what's the point

i sometimes wonder
what's the point
of doing anything

of protesting
silent or not
of marching
peaceful or not
of holding slogans
scripted or not

what's the point

it's always the same people
the same faces
the same sorrow
the same determination
the same everything

what do the others see?

a gathering at town hall
or at freedom park
or at the press club
people standing until they are asked to leave
because it's time for the next event

yes, it feels pointless

but then i see my kids
standing in the midst of it all
excited about a slogan someone handed them
understanding some things
and curious about the rest

and i remind myself
that that is the point
and that i must never stop doing something
anything

#notinmyname

a silent protest.
their first of many, i hope.
never in their names!

not so grown up

the runway beckons
five little fingers clutch mine
a pilot, not yet

wounds

oh come on
it's not so bad
it happens all the time
and it will happen again
it's just a small scrape
and a little bit of blood
it's not so bad
i say

his eyes well up
even more than when he came home
his lips quiver
and his voice shakes
it's small but it hurts so badly
and it's bleeding so much
you don't know how I feel ma
he says

i've fallen a lot, and i know how it feels
so bear with it just a bit
a little medicine, it won't sting
really, it won't
i've used it a lot
you're so brave, come on
i say

aaaahhh it hurts
you lied ma, it stings
you don't know how much it hurts
no I'm not brave
don't touch it
just leave me alone
he says

and i do, i walk away

lost in my thoughts, i wander the aisles
lost in my thoughts, i check off my list
lost in my thoughts, i pay the bill
lost in my thoughts, i step out of the store

and thud!

too lost i was, i paid no heed
to what was on the floor
bags, purse and more scattered around me
a sharp pain, one that i had forgotten
and a smear of blood that wouldn't stop
and a heavy feeling, one that i can't explain
is what I took back home

the stinging didn't go away
neither did the bleeding
and the worst part was
that the tears didn't stop
i told myself all that I told him
and i did to myself all that i did to him
but it wasn't enough
it wouldn't go away

i thought of something then
about memories and remembrance
how fleeting they can be
and about hurt and pain
how fresh they can be

maybe what we need
is hugs and commiserations
not, despite what's all around,
bravery, or stories of it

he saw my wound, maybe he felt my pain
he called it gross and smiled
it was his turn to put on the meds
and it was mine to cry
he hugged me and I cried some more
but it wasn't in pain this time

rainy, with a ray of sunshine

dull, dark, gloomy and grey
in more ways than one
that's what started off her day
oh, how she longed for some sun

two little munchkins
under the weather
rough night resulting in
a sleep deprived mother

such a bad start
that even the third was naughty
she well played her part
but only out of necessity

she wanted to scream
she was so beat
she was tired and cranky
that it felt like a feat
to get through the day

but then she thought
that this was an opportunity not often got
just the munchkins and her

so her sleep she fought
and a hot coffee she got
and let the day unfold without a plan

all cuddled up under the covers watching a movie
sans snacks this time, oh for recovery
chit chatting and shooting the breeze
with her little muchkins throwing in an occasional sneeze

and then it was time for music and games
boy did it fly by, she wanted more of the same
for this precious time, time at home
she hardly got with them, almost never all alone

she wondered how they felt, were they bored at all
did they humour her or enjoy it, even if only just small
and so today went by, with a little of this and that
what will tomorrow bring, a repeat perhaps

she sees them growing up and feels melancholy
but only at times, she's mostly jolly
she's proud and happy that they are how they are
her little munchkins, but already ready to fly far

It's easier to get a divorce than to renew a minor's passport post-divorce!

I read a post on The Wire about the humiliation women face when they want to remove their spouse's name from their passports after going through a divorce. I went through a similar experience while renewing my minor child's passport after having gone through a divorce.

The Passport Seva site is quite well organised with links to most bits of information such as required documents, appointment dates, and Passport Rules and Acts among others. It lets one upload all their documents ahead of time, pay online and schedule an appointment as well. What it also unfortunately does, is trick one into believing that the rest of the process will be as smooth.

There are three stages to the passport application process of which the first two are 'outsourced'. IT service professionals verify, scan, snap and file away all the necessary documentation before one can move on to meet the passport officials from the government. While they are efficient at what they are trained to do, they are unaware of the formalities that the passport process itself mandates, especially in cases like mine--single parent who is also sole custodian of two children. In non-legalese, this means that my children will not need their father to sign off on their passport application--which is a standard process otherwise followed--because he had waived off his rights as their custodian after our divorce. There is a form, Annexure G, that is specifically for this purpose and I had this at the ready as well.

Armed with everything, I made it through the first two stages with not as much difficulty as immense delays. Glad to see my token number flash, my joy was short-lived. It was that particular passport officer's lunch time, but he couldn't reassign me to another officer as it wasn't protocol. After a 45-minute wait, he came back, asked for my documents and went through them cursorily until he reached Annexure G. He looked up at me and said, "You're divorced?" and I said, "Yes." "The father is not a custodian at all?" "No, he's chosen not to be." With a puzzled expression, he asked to see the divorce petition where this is explicitly stated, but he was still not convinced. He asked more questions about the details clearly stated in the petition, even though it wasn't his place to do so. Finally, he returned all the documents and reassigned me to another official who, supposedly, had some experience handling cases like mine. Murphy's Law or what have you, but it turned out to be his lunch time as well when it was my turn to meet him.

So another 45 minutes went by, and a conversation similar to the one with official one happened upon his return from lunch, but he made some notes in the system and told me to meet the Assistant Passport Officer (APO). So there I was, in line for the third time in a span of 3 hours, waiting to meet the APO. Luckily, she didn't go to lunch when it was my turn, but the conversation turned out to be much the same. I had wrongly hoped that a woman might empathise, but I felt judged at every stage of all those conversations which finally ended in her saying that she couldn't authorise the renewal and that I had to meet the Regional Passport Officer (RPO) in Koramangala who would take the final call on this.

By this time, I was livid. I had been in line with my 6 year old since 9 am. It was 3 pm and we had nothing to show for it except three annoying conversations and a cranky child. And I had all documents down to a T! If the outsourced folks had been better briefed, I could've been on my way out soon as the picture and biometrics stage was finished, saving me about 4.5 hours! I had no choice but to leave the Passport Seva Kendra that day, set up an appointment with the RPO for another day, go through this entire rigmarole of explanations one more time until the passport was finally granted. But it didn't end there. At the police verification, I had to explain all this one more time while the policeman in charge talked to his colleague in Kannada about my divorce when all he was supposed to do was to verify the address.

This was more than a year ago and now, unfortunately, it's time for me to renew my other child's passport. I'm telling myself that I should expect nothing. After all, a year isn't much time for any change, is it? If anything, a process change is possible but a systemic change? Hah!

I hope Part two of this post has a happier ending. 

Equal parenting equals a change in attitudes

In response to a post on The Ladies Finger

As a mother to two children who are well on their way to the eye-rolling tweens, a change in attitudes is what I wish for the most since my time to wish for a partner who would share with more parenting (at least the physical, rigorous demands) is out the window. Life experiences have made me understand how social conditioning leads many mums to believe that we are the primary caregivers for various reasons, physiological and cultural. We praise a father's active involvement when we needn't, we applaud a successful diaper change when we shouldn't, we speak of them proudly to our friends hoping to show up those whose partners aren't 'as involved'. And we are afraid to let go because what then, is our value?

Indian dads need to parent. That does not mean only being present on sports days and annual days or making clichéd statements at work, “I'll call you back, have to get the kids in bed”, and dropping an iPad onto the child's bed. Or taking selfies! I can list out a 100 things that a dad should do but the most important one can't be put on a list because it's innate. It's a feeling, a want, to be a parent. And a willingness to learn what that means as it's NOT a constant. Mums don't have parenting classes before the kids come along!

As India contemplates a six-month maternity leave instead of three, maybe we, as a society, should also contemplate how to change our own attitudes towards parenting. Both men and women.

Growing (up) pains - Part two

Protagonist: "Ma, I want a hair style like that guy."
Uncool mom: *stares at the pic of a guy with long weird hair* "Who is that?"
Protagonist: "He's in One Direction."
Uncool mom: *blinks stupidly* "What's his name?"
Protagonist: "Harry Styles"
Uncool mom: *thinks she's being funny* "Shouldn't it be Hairy Styles or Scary Styles?"
Protagonist:  "That's not funny, ma. He looks so cool! I want to grow my hair like that!"
Uncool mom: *horrified at what is going to come next* "What?!"
Protagonist: "Is there a way to write to them? I want to join their band!"
Uncool mom: *trying to appeal to his senses* "You know you can start your own band since you play the violin and others you know play the piano and drums?"
Protagonist: "Really? But I just want to join One Direction. Can I write to them now?"
Uncool mom: *not sure whether to laugh or pretend to be serious* "Sure, I'll check for their id."
Protagonist: runs off to the partner in crime saying "Guess what, I'm going to write to One Direction and join their band!", completely unfazed by the lukewarm response, "They're not going to take you."

As I recounted this story to a friend, she said that his joining will make them a better band for sure since they stunk at the moment. I thought "My God, it's his first band crush and it's One Direction! How horrible!", and then realised that's how my parents probably felt when I told them that I loved Wham and George Michael!

Yep, it all comes around...and how! I wrote Part one in 2011--another lifetime it seems like. Needless to say, my two cute whisperers have only grown up even more since.

Who said only tweens and teens felt growing pains!

When will our Independence Day come?

Our independence from the British came 68 years ago but when will it come from everything else?

Husbands oppressing wives, parents oppressing children, educational institutions oppressing thought, state oppressing speech, and not to mention the widespread oppression due to caste, creed and community politics--there is a hierarchy of oppression that is only growing, and growing rapidly. So what exactly are we celebrating year in and year out by wearing 'Indian clothes', singing the National Anthem, pinning the flag to our lapels and performing cultural events at schools, homes and offices?

One can say that we are celebrating the defenders of our freedoms--those who got us our independence from the Raj, and also those who are currently serving in the Armed Forces--but are they the only ones?

What about the many who are missed because they don't belong to a named group or aren't flattered by the media--ordinary people who strive everyday to make our country more equal and more just by doing simple things that impact larger communities and people without a voice. We don't thank them because we don't know them. They are, sadly, a minority and most importantly, they aren't loud.

Quotes and posts abound on Facebook of Tagore's 'Where the Mind is Without Fear'. It brings a tear and chokes us especially on August 15th, but shouldn't it bring a greater cry, a louder cry throughout the year because it remains a distant dream? Shouldn't it turn into an uproar until it becomes reality?

For that, we need to kick 'Habit', the dreary habit that won't let us stop, think and question.

On this 'Independence Day', I promise myself that I will strive for a truly free life for my children--one where they can question anyone and anything that stands in the way of their freedoms, one where they can learn whatever they want and however they want, and one where they can freely love irrespective of anything else.

Freedom, knowledge and love--isn't that independence? And not just one day every year, but everyday and for everyone. That, is true independence. And it will come. 

'The' moment

It seemed to her like it was only yesterday when she was chasing after them to keep their routine irrespective of what day of the week it was. A change in bed time or meal times had repercussions for the next day. How would they handle that? How would she handle that?

Fast forward to today and there they were...all plonked on the bed in front of the TV at almost midnight watching Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban eating corn puffs and chips! When did they change so much? When did she change so much?

Many moments came to mind but nothing struck her more than that one moment - when he came into their lives and they became family. Related or not, family they had become and nothing could change that. Each one counting on the other for different things but all, knowing and secure, that they were together. That moment was the change. That was when she (and they) had let go.

Oh was this the beginning of the wonder(ful) years?

nine

i don't know where to begin this story
or is it a poem?
a poem doesn't have to rhyme, does it?
and verses don't need punctuations, or meter, or capitalisation, do they?

maybe you won't agree with that, i can see you cringing as you read this.
and maybe you won't agree with many other things,
maybe you won't see life like i do.

i'd like to tell you, show you, and shield you
but i won't.
it's your journey and i'm just your friend
and i hope to stay that way
especially when times are rough and hopefully when it's fun.

some days can make you feel foolish
others can make you lose hope,
but wait for them to pass.

be gentle, kind and thoughtful,
be warm and loving.
be just the person you are.

that's all i want to say.

Goodbye to a friend

It had only been a short while that they had known him, maybe 8 months at best. Their interactions weren't lengthy either. The exchanges were mostly filled with the innocence of childish banter and the tolerance and understanding of age. She felt that both young and old looked forward to that brief, not so frequent exchange. It seemed to bring them momentary happiness.

Until one day when he was no more.

She had to answer some tough questions from the young. How, when, where, what and so on. They surprised her with their understanding. And with their affection. She didn't think they would make so much sense of it and be so in tune with others feelings and emotions. But they were, each in their own way. One, just sensitive and the other, mostly curious but glaringly honest.

That's the thing with children. It's hard to know the depth of what they understand-about people, situations and just life even. She was caught off-guard but in a good way.

She hoped that their sensitivity, curiosity and honesty would remain with them life-long. Who said those things are only reserved for children?

A Princess's new clothes!

"Tell your daughter she's a warrior, detective, leader, athletic, determined, curious, free-spirited..." read a quote on Facebook. The title of the image? 10+ alternatives to calling your daughter a princess.

This hit home immediately for two reasons. One, her daughter hated the word princess and any association to it and two, she herself, having been a tad tomboyish, had always been anti-princessy. The quote made her wonder what exactly it was that she didn't like about the concept of princesses. Was it the frilly dresses, the many hues of pink, the sparkles, the tiaras, the concept of having to always look well put-together? Or was it all of it?

She, like all other kids her age, had read fairy tales galore growing up. Princesses stuck in a tall tower, princes on steeds coming to the rescue and then living happily ever after...those types of stories. And even ones such as The Little Mermaid, Rapunzel, Cinderella, Snow White and so on but one thing that struck her was that these characters weren't classified into the Princesses 'bucket' then as they are nowadays.

The marketing geniuses putting their spin on simple characters who were cool, spunky, creative and what not. Maybe it was Disney who began this grouping...she wasn't sure. She had always wondered why there weren't new-age princesses who wore jeans, tees, caps, played sports and slapped boys on the back. Maybe there were movies made about girls who were like that, except they weren't called princesses.

She wondered if her daughter wondered the same.

Genetics is an interesting subject. Like there is for appearance and for characteristics, is there a genetic code for attitudes or does a child learn by simple observations and interactions with their peers, family and society? Hmm...interesting. Wouldn't that mean that a part of what our 'princesses' learn about being a princess comes from us and the surrounding that we expose them to?It isn't just words we say from quotes on Facebook, is it?

She wished that life were simpler. She wished that the world wasn't so filled with the norm. She wished that it wasn't so hard to explain that it was OK to be different.

Maybe she would write about a jeans-clad, spunky, cool, sporty, creative, kind, affectionate, helpful, free-spirited leader...called Princess...just to shake things up a bit, you know?

A preachy post - I've warned you!

The planet does not need more successful people. It desperately needs more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers and lovers of all kinds.

I've read this quote a few times before on Facebook. Many people post this on their wall because it resonates with them...the thought that we can actually be something other than "successful"...whatever that means anyway. But the problem is how we convey that message to our children, isn't it?  We want our children to be all of the above but we also want them to be successful in the version of success that we are all familiar with...one where success equals money and financial stability. Maybe a "high-profile job"....something that we can talk to others about, something we can be proud about. Maybe the next hot-shot entrepreneur with the most brilliant idea since sliced bread. Whatever.

And in order to put them on this path to success, we start them off really young too. Extra academics-related classes, competitions, exams outside of school and a host of activities to hone their minds in that singular path towards greatness and spectacular achievement. And we long for them to make us proud, all the while telling ourselves that we are doing it for their benefit. We are exposing them to things that we never had access to. We are making sure that their all-round development is on track...except it's not their chosen track, is it? It's ours! It's our dream for our children and in order to fulfill that dream, we say and do a lot of things to them...for them. We justify to ourselves that the end result is what matters, that our children will thank us some day for what we've invested in them...for what we've put them through.

But what if they don't? What if they felt that we've robbed them of their childhood in so many ways? What if they felt that we failed to expose them to things that matter to them? What if they felt that we forced them to do things that they never wanted to? What if they felt that we didn't listen to them at all? What if they felt that we never bothered to take the time to answer their questions...no matter what their questions might have been? What if they felt that the path that they are on, the one that we chose for them, was wrong?

What if they felt that their version of success isn't what we thought it was? Would it be too late?

As much as we can blame the system of education, we must share an equal, if not a greater part of the blame. We are afraid to let children do what they want because we were never allowed to. We are afraid to let them question because we may not have the answers. We are afraid that they might be outcasts in society because they do not conform. We are afraid to let them express themselves because their views might be different from ours. We are afraid to just let them be, learn at their pace, try out new things, make many mistakes...live their lives!

The dearth of peacemakers, restorers, healers, storytellers and lovers is bound to only worsen should we continue down this path...the path that teaches us that smarter is better, that stronger always wins, that richer means control...that success means money and what money can buy.

Imagine that we just let our children be...

The thoughtful boy

He always amazed her with his answers...always! And it wasn't like he had to have the last word or anything, it was just the way he talked. There was a bit of truth, a bit of cheek, a bit of impishness and a whole lot of that lovableness all the time. OK, maybe she was extra biased...but still. And that smile...that wide, ear-to-ear toothy grin that made it impossible for her to stay grumpy at him for more than a few minutes!

So the other day, he was having dinner. It was the usual, so there was no fuss or drama. He ate what he liked and that's it. But he was being a tad messy...dropping food on the table mat and the floor. So she said to him, "Please don't keep dropping your dinner on the floor. Ants will start crawling all over the place". He just looked at her and simply said "But amma, if I don't give the ants something to eat, they will be hungry. I don't want them to be hungry. Is that OK? Say OK"!

Innocence, honesty....the beauty of it. Oh, and the art of charming people! Another lesson learned, yet again, from an almost-five year old!

The Cute Whisperers

It was her favorite time of day. Time when they were done with bath, dinner and drama. Time for games of some sort...different ones every night. Time for stories, both from books and from their imagination, school experiences and park escapades. Finally, time for them to begin winding down. It was a long process...but they would slowly get there. This was when she would make her exit. This was the part that she loved...when they thought that they were alone and that she couldn't hear them. When they would begin their whispers.

It started off with a sssshhh, pssssstt, hhhheyyyyy from up above and would be followed by a fingers-in-mouth response from below that sounded like a duck quacking. Only she understood what he meant...but that was good enough. 'Amma, sleep, play, ssssshhhhhhh, school tomorrow, snacks, chocolates, trains, I'll tell you something, I won't share with you' were some of the constants in their conversations. 

She always tried to make sense of it from where she sat on the outside but never could. She often wondered if she should go a little closer so she could hear better, maybe a little clearer...but she never did. She felt like she would be intruding into their space. A space that was reserved for only both of them, a space where they felt safe, comfortable and confident to say anything they wanted...to each other. 

A space that she hoped they would share lifelong...her two cute whisperers.

Age ain't maturity...it ain't nothing but a number!

"A person's age and their level of maturity aren't connected...not one bit", she thought to herself. It had taken little observations over time, small chit chats here and there and one big conversation to realize that. It made her think about so many things...how a person's mind worked, what made them think the way they did, whether there was any rationality behind it, whether it was just a simple acceptance of facts, whether it was that unquestioning trust in the person(s) that mattered most...the trust that they would be cared for no matter what? So many thoughts bombarded her.

She recalled the phrase 'older and wiser' and thought about how much it was thrown around by adults. Why, there were  songs (and even blogs!) by that title. But she remembered another one...a complete contradiction.

“The older I grow, the more I distrust the familiar doctrine that age brings wisdom.” 


Did it mean that the younger the person, the more mature they were? Was this because acceptance came so much easier as a child?

Did this mean that she still had a lot to learn...from her children?

A little gap = big smile!

Dated Dec 11, 2012

It was about 6:45 am on 11/12/2012. A little girl sat at the table eating her bowl of Chocos. As always, she was crunching through them merrily when all of a sudden, she stopped and squealed! "Amma! It's out! My tooth's fallen"! Amma's immediate response was "Oh I hope you haven't swallowed it along with the Chocos"! "No silly, it's right here", came the answer. And there it was...one shiny, pearly white tooth in the palm of her hand. And it was special...it was the first one to fall out, after all.

A great deal of excitement ensued! She proudly displayed it to all present, especially her little brother! His first question? "What will the tooth fairy give you"? Ah...the unavoidable question had been asked, that too by an unaffected party! So she relayed that back to her mother who said that the tooth fairy will give her something...but wasn't sure what. There weren't many demands...maybe a gold coin? Her mother smiled. The innocence with which it was asked made her heart melt. And in that soppy state, she shook her head...."yes, maybe".

So the tooth was stashed in a secret place so it would be safe until she could tuck it under her pillow at night. Her mother wanted to get a gold foil covered chocolate coin that she could put under the pillow...but forgot until too late at night! Luckily, rummaging through her wallet, she came across a 1 pound coin. It wasn't gold but it seemed close enough. It was something that she had saved since 2004. It had been memorable but somehow, the memory associated with it, had vanished. She realized that it was time to put the coin to better use. Enough of it sitting inside a cold, dark wallet.

The next morning dawned. "Amma! I got a gold coin! I'm so happy"! She ran up and hugged her mother tight. "I know you put it under my pillow, amma...thank you"! I'm going to put this away in my piggy bank"!
"From one closed space into another", her mother thought" but a new association created".

A tiny gap, the tooth fairy, a fake gold coin and a big, wide, ear-to-ear smile. :)

Love and all its little expressions

She picked him up in the morning and held him close. The sun was shining straight into her eyes and so she wrinkled them a bit. She caught him looking at her in a strange way and she realized that she had forgotten to wear her glasses. He looked at her as if he was observing something for the first time and then said, "Amma, your eyes are like the beach! Was it that innocent remark that made her teary or was it the bright light of the sun? She wondered what he meant by that. Did he mean that the colour of her eyes was like the brown (slightly dirty) sand at Marina beach? Or did he mean that they had a calming effect on him much like the beach did on all of us?

Before she could ask him why he said that, he learned forward and kissed her on the cheek and said, "Amma, I can see the water in your eyes like in the beach". Was it just his imagination or had he seen the tears that glistened in her eyes threatening to overflow like the waves about to crash onto the shore? She held him close and kissed him on his cheeks.

Sometimes, it doesn't take much to feel loved. And very often, it is just innocence...especially one of a child.

Child, no more!

Being a parent isn't easy. We are expected to know a lot...a lot more than our children do, anyway. Because we're older and supposedly, wiser too. Our experiences have taught us a lot over the years and we expect to be able to pass on this knowledge to our children...so that we can guard them, protect them, shield them from 'bad' things happening to them. Often, it doesn't pass on as knowledge but more as instruction. There is a subtle difference between the two - only one lets them learn for themselves.

But why should it be that way? Do age and experience mean so much that we feel many times, beyond a doubt, that we know everything? Can we not let our children make mistakes and figure out things for themselves? OK, maybe not all the time...like if they wanted to lie down in the middle of the road to find out the probability of getting hit by a car, we can stop them and say, "No...don't do that" and secretly think to ourselves, "We know...we almost tried it too but were stopped just in time!"

At what point do we learn that our children are children no more but adults (little adults, even!) who are capable of making a choice for themselves whether right or wrong? If there are no guarantees in life anyway, then what makes us so sure that what we know is the only truth? What makes us so sure that staying within the boundaries that have been drawn for us will result in positives...for them?

What makes us so sure that letting them take the path less trodden may not be the best thing they've ever done?