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 I Learnt From My Grandmother

In a home with working parents, my grandmother was my companion and caregiver from the day I was born. She did everything that a parent would and maybe even more. Apart from the usual things, she taught me Bengali poems, ensured I learnt dancing and singing and forever kept a watchful eye on me. As a little girl, I ran to her for comfort and every night I fell asleep with her hand on my back, breathing in her cool scent while listening to Bengali folk stories. With her passing away, I lost my childhood companion.

The day she passed away, my four year old son was miserably sick with dengue and I found myself torn between the ‘granddaughter’ and the ‘mother’ that I am. I felt as I could not even fully mourn her loss. As the days and weeks passed I kept thinking about her and even now sometimes it is hard to believe that she is not here with us in person. I also realize that her beliefs, teachings and blessings will always be with us. I can often recall her voice and even the phrases she would have used for certain situations.

From her, I learnt many things and here are a few I thought I will share with all my friends and family:

 Invest in your Health: Even up to her early eighties, my grandmother exercised every morning and strictly stuck to her routine meal timings. Even with age, she never gained any weight and maintained herself at 40kgs. She never suffered from diabetes or high blood pressure either. Her morning cup of tea included four teaspoons of sugar! 

Eat Well: Although she ate small portions and at fixed timings, she was particular about the food she ate. She was an excellent cook and prepared various delicacies and even her ‘khichdi’ tasted better than a lot of ‘biryanis’ available in the market. She had a special dish for every occasion and festival which she made herself till a few years ago.

The Fighting Spirit: She was strong willed and having single handedly brought up my father, she had learnt never to give up. She always encouraged everyone to work hard and move ahead in life.

Immense Love for your Children: Her love for her only child, my father was exemplary. Even when my father was turning sixty and she was over eighty, she went to sleep only after ensuring that he had returned home. To me, her primary parenting advice was, ‘Love your children whole heartedly’.

 
Speak Your Mind: She always expressed her thoughts openly. If she disliked something, she said it upfront. This sometimes made others unhappy or angry but her feelings were never hidden, be it praise or criticism. Sometimes, her words were bitter but at least she was not hiding behind a mask of falsehood.

I shall always feel my grandmother’s presence with me. Only the physical form wither, the person stays alive with us forever.

You may also enjoy reading another post on her I wrote earlier: Mother Extraordinaire

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.

I Told You So!

A Short Story

Anuradha stands there in front of the large mirror in a blue blouse and petticoat. On the dressing table, Amma’s gold Kasu mala is waiting to be worn. The gold coins with Goddess Lakshmi embossed on them gleam. Anuradha has neatly combed her hair and pinned it on the sides to keep it from falling on her face. She has managed to tame her unruly curls by massaging a few drops of coconut oil mixed with water. Amma’s tips are always effective.

Leela looks up at the clock hanging on the butter-coloured wall. There is still time for them to arrive but her beloved Anu must be ready before time. She switches the fan off before tucking the saree into Anuradha’s petticoat. The Kanjivaram silk Leela has carefully selected for her daughter is blue. Blue like the early evening sky, cloudless and clear. She deftly pleats this silken piece of firmament and carefully pins the pallu on Anu’s shoulder. The golden peacocks on the saree’s border are dancing gleefully. No words are exchanged between mother and daughter. Leela doesn’t need words to understand her daughter.

The loud ringing of the black phone breaks her chain of thoughts and she rushes to the door. But, Anu’s father has already picked up the phone. Anu hears her father speak with a smile, in a voice reserved for outsiders. He ends the call with a polite seri, seri and keeps the heavy receiver back in place with a clink. The television in the drawing room gets switched on.

Standing in front of the mirror, Anu applies some kajal and lightly dabs the pink lipstick, careful not to overdo it. Leela admires her daughter’s reflection in the mirror and smiles. Anu notices her mother watching and puts the lipstick back on the table. Leela steps closer, pulls out a packet of bindis from the drawer. She selects a small one and sticks it on Anu’s forehead.

Anu knows that Mahesh belongs to an educated family, grew up in Delhi just like her, has a steady job with a bank, earns well. Even Amma and Appa want this to work out since Chitti recommended this alliance very strongly. Even the horoscopes matched well, but there is a question that is nagging her.

“Amma, how will I know if he’s the one for me?” Anu’s voice is unusually soft and eyes shifty.

“Don’t worry, you will know when you meet him.” Anu looks up at her mother, with a questioning look. Leela can sense her daughter’s thoughts, “Don’t worry. Believe me, you will know.” Anu smiles nervously in response.

“Wear the necklace. It’s my good luck charm.” Leela leaves the room after patting her daughter on the shoulder.

Leela fries the vadas on low flame, turning them over to achieve the uniform golden color. They should stay hot till the Rajagopalan family arrives. The coconut chutney is ready. On the other side, the mustard seeds, dry red chilli and curry leaves sputter in oil. Prabhu always says, nothing tastes better than freshly cooked sambhar. Thus, she had made Sambhar every single day, for the past twenty five years of her married life. Now, she can’t get it wrong, even in her sleep.

As she puts in a fresh batch of vadas for frying, her mind begins to wander, to the question her daughter asked. How does one really know if they are meant to be together for life? Did she know when she married Prabhu? Even in her thoughts she cannot muster the courage to acknowledge her response. Maybe this was her destiny, or was her life just an outcome of the decisions other people took for her? Mostly, her father and then her husband.

Leela transgresses back to the time when she lived in a village near Trissur. To a time when she knew a certain Mahesh. Her Mahesh? Can she call him that? The curly haired, lanky, tall fellow who could climb the coconut tree in under a minute. Leela had dreams. Dreams of being a Carnatic singer, having grown up listening to M.S. Subbulakshmi. Leela was famous in her village for her singing. Her family had encouraged her to practice and her high point was when she performed at the Sri Guruvayoorappa temple. The audience of over five hundred people had listened to her with rapt attention. A certain gentleman had approached her father and asked him to get her to Chennai for playback singing, but her father had refused immediately. Leela got to know about it much later.

It was her singing that had attracted Mahesh to her in the first place. After speaking to him a few times on the way back from college, her juvenile mind had imagined spending a lifetime with him. Youth is such that it makes one believe in the infinity of possibility. Every dream had seemed achievable to Leela, until one evening.

Over the evening kaapi and murukku, Leela’s father declared that she was to marry Prabhu, the son of his friend from Delhi who had visited them a few months ago. Her objection had no meaning in front of all the virtues her father counted on his fingertips. She just stood there in silence and stared at her father’s feet as he swayed on the wooden aattu kattil in the central open courtyard of their ancestral house. Leela cried the night before the wedding and everyone believed it was because she had to leave for faraway Delhi. Even when the girls decorated her long black braid with pieces of jewellery and strings of jasmine, she wondered if her husband would allow her to sing. She had packed all her colourful silk sarees and jewellery in a sizeable steel trunk but left her dreams and hopes behind. The music inside somehow got left out at the Thrissur railway station as she hopped on to the train for the three-day-long journey to Delhi.

Over the years Leela got to know Prabhu as a person. He provided for everything that they needed, never refused whenever she wanted to visit her family and even allowed her to join the temple chorus. There is nothing to complain about. With the grace of Lord Guruvayoorappa, they have everything they need. A home, a car, a beautiful daughter, what else could she ask for? Was her father wrong in choosing Prabhu for her? Although Leela is unable to point to it, something is definitely missing. What is it? She opens her circular box of spices and adds a pinch of salt into the sambhar. Everything tastes bland without the right amount of salt. It ties all the flavours together.

Was a part of her still empty? Like a locked room in her father’s house. A room of invisible hopes, dreams and desires that could never be fulfilled. Leela has never told anyone about this room, not even Prabhu. Neither does she dare to enter it herself, but she knows, it is empty, dark and dusty. Once in a while she just stands in front of the door, looks down at the heavy brass padlock, touches the smooth, painted surface of the door which conceals the roughness of the wood beneath. The key to this room can no longer be found.

“Deee, is everything ready? They will be arriving any minute now.” Prabhu asks from the drawing room, while watching the match.

“Yes, the food is almost ready.”Leela responds equally loudly from the kitchen, wanting to be heard over the television. The smell of delicious sambhar is spreading across the kitchen.

Anuradha and Mahesh look beautiful together. She is looking at him furtively, shyly. They are smiling at each other. A smile that doesn’t need words as a companion. Her face is a mixture of so many emotions. Mahesh whispers something into her ear that makes her giggle. Her mehendi covered hands conceal her laughter. A sweet fragrance hangs around her. Is it just the flowers or maybe something else too is in the air? It is hard to distinguish.

Leela looks lovingly at her daughter as she is about to get into the waiting car, that would whisk them away to the airport. Anu is leaving. Leela still cannot believe that her little girl is now married. She has never slept without her daughter next to her, ever since the day she was born. A strange sensation creeps in her chest and claws at her throat. Tears are on the verge of spilling out of her eyes, but Leela does not want them to escape. Anu turns around to give her mother a hug.

“Ma, you were right. I just knew it was Mahesh when I met him.” Anu whispers into her mother’s ear.

“See, Anu moley. I told you so!” Leela wipes the defiant tears from her cheeks. May you receive all the happiness in the world, my child.

 

A Hazy Old Photograph

It all started one morning when one of the girls posted an old, slightly hazy picture of class 9B. With squinted eyes I looked for myself and slowly a smile spread across my face as I recognized more faces. I could clearly remember the smiling faces. More names popped into my head as did lots of ‘likes’ and comments on the Facebook picture. I must have seen the picture at least twenty times and every single time it made me happy.

With the creation of the WhatsApp group came the whole avalanche of messages, bringing along all the wonderful childhood memories. The energy and warmth radiating from my phone was immense. It kept buzzing throughout the whole day, till late into the night. As I read through the messages many sights and sounds began playing in my mind. It all started coming back to me, firstly as a trickle, gradually growing, along with the pace of the messages. The look of the majestic red brick buildings, the multi-purpose hall, the amphitheater, the red-stoned walkways covered by Gulmohar trees leading up to the canteen that sold hot Samosas for two rupees and  ice lollies for five. Soon, we were discussing our favorite teachers (with their voices echoing in our heads), the funny infectious laughter of a classmate, the banter, the fake fights and the first crushes.

It felt like it had just been a few years, while in reality it had been much more. We had been classmates almost two decades ago! It was unbelievable! What was even more amazing, was the way we could seamlessly connect with each other. Pickup from where we had left off. Maybe, we are essentially the same kids we were back then, just in older bodies (and hopefully wiser minds). A lot us put aside our work and kids to reconnect with our classmates, with our old selves. I felt proud to see the unique mix of men and women we had all turned into. We are now spread across the globe, working in various fields. We have a Doctor, a Professor, a Scientist, Entrepreneurs, Corporate Managers, Teacher, Fashion Designer and more…What a mix! Simply Terrific!

I almost felt like I was back in the school playground. As if I had taken the slide from my present day work desk and slipped down to another era. The way I smiled at my phone, anybody would have thought that I had either gone crazy or was having an affair. I was awash with a trunk load of memories. I could once again feel the innocence and the simple joys of being a student. By the time it was evening, a warm, fuzzy feeling had taken over me and I continued to revel in the wonder years of my life. It was a nostalgia induced high!

A hazy old photograph, a box full of happy childhood memories, and a bunch of friends constantly pinging from across the globe is all it took to make us all deliriously nostalgic and so…so happy!

  

Forgotten Keys!

It’s happened many times in the past, so I wasn’t surprised. A few years ago, we reached the airport and found that the keys to the suitcase were at home (He stopped locking his suitcase since then). On another occasion, we reached the airport barely twenty minutes before take-off since he somehow saw 17:50 pm as 18:50 pm. Thankfully, the then new Indigo airlines let us board the plane (sans our check-in baggage). There’s more…After an offsite he forgot his new crocs at a resort; left the car unlocked overnight and went for a trip. Thankfully, the security guard called up to inform us and my Mom (custodian of the spare key) rushed to lock the car.

More recently, when he sold his car, he gifted a nice pair of shades with it (forgotten in the dashboard)…an expensive pair that had been his birthday present from me. No wonder, I could not stop myself from laughing out loud when our toddler threw out his next pair out of the moving car. Before hubby could retrieve it, it had been crushed by another car.

Last Friday, after I had gotten myself and our baby ready, picked up my bags, the baby and his paraphernalia I could not find the car keys. I was almost certain about what had happened but I called him to confirm.

“Hi! Can I call you later? I am in a meeting”, he whispered into the phone.

“Where are the car keys?”

After five long seconds, “In my pocket.”

I was surely mad at him. It was raining cats and dogs, we were all set to go, I was getting late for office, the car was right there, but the keys were not. He had made the same blunder earlier as well….a few years ago, when I wanted to take Mom-in-Law out for lunch, but discovered that he had conveniently taken the car keys with him. This time I felt extra frustrated for some reason. I called a cab and left home after some time. On the way, I thought about writing this post, intending to shame him maybe through it, but now that I am writing it, I feel none of the anger I felt then. I was definitely inconvenienced and his apologising over WhatsApp was not helping much, but, two other things that happened during the day made me think.

Later, the same afternoon, when I wanted to go back home, I asked my colleague if she wanted to share a cab with me on the way back. She readily agreed. I called for a cab and was waiting for it to arrive, when my colleague realized that she had her car in the office parking! She would have gone home with me, leaving the car behind in office! (Her husband works in the same office and they had driven-in together that morning. He had given her the keys to drive back home.) This was a déjà vu moment for me, almost.

At night while scrolling through my phone I chanced upon a blog post by someone who has a holiday cottage in the hills. She had written about the mental ordeal of realizing that she had left the keys to her cottage behind, after travelling 220 KMS away from her Gurgaon home. What were the chances of me reading about her post on the same day ? I was amazed. Maybe our state of mind attracts certain things to us, who knows! Was this God’s way of telling me “Shit happens!”?

Today, as I write about this, I am laughing about this incident. Such is life, full of human errors and strange happenings. You feel annoyed at the moment, you worry, you feel stressed, but later you laugh. Eventually, it becomes an interesting memory from our otherwise mundane life. As far as hubby is concerned, I guess this is what makes him the way he is. The way he forgets these things once in a while, he forgets the numerous faults in me too. He forgot about the keys, while I found something else.

Did this post make you think of a similar instance from your life? Share it in the comments section. I would love to hear from you.

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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