kidney beans for pouring activities.

An innocent looking kidney bean had not only cost us eight thousand rupees, but caused immense trauma to our child and a lot of heartache for us as parents. Thankfully, the bean was out of his ear and his ear drum was not damaged, only swollen. He was sent home after two hours with some medications prescribed. On the way home he sat in my lap and asked for his latest green toy car. I was happy to give it to him and gave in to all his demands. I was grateful and glad to see him back to his normal self the next day.

I write this post to request all parents, teachers and caregivers to be extra careful and keep away any small beans, beads, toys with small parts or sharp objects (even sharp pencils) away from small children. Seemingly innocent, harmless items could become dangerous or even life threatening in the hands of small children. We can only try and prevent our children from getting hurt. For me, my belief that the parenting is a roller coaster ride on which I learn every day from my little Gurus grows stronger.

You may also enjoy reading The Naughty Boys! and The Parenting Roller Coaster.

The Naughty Boys!

Every morning, once my husband and elder son leave, I play with my ten month old, enjoy the baby smell that I get every time I cuddle him, tickle him to hear his cute giggle and see him smile, revealing his four tiny teeth from between his tiny pink lips. I just love the way it feels to hold him, press my cheek against his, kiss him on the chin, rub my nose behind his ear and converse in babbles. I can feel my heart overflowing with love, warmth and happiness every time he laughs reducing his twinkling eyes to slits.

These moments make me wish that they never grow up so I can hug and kiss my boys whenever and as many times I want to. To endlessly watch them play, smile, giggle, laugh and hear them say words and sentences for the first time. However, there are plenty other moments when they drive me up the wall and I wish they would grow up by the next morning and leave me alone so I can enjoy my morning coffee and newspaper in peace, travel the world with limited luggage and once again have the luxury of time for myself.

My little one is at that stage when babies test gravity and he loves to drop things to watch them fall and make a sound. He tests to see which one makes the most sound and prefers those objects. He would drop one of his toys and expect me to pick it up so that he can do it again. I pick it up for him every single time just so I can watch him shut his eyes tight in anticipation of the crash just as he opens his grasp to let the toy fall. If I happen to catch it before it falls thus preventing the sound he opens his eyes and looks around as if questioning why there was no noise.

Yesterday, he was playing on our bed with his feeding bottle. Since he cannot open it I was comfortable with him holding it, hoping that would entice him to drink some milk a few minutes later. I was wrong. He managed to drop the bottle over the headboard, behind the bed. Since there is a tiny gap between the wall and the bed, I thought that I would fish it out of there. As I peeped behind I was surprised to not see the bottle there. I learnt yesterday that our bed touches the floor from all sides except that one which my baby chose. The bottle rolled under the bed and I had no way of retrieving it since the bed is too heavy for me to shift.

Later in the evening, while I was getting ready to leave for a toddler's birthday party my three year old managed to pull out our family photograph from one of the photo frames that adorns a cabinet in the dining area. Previously he had never shown any interest in them, but for no obvious reason he pulled it out tore it and flushed it down the toilet! I was a little annoyed with him since that was one of the few photographs we had of the four of us together with my elder one sitting still. It is unbelievably hard to get a picture of me with the three men I love since my elder one is too fast for the camera and gets captured as a hazy little ghost most of the times.

I questioned him why he tore and threw the picture. He in his sweet and innocent voice calmly replied, “Naya photo ayega” (new photo will come). That did not make any sense to me and I put the empty frame in a drawer. Soon after we were at the birthday party and the kids had a ball of a time playing and running around. It was an evening well spent watching our kids enjoying themselves. We had our picture clicked at the party and got it as a return gift. When we came home I did indeed have a new picture to replace the old one. I was reminded of what my son told me earlier in the evening and wondered if he has intuitive powers. At that moment my feeling angry at him felt so meaningless.

They are so tiny but they make me learn and discover new things everyday inside and around me. They make me see beauty in places I never imagined, to feel the kind of love, joys and anxiety I did not know existed. They teach me valuable lessons of patience and perseverance the most, which my parents and teachers would have tried to instil in me but may not have succeeded as much. My children are my best Gurus, they teach me every day.


(Printed in the January 2015 issue of the White Print Magazine)

The Parenting Roller Coaster

My elder son is three and a half and over the years I have noticed how there are these phases he goes through, especially since he was one and a half. He was the cutest baby I had ever seen with big expressive eyes, long eyelashes that would hold his tears, small pink lips concealing tiny white teeth, a button nose and curly black hair that fell around his face. In my eyes he is the cutest since he is mine as would be for any mother.

Once he was two I began to realize why it was called TERRIBLE Two and indeed it was. He had these phases of fascination for a certain type of things. Firstly, it was water bottles. Whenever and wherever he found then, he would unscrew the cap and pour its contents on the floor, on the bed or table. Then came the love for make-up, largely nail paints and lipsticks, which were often found smeared on the floor. The day he had his mundan I noticed him admire himself in the mirror and touching his head. The curls were all gone. He generously applied talcum powder on his head and kept rubbing his rough scalp.

I still remember one evening, when he was around two and did not speak a word, I found him struggling to open my eye shadow container. It was a circular container with four shades. Its lid had to be unscrewed to be opened. He being a child had not figured it out and was pulling at the lid with all his strength. After watching him struggle so hard, I told him, “Gol kore khulte hobe” in Bengali (It needs to be opened in a circular motion). While I told him I did not accompany it with a hand movement and I wasn’t sure if he understood since I had no idea of his level of understanding of language. He in response held the container in one hand and moved the container in a circle around his face, eyes moving in a circle with the container, lips pressed together in concentration. I burst out laughing watching him and realized that he indeed understood more than I thought. I happily opened the container for him to demonstrate how it opened (then took it away and hid it to prevent destruction).  

When I used to leave for office every morning and took him along with me in the car to drop him at my mother’s house for the day he preferred to sit next to me or on my lap, knowing that his mother would disappear soon. In the car he carefully watched me apply lip balm and if I asked him if he wanted some he would pucker up his lips in response. He felt extremely happy as soon as I applied some for him. Once I dropped him, I had to tiptoe my way out of the house. Waving or saying good bye would make him cry. The days he happened to see me leave he would cry loudly with tears streaming down his cheeks. It took all my strength to hold back mine.

Anyway, coming back to his phases, next came his love for lotions, balms, creams and oils, which he loved to smear on his hands and then liberally apply to the bed sheets or table tops. Once I even found him massaging his favourite toy car with cream. He calmly told me that he was cleaning the car when he noticed my presence in the room. His unwavering focus was commendable, an artist was busy at work. Once he turned three and began to speak sentences the carnage reduced and he entered into the “drama queen” phase much like the Bollywood heroines from the seventies and eighties.

Often when we caught hold of him to take a bath in winter, he would say “Chod do mujhe” (leave me), which would sometimes be “Chod do, mujhe kuch nahi pata” as if he was being tortured to give out some secret. When he was happily enjoying a bath in his tub and it would be emptied so he came out he would cry and say “Yeh tumne kya kar diya?” (What have you done?). Lately, if he is told not to do something, he doesn’t cry, but straight away goes to bed reminding me of the way Asha Parekh would run to her bedroom and cry on the bed with her face buried in her hands and derriere moving in tandem to her sobs.

There are many of these small things that make me fall in love with them more with each passing day and that is what makes the journey of parenting beautiful. My children are indeed the greatest love of my life. It’s not always fun, it’s not only about love, it takes a lot of patience, perseverance and hard work to bring up a child. They test your limits of energy- physically, mentally and emotionally even at the moment when you would wish for a moment of solace. While they look like angels themselves, they have the capability to tease out the devil in you sometimes.

Personally, I have found it to be a lot more pleasant when I take it easy and force the perfectionist and cleanliness freak in me to take a backseat. At times it’s best to let go even if your make-up is destroyed, bed sheet ruined, room scattered with toys and things are not running as per plan to be able to fully embrace the moment.

I often think of parenting as a roller coaster ride. The best and the scariest in the world, but thoroughly enjoyable and absolutely worth everything! So hold on tight and enjoy the ride Mommy and Daddy!

Enjoyed this? You may enjoy reading related posts: Oh my God! and I will save you!

I will save you!

Our relationship as husband and wife is somewhat like the Delhi weather, fraught with extremes. We love each other deeply and the fights are intense too. We were having a bad day, hubby and I had a terrible fight in the morning, over the same old topic of him not taking up some of the domestic responsibilities, of not taking away some burden off my shoulders. After the heated exchange comes the silent phase just like humidity after the rain, when we play the game of I-am-not-talking-to-you.

I strongly believe that my children should not be impacted in anyway even when we parents fight. I need to play the role of a mother seamlessly. The wife in me should not change the mother to my children. Although I believe it, it is very hard to follow, to divide yourself into different parts and to bring forward a different facet for each person.

Soon after the argument I took my elder son out to play and to get some fresh air too. I showed him a few things, then we started running on a pathway made of large pieces of stone, each placed a few inches apart. A beautifully designed pathway for enjoying long leisurely walks on, but my son and I were running and he with his small legs was jumping energetically from one stone to the next. I was extremely upset inside but my gleeful leaps concealed my feelings completely.

I grasped his tiny hand and kept counting loudly as we jumped from one stone to the next (so he would learn to count as we played). After doing this a couple of times, my three year old who has much more energy than me started running faster and I feared that he might fall and hurt himself, so instead of asking him to slow down, I said in the singsong tone he usually speaks, "Mujhe darr lag raha hai" (I am scared) and he in his sweet voice immediately replied, “Daro mat Mumma, mein tumhe bacha lunga." (Don’t be scared Mumma, I will save you).

His words touched my heart, I just kept looking at his innocent face. Till a few months ago he could barely speak and at that moment in time he had said something profound. It was one of the best things anybody had ever told me. I hugged him and had he not pulled me away to play again, I would have shed a tear or two. His words meant the world to me and indeed he saved me that day. I was not feeling so miserable anymore, instead I felt loved and cared for.

A few words of can make a huge difference to the people who love you. You never know the impact it may have on them.


If you enjoyed reading this, then you may also enjoy The Parenting Roller Coaster and Gods on Fire

Gods on Fire!

My 3-year-old jetpack of energy is famous in the family for mischief and relatives would often ask about his latest achievement in the arena of mischief and without fail he gives me enough to boast about. Since he was one and half he had learnt how to unscrew bottle caps and till the age of three he emptied bottles of water whenever and wherever he could find them, mostly on the floor, sometimes on the dining table or the centre table in the drawing room and once on our quilt on a cold winter night.

His love for massacring make-up is well known too. A lot of Lakme, YSL , Dior and Chanel lost their lives in the battle, followed by a number of lotions and face creams getting smeared on table tops or bed sheets. Occasionally, there would be bloodbath with sindoor. Essentially, anything and everything in his reach is vulnerable. Decorative items in the house have also been kept to a minimum to avoid any major disasters.

One afternoon I was alone with my two kids. My elder son (3 years old) was done with his lunch and watching his favourite cartoon and I was heating lunch for myself with my five month old clinging to me, just like a baby monkey clings to its mother. So far, I was having a good day since my son had eaten his lunch without too much fuss. I was shuttling between the kitchen and the room he was in since I knew his capabilities, or so I thought.

I was about to enter into the room and smelt something burning and rushed towards the kitchen thinking it was the food, but everything was fine there. When I was coming back to check on my son, he came out of the room, pulled my t-shirt and in his usual sweet voice said “Dekho mumma maine kya kiya.” He usually says this every time he wants to show me something he made.

As I looked up, I was horrified. I saw flames rising up from the top of the wooden cabinet on which we place photos and miniature statues of our Hindu Gods and Goddesses. The red silken cloth placed on top was burning up rapidly, the orange flames growing stronger every second.

I ran and kept our baby in the adjacent bedroom and then looked for the closest source of water. At that moment, the bathroom taps seemed far although they are just a few steps away and I even considered if I should get water from the kitchen since it was going to be poured on the Gods. But, the kitchen seemed distant now.

I saw my son’s sipper filled with water sitting in front of me and without wasting one more second, I poured it on the cabinet. After two more trips to the bathroom for water I finally managed to douse the fire. Thankfully, all our Gods and my son was unhurt. Only the smell of burnt cloth remained.

Later, I realized that the source of fire was a small oil lamp that had been lit in the morning, a practice my husband had recently started and ended with my son putting the Gods on fire! With trembling hands I called up my husband to tell him the latest and the greatest from our son.

Lesson Learnt: Never underestimate the power of a small child and most importantly, no sources of fire in the house anywhere.

Parenting is a journey and I learn everyday. As my children grow, I grow too as a parent. They teach me something new, just the way I try to teach them.

You may also enjoy reading related posts: I will save you! and The Parenting Roller Coaster