For the Love of Heels

When I was just a toddler, I had been so enchanted by a woman wearing a pair of stilettos that I had ended up following her (rather, her golden stilettos) all evening at a wedding my parents had taken me to. I had given my mother such a hard time tracking me that evening that she still remembers, laughing.


My shoe fetish, or rather the love for heels began fairly early. With me as a child, my mother often chose to walk longer routes to avoid passing by a shoe store, lest I enter and insist on buying another pair of shoes. While other kids my age were throwing tantrums inside toy stores, I was giving the puppy-eyed, please-buy-me-this-pair look to my mother in shoe shops. ‘See Ma, this fits me perfectly’ was my justification for buying it. It didn’t make me change my mind even when she said, ‘You have another pair in the same colour at home’.

When I was nine, my father gifted me a pair of glossy, cherry coloured heels from some country he had gone to. Clearly, they were big for me but that didn’t stop me from slipping my feet into them and posing in front of the mirror at home. How I waited for weeks and months till my feet grew big enough to be able to wear them comfortably. I had tried them on every few weeks to check. Ah! Sweet childhood memories of dreams getting fulfilled.


When I began working, it was the perfect time to wear smart heels every day and I did. The neat and clean office environment was perfect for wearing them without risking them getting spoilt or dirty. In my wedding trousseau, there was no place for flats. Lest anyone be reminded of the height difference between Amitabh Bachchan and Jaya Bhaduri when they saw us as a new couple, four pairs of heels in red, gold, silver and pink accompanied me to my new home. The office shoes (black) also joined me a few weeks later. Soon, I had a tall shoe rack exclusively for me.


Pregnancy was the game changer. Right from the beginning, I was cautioned about wearing heels. I wondered if my sudden shift from heels to flats would be the big give away even before I shared the ‘good news’ or my belly began to show. With the expanding size of my waistline and clothes, my feet expanded too. Even after months of having my baby, those shoes were too tight. I was no longer size 37. Slowly and gradually, all my heels were replaced with comfortable flats. With the need to run after and carry my child, followed by another pregnancy and baby, comfort was essential.


With the birth of a child, a mother is born. She makes a lot of changes to adapt to her new needs and that of her baby. Habits, lifestyle, food, daily routine, everything changes. New responsibilities, duties and caring for the newborn are prime. Footwear was not even the last thing on my mind. That I enjoyed wearing them once was long forgotten. History.


One year ago, something caught my eye as I passed by a fancy shoe store. I tried on a pair of shiny stilettos after a long time. I found it odd to wear them. The arching of my foot inside them. It was a strange feeling. It was like my body had forgotten how to walk in a pair of heels. I walked like a woman who had never worn heels in her entire life, somewhat like you would have seen in some old Bollywood movies. Nothing like the girl who dreamt of wearing heels.


Now that my children are no longer toddlers and are too big to be carried, I have gone ahead and indulged myself. I have gifted myself two pairs of stilettos for my birthday. One red and another in gold. While the red one got an outing recently for a dinner, I am looking for an apt occasion to wear the one in gold. And, guess what? This time around it didn’t feel weird. It felt good to wear them like
I was getting back to being somewhat like my old self. To top it all, I found out I am finally back to my old shoe size too.


Most women make changes when they become moms. Some big, some small. Did you make such a transition with pregnancy and childbirth? Do share your thoughts in the comments section.


Post originally shared on Momspresso https://www.momspresso.com/parenting/from-a-moms-heart/article/for-the-love-of-heels

Planting Memories

I enjoy looking at the few potted plants in my balcony. I water them every morning, look for new buds, smile at the newly blossomed blood red hibiscus flowers, notice the new baby leaves. I observe how the twin creepers of Aparajita are gradually growing and strengthening their hold around the railing. Its bright blue flowers. I sometimes even grind fruit peels and mix it up with the soil.

One morning, while looking at the plants I realized I have subconsciously chosen only those plants which I am familiar with since childhood. A red hibiscus (jaba), a basil (tulsi), Aloe Vera, Curry leaves (kari patta, while is called mitha limbda in Gujarati, although I haven't quite figured out what is mitha (sweet) about it). All the plants I now have were there in our house while I was growing up among a few others which need a little more love and care to blossom. I have chosen ones that are easy to maintain and have medicinal or culinary uses too.

My Guru (Grandmother) had a terrace full of potted plants. Watering and caring for them each day on her own.  She never really liked having a mali (gardener) around even when she was much too old to take care of all the plants on her own. I used to occasionally watch her digging up the soil, tossing in used tea leaves and crushed egg shells into the soil. As she went about her gardening, she spoke about which plants needed more or less water, extra fertilization etc. She expressed surprise about how much water the plant was "drinking" in the summer days, like they were real humans. She even told me about the prohibition on planting too much poppy during the British rule since poppy seeds can be used to make a potent drug (afeem).

She liked to have plants that either had medicinal properties or bore flowers (Roses, Dahliya, Poppy). She took great pride when her roses grew big or had a unique color. We even have a picture of her with her roses in full bloom! If she ever got a cut or a burn from working in the kitchen, she preferred to use Aloe Vera pulp over any of the medicine tubes at home. The hibiscus leaf was a great alternative to shampoo and tulsi leaves were often crushed and used as medicine for me for the common cough and cold that I was very commonly affected with during my childhood years.

At that time I did not know what she was imparting and that I was learning. While she was sowing seeds, nurturing saplings, watering plants maybe even she did not realize that she was also sowing seeds of knowledge, planting stories and memories in a child's mind. It has been over two years that she passed away but I guess she lives on in many such small ways, in the way we celebrate our festivals, the food we eat and even the plants we choose to grow and how we use them.

Sometimes, I look at my children's angelic sleeping faces at the end of a day when they have truly tested my patience ( and sometimes even convert me into a screaming mom-ster), I wonder if I am planting some seeds of knowledge and good memories in their heads. Am I nurturing these saplings the right way? Hopefully!

I guess I would find the answers many years from now...till then, we have two small elephant shaped kiddy watering cans to water my plants with.

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. 

Mystery of My Missing Husband

I woke up and with one eye still closed picked up my mobile phone to check the time. It was 6:50 AM. I would have probably rolled over and snoozed for ten more minutes had it not been for a Whatsapp message from my husband.

There was just one word, “Boarded”.

Boarded? Really? Where? I don’t remember him telling me about any trip. Did he send the message by mistake? By now my eyes were wide open and mind racing. I vaguely remembered him shaking me in my sleep and telling me that he was leaving. What time was that?  He did not mention anything about where he was going or when he was supposed to return. He must have gone to the gym.

I looked at the message again to check the time. It had been sent at 5:00 AM. I called his number. His phone was switched off. Where did he go?  Unable to believe that he could have flown away to some place I was unaware of, I started searching the rooms for evidence. What should I look for? His shoes? The usual travel bag? Oh! The laptop bag! I looked for it at its usual place. It was not there. Finally, it was confirmed, he had left. But Where?

He travels frequently, although I detest it, I am pretty used to it. But, this was a first. Never in all these years, had he left without telling me where he was going. Even if it was a day trip, I always knew where he was. As I washed my face, I felt the urge to cry. 

How could you forget to tell me about this? You could have told me last night! This is not done. I was already framing the angry sentences in my mind. A tiny voice inside my head smirked, “So, after two kids and 8 years, this is your marriage?” Na, this is just him and it’s a one-time thing.

Really? Was it just him? Or was it me too? Always with the kids or talking about the kids. Did I get so engrossed being a ‘Mom’ that I ceased to be a ‘Wife’? Did we become ‘parents’ and forget how to be a ‘couple’. Did I squeeze my ‘husband’ out of ‘family’? Did I give ‘us’ a fair share of time and attention? Was I really 'listening'?

When was the last time we really ‘talked’ to each other and not discuss the kids? Hmm, I could only remember talking about school, homework, dinner, classes, groceries, weekend activities etc. Somewhat like subsistence communication. Just getting things done and moving on, one day at a time. Well, that’s how real life is mostly. Maybe? 

I don't know the answers yet, but hopefully I am looking at the right places.

Do share your thoughts and experiences in the comments section.

P.S. Just in case you are wondering...he had gone for a short work trip which he had told me about weeks in advance (but wasn't sure of then). While I had forgotten about it completely, he did not mention it even the evening before leaving.

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.

Who Do You Love More? Baba or Mumma?

My three year old was looking closely at the photograph of an elephant with its calf in a book of animals.

“Which animal is this?” I asked.

 “Baby Elephant and Baba Elephant”, he replied confidently.

For him, all the pictures of animals with their young ones were of ‘Baba and Baby’. I burst out laughing. I was amused but not surprised, since I knew that when given a choice, my son preferred to have his Baba with him over Mamma.

Although kids spend more time with their Mom, they often say that they love Baba more, possibly because Moms are also the disciplinarians and task masters when it comes to picking up toys, eating the veggies and going to bed on time. Dads on the contrary, spend less time but are often the ones doing the fun activities and letting the kids have their way. Thus, it is not a surprise when Dads win the, “Who is your favorite parent?” game. Undoubtedly, my son’s daddy too could not stop smiling every time this badge of honor was bestowed upon him. He has been the undisputed winner throughout.

However, last night when it was time for bed our son demanded that I put him to bed and not Daddy. I was pleasantly surprised when he said “Mamma mujhe bohot pyar karti hai”. I hugged him tight and readily agreed to his demand. I looked at my husband with a victorious smile. Although he was smiling too, his smile was slightly different from mine.

Today morning, at the breakfast table I asked our son again “Who do you love more? Baba or Mamma?” In his sweet voice he immediately said “Mamma, Mamma”. A huge smile emerged on my face. I know that he is very young and his answer would probably change by evening, but it still felt wonderful, as if I had won a huge reward. Also, I am aware that irrespective of whatever he says 

“Mamma” or “Baba”, he loves us both a lot. We are one unit.

Even between a couple or a set of parents, there is an unsaid competition for praise, for these little rewards that our kids can give us. We definitely feel super happy when our kid chooses us over our partner. What our children say means the world to us. Till the time my son’s answer changes, my heart plans to do the victory dance every time my son chooses to say “Mamma”.

P.S: Hubby left home today with steps slower than usual. His expression akin to that of a jilted lover.

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)

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!

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!