Pitaji… and the box of mangoes.

Image credits: Google

Summers are here… and so are mangoes. While I would have enjoyed them more had this wretched situation been otherwise, this nonetheless is no reason to not enjoy this beautiful fruit.

Every second day, my mother-in-law gets some juicy and succulent mangoes because she knows my daughters are crazy about them. And my parents keep sighing over FaceTime calls, telling me time and again how much they are missing my kids and how all the chocolates and other delicacies are kept untouched in their refrigerator because their granddaughters are not able to visit them and enjoy the stuff they feasted on.

When I see at my kids with their grandparents (paternal and maternal), I can’t help but let a warm, fuzzy feeling fill my insides.

I think the bond between these two generations is truly unique. My husband and I often get into tiffs with our parents for supporting and choosing our children over us. And almost always, their response is the same.

‘It is your job to discipline them… our job is to love them. And as long as we are not pampering them silly, or supporting them when they are wrong… you should not bother with how we behave with them.’

More often than not, this answer leaves us frustrated and sulking; however, in the heart of our heart… we feel blessed that they love our children so much.

All I can do is give an eye roll and move on because I realise that I was no less loved by my grand parents.

My paternal grandfather passed away when I was a little over 3. So I don’t have too many memories of him, but whatever few ones I have are quite pleasant. My grandmother was not overly expressive but I wouldn’t call her non-affectionate either. So by default, my share of grandparental love came from my maternal side.

While there are countless examples that showcased how much our grandparents loved us (9 grandkids for them), one particular incident has stayed with me and I am instantly reminded of it every year when I taste my first mango of the season.

It was Circa 2002, when my cousin (masi’s daughter) and I went from Delhi to Mumbai for our internship in Social Work, in the months of May-June. We were studying in the same class and this one-month internship was a part of the curriculum.

We were three girls (the two of us and a friend) who shared an apartment at the posh Kemp’s Corner, but the luxury ended there. We were, at the end of the day, students; and had landed in Mumbai with limited funds. Needless to mention, this internship was not paying us anything.

On our first day in the City of Dreams, we pooled-in some of our money and kept it aside for groceries and other such stuff. But groceries meant basic stuff- veggies, lentils, rice, flour, etc. We almost never splurged.

Then one Sunday afternoon (our first weekend in Mumbai), we were chilling when all of a sudden, the bell rang and I opened the door to find a young runner boy waiting for me to let him in. In his hands were two big boxes of mangoes.

I looked at him in confusion, almost confident that he had the wrong house. He looked at me and told me that the mangoes were for me and my cousin. Perhaps the expression on my face must’ve been something that he had been expecting because he immediately gave me the name of the sender. Still unable to recall the generous soul who was kind enough to send mangoes to three bhookhi becharis, I shook my head in negation. He then took a deep breath and said, “Aapke Nana ne bheje hain. Kolkata se phone aaya tha.”

By this time, my cousin and our friend had also joined me at the door. And my cousin suddenly recalled that the sender was a relative of ours.

Apparently our Nana, whom we lovingly addressed as Pitaji, couldn’t stand the fact that his darling granddaughters were spending their summer slogging it out… and that too without mangoes!! It was nothing less than blasphemous, in his opinion! So he went ahead and requested our relative to make sure we were never out of fruits… especially mangoes.

That was a first; and after that day, we were used to receiving constant supplies of different fruits. We could run out of groceries, not fruits.

It seems like a small gesture but it speaks volumes about the depth of his love for us… his grandchildren. He passed away in 2006 but we still remember him and his love vividly, and with just as much fondness.

And now that I see my girls with their grandparents, I realise that the fruit might change from mango to strawberry… or even to a chocolate… but the love is intact, and just as pure.

Thappad: A slap on society’s face.

Image credits: Google

I recently watched ‘Thappad’ on Amazon Prime. Loved the concept, loved Taapsee Punnu, Kumud Mishra, Ratna Pathak Shah, and all the other actors who did a brilliant job.

But, the one performance that stood out for me was that of Pavail Gulati, who plays Vikram, the husband.

The reason why I loved his acting was because of how authentic it looked. He effortlessly portrayed a typical misogynistic, urban, educated male, who refuses to see, accept and believe that by JUST ONE SLAP, he has outraged the modesty of a woman who is his wife.

In fact, for most part, he is solely concerned with what everyone would think about HIM. Will people think of him as a wife-beater, will people laugh at him because his wife was ready to break their marriage because of just one slap?

Not once did he think of how humiliated his wife would have felt at being slapped in front of a hundred people. And no, it wouldn’t have been any better had he slapped her in the privacy of their bedroom. A slap is not okay. Never. Period.

I wonder what makes men like him think they are not partners but owners of their wives. Well, for starters, they obviously learn by example. They have seen the generations before them behaving in a particular fashion, and that makes them think that they are not wrong in following suit. (Vikram’s father in context of the movie).

But on the other hand, you also see Amrita’s brother voicing his opinion against her decision, irrespective of being brought up by a clearly feminist father. So what went wrong there?

Well, the movie very subtly touches upon the often ignored aspect here- sometimes non-actions speaks louder than actions. When Kumud Mishra tells a distraught Ratna Pathak Shah, who clearly is not in favour of her daughter’s divorce, that he never stopped her from pursuing her dream of becoming a singer. She very aptly questions him back, “Lekin aapne kabhi poocha bhi toh nahi ki maine gaana kyun band kar diya.” And that, I felt, was another silent slap on the face of that particular section of society that pulls up its collar at being very progressive, but that also never questions when women willingly give up their passions in the name of family, kids, and many more such aspects that clearly should be a shared responsibility of both the husband and wife.

All throughout the movie, the one thing that kept pricking me like a needle stabbing my chest was how real the portrayal of the society was. The mother and mother-in-law, who keep telling her to adjust. Even her lawyer, who eventually comes around, but on their first meeting, asked with a shocked expression, “So just one slap then?”

And then when she finds out she is pregnant, it is automatically assumed by her husband that she will come back to him now. But isn’t this what happens in most cases? Ek bachcha kar lo… sab apne aap theek ho jayega. People, especially women, stay in unhappy, abusive marriages because of their kids… or because they are financially dependent on their spouses, or because their families don’t support them like Amrita’s father did. The reason could be one or all of these. What matters is not the reason, but the result.

Another thing I loved was some of the dialogues. One dialogue that I particularly liked was when she tells her lawyer, “Humari bhi toh fair deal thi; woh paise kamayega, main ghar sambhalungi. Unfair woh thappad tha.”

Amrita (Taapsee’s character) doesn’t showcase herself as someone who was forced into making a choice to be a housewife. If was just a choice she made on her own, just like a lot of other homemakers, including me. And most of us don’t feel guilty about it. We love it, at least I do. I don’t mind it that my husband earns and I don’t. I take care of the house and do one helluva job of it.

The decision Amrita took in the movie was bold, but difficult nevertheless. Would it have been better if she would have slapped him back and gotten over with the hurt? Maybe, maybe not because violence is never the answer. Did she take it too far? Maybe, maybe not. It really depends on which pedestal you put your self-respect on. A lot of women wouldn’t have the courage to do what she did. I can’t even speak for myself.

But as of now, my better half and I have a fair deal too… and I’m all for it. Bas… woh unfair thappad kabhi acceptable nahi hoga. Just like unfair gaslighting won’t be acceptable. As long as that is kept out of the picture, I’m happy and will make sure that I keep him happy too… just like he keeps me happy.

The Little Mother

I often wondered how quickly she adapted to her, how easily she accommodated her in her life, how comfortably she slipped into the role of a little mother to her baby sister.

I have two daughters, with an age difference of 8 years between them. They are 10.5 and 2.5 now. In the past two and a half years, if there is something that I have come to realise, it is that my younger one has not one but two mothers. Her sister is more like a second mother to her. This is not to say that they don’t have their fair share of sibling rivalry and fights, but there is an unspoken responsibility that my elder one has taken upon herself and that is to mother her sister, when I’m not around or when I’m busy to do it myself.

On a recent trip overseas, the only thing that helped me maintain my sanity while shopping, eating, sightseeing and more, was the fact that my elder daughter made sure her sister was happy, entertained and safe. She made sure that while the whole family had fun as a unit, I did get my fair share of ‘me’ time.

I feel that at times we are unreasonable in our expectations from our elder one. We often ask her to adjust because the younger one is out-of-control or is throwing a tantrum which we can’t bear any further (and we do feel extremely guilty about it). But I have to give it to her for not even reacting negatively to this. It’s like she is saying, “Mom and Dad, It’s okay…I understand.”

While there are times when I am ready to pull my hair out because the two of them are at loggerheads with each other, I feel that now, somehow, both of them feel incomplete without each other. For example, as much as the elder one was reluctant to share her recently bought Lego set with the younger one, she also didn’t want to make it without her because she wasn’t having fun doing it alone. And while the younger one gets super annoyed if her sister keeps, so much so as, a finger on her pillow, but would eventually snuggle up to her and sleep peacefully in her arms while sharing a blanket….with her second mother.

And there is nothing more heartwarming for a mother than to see her children peacefully share a blanket, share a home, share love….share a life!

Mommy Knows Best

“Where the hell did you drop it? How can you be so careless? I told you to be careful with them.”

“I’m sorry mumma…I’ll be more careful next time.”

“There will be no next time. I’m never buying such stuff for you again.”

This was a conversation between me and my daughter one day, when I had so lovingly and painstakingly dressed her up for a party, and she came back home with a missing hair clip.

She was 5.

My mother, who was a silent spectator to this exchange, let out an annoyed and angry sigh which meant nothing to my daughter but I got the message loud and clear. I decided to drop the issue and sent my daughter off to change.

Now it was my turn to give the death stare to my mother. Just as I opened my mouth to give her my well rehearsed lecture on how I should be given a free hand to bring up my daughter the way I felt right and blah blah, she cut me mid-sentence…

“I am not going to interfere between you and your child, however, let me give a piece of my mind to MY child, who, I think, needs a few lessons in parenting.”

I raised my eyebrows and rolled my eyes. Bad idea. Because my mother caught me doing that and the way I was reprimanded for that is enough content for another blog, altogether.

She then went on to tell me something that I’ve never forgotten. She said,

“You are a parent, a mother and while it’s natural for you to want that your child should always be well-dressed and presentable, you tend to give so much importance to making her look good that you forget that it’s more important for her feel loved and have fun. When you dressed her up in a ₹3000/- dress and decorated her hair with ₹500/- accessories, it was because YOU wanted to feel good about yourself as a mother. You didn’t want other mothers to judge you based on your child’s appearance. You can’t reprimand her for losing something she was least bothered about. She had gone for a birthday party…to enjoy herself. And when you scold her like that for losing a hair clip, you are making sure that she doesn’t enjoy the next party because she would be busy taking care of her mommy’s beloved hair clip.” She said it all in one breath.

“So you are saying that I should let her be shabbily dressed? And that I should never make her responsible for her things?” I argued.

“No…I’m in no way asking you to do that. All I’m saying is that kids are born beautiful…all of them. And more importantly, they are born without inflated egos…unlike us adults. They don’t need expensive clothes and accessories to look and feel good. Let her be a child while she still can, because it is inevitable that one day she too would be sucked into the superficial notions of beauty and image that have been so ingrained in our minds that we can’t think beyond them.

And if you still want her to wear expensive things then YOU be on your toes at every party and make sure she doesn’t spoil her dress or rip her leggings or lose a clip or a bow on her shoes. It is not her duty and responsibility as long as she doesn’t ask for it herself. Stop trying to raise a perfect child…instead be a parent who is perfect for her…despite your own imperfections.” She was done talking. It was now my turn to start introspecting.

I usually don’t let anything deter me from my style of parenting…this conversation with my mother, however, did make me realise that I truly was a parent with imperfections…but I kept looking for perfection from my 5 year old.

My daughter is almost 11 now…and while I’m still light years away from being a perfect mother…I am a much more chilled-out one now. I have survived lost hair clips, broken shoes, ripped dresses and cringeworthy appearances and I’ve realised that it’s not the end of the world.

And on days when my daughter gets a lecture on responsibility from me and gives me the raised eyebrow and rolling eye, I want to tell her that while no one likes to be scolded, sometimes being scolded by your mom is the best thing that can happen to you. Because at the end of the day ‘Mommy Knows Best !’

ज़िंदगी

अरे सुनो… हाँ तुम … ज़िंदगी

अजीब हो तुम

याद है…हम दोस्त हुआ करते थे

बचपन के दिन थे शायद…

फिर न जाने क्या हुआ तुम्हें

मेरी स्कूल की टीचर जैसी हो गयी तुम

हर मोड़ पे इम्तिहान लेने लगी

और हर बार का सबजेक्ट अलग

कभी तुम मेरी पसंदीदा टीचर बनी

काफ़ी कुछ सिखाया मुझे… प्यार से

कभी उस ग़ुस्सैल टीचर की तरह

जिसने तैयारी का टाइम भी नहीं दिया

शिकायतें भी बहुत की तुमसे

“उसका पेपर मेरे पेपर से आसान क्यूँ?”

तब हँसते हुए कहा था तुमने

“उसका कोई और पेपर तुम्हारे वाले से मुश्किल है”

कुछ दिन गरमियों की छुट्टियों से भी हुए

इम्तिहान तो नहीं थे

लेकिन हॉलिडे होम्वर्क बहुत दिया तुमने

पूरा करते करते कमर टूट गयी

तुमसे कभी फिर से दोस्ती होगी या नहीं

कहना मुश्किल है

लेकिन कोशिश जारी है

तुमसे जान पहचान करने की

एक सवाल और पूछा था तुमसे

“कब तक लेती रहोगी इम्तिहान?”

तुमने फिर उसी मुस्कुराहट के साथ कहा

“एक दिन सासों का काग़ज़ छीन लूँगी झटके से…बस तब तक”

माँ

सुबह सुबह गरम दूध गटका तो एक आवाज़ ध्यान आयी..

“धीरे धीरे पी…जल जाएगा मुँह…खाँसी आ जाएगी”

माँ की आवाज़… ठीक कहती थी माँ।

बच्चों को देर से उठने पर जब डाँटा तो लगा

सुनी सुनी सी डाँट है लेकिन आवाज़ कोई और

माँ की आवाज़… ठीक कहती थी माँ।

“बहुत ज़रूरी है पढ़ाई…यही काम आएगी ज़िंदगी में।”

ज्ञान का सागर बेटी पर उँडेला तो अपना बचपन याद आया।

माँ की आवाज़… ठीक कहती थी माँ।

“तुम कभी अपने लिए कुछ क्यूँ नहीं लेती?” बेटी ने पूछा।

“सबकुछ तो है मेरे पास।” ये जवाब जाना पहचाना सा लगा।

माँ के आवाज़… ठीक कहती थी माँ।

आज ख़ुद माँ हूँ तो हैरान होती हूँ

कब मैं भी बन गयी बिलकुल अपनी माँ जैसी।

जो हमेशा ग़लत ही लगती थी मुझे

आज क्यूँ लगता है कि सब सही ही सिखाती थी वो

फिर सोचा, अभी भी देर नहीं हुई,

मान लेती हूँ अपनी ग़लती

फ़ोन उठाया और नम्बर लगाया…

“हेलो…”, उधर से आवाज़ आयी,

माँ की आवाज़…

“माँ… ठीक कहती थी तुम…”

Bond, Baby Bond

MOTHERHOOD is like wine…it’s an acquired taste…it grows on you slowly…or at least it did for me!

I had a difficult first pregnancy and a very smooth, easy-going second one. The pregnancies were as different from each other as chalk and cheese….much like how my girls are!

But, the one thing that was common at both times was the excitement and the happy anticipation of what (or who) was about to come. I went through all the emotions that most women go through when they are expecting- happiness, anxiety, hope, exhilaration from being the pampered one in the family, etc.

So, the first time around was more of everything…more emotions, more pampering, more excitement…for obvious reasons. And, after (almost) nine months of all this and more…the D-day was here and our little one was with us!

After a whole evening of “ooh”, “aah” and “what a beautiful baby” comments from family and friends, I was finally with my baby….alone (well, almost alone…my mom was there with me).

I looked at Baby S…and the first thought I had was…’THIS IS IT ! This is what I was waiting for…but…is she supposed to look like this? A frail little wrinkled monkey? A pretty one, no doubt…but still a monkey.’ I waited for the feeling of love and connection and all that to rush and overwhelm me….just like it did for all new mothers.

Nothing !

‘Wait! This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen! Where is that surge of love and emotions and everything that I had read about?’ I thought.

So I looked again….more intently, this time. “Aayegi aayegi…feeling aayegi.” I said to myself.

I hummed all the Hindi movie songs that could come to my mind about mommy-baby bonding.

Mere ghar aayi ek nanhi Pari…

Gudiya Rani, bitiya rani…

Nothing !

And I was convinced that I was the most insensitive mother on the face of this earth…may be it was a wrong decision to have a baby…may be I wasn’t ready for motherhood. I looked at my mother standing there…savouring the moment of (supposed) bonding between her own baby and her baby’s little baby. Little did she know that nothing of that sort was happening. I opened my mouth to say something but then decided against bursting her bubble. But, I was worried…more worried than I had ever been in my entire life….more so because I couldn’t share it with anyone as I was ashamed at being so stone-hearted. I was so guilty that I couldn’t even look at my baby too much.

The stay at the hospital was prolonged because Baby S got jaundice. She was in the nursery and I was in the room. I’d had a c-section, so my movements were slightly limited. Since Baby S was on formula milk, my interaction with her was further reduced. I almost forgot what she looked like. One night at 2 am, we were summoned to the nursery because Baby S was to be fed. This was my first time to the nursery…I was groggy with sleep…hubby dearest led me to the nursery and walked past a few cribs to speak to the doctor. While he walked ahead, I just went and stood near a crib…I don’t know why I stood next to that particular crib. And then I called out to my husband,

“Listen…isn’t this our baby?”

“Yes.” He looked at me with an expression that said- “Are you nuts? What kind of a question is that? Of course that’s our baby!”

And I felt it….I felt that rush of adrenaline…YES !!!! I could recognise her from a pool of cribs with similar looking babies…and that too when I didn’t remember her face too well. I did have a connection with her, after all !

While it still wasn’t all hunky-dory between us, things started getting better from there on… I was more confident, I started to understand her better, I started to accept that it’s okay to not have a ‘love-at-first-sight’ experience with my baby and I stopped feeling guilty about it. As the days passed, my love for her kept growing…till I felt that my heart would burst because it couldn’t contain the love I had for this little piece of my soul.

It’s been almost 11 years now, Baby S is not a baby anymore. She is a beautiful, confident, well-mannered young lady, who is loved by all. But she is loved most by me- her mother, who had once wondered if she would ever be able to love her at all.

The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton