It can be discomfiting when a child corrects the parent for use of improper language.
Sometimes I have a difficulty in placing names to faces and then resort to what I remember – either an incident or a conversation connected to the person – when I am talking about this `lost’ person to another.
Ponnu had a classmate who was in her class in school for some years. I remember him as a boy who had an embarrassing moment in class during his first year at school. There were a couple of boys all with the same sounding name in Ponnu’s class. Whenever Ponnu spoke of her classmates, I’d go, “This is the guy who had that embarrassing moment?” She’d tell me his name again and we would resume the conversation.
Ponnu soon realized that the `embarrassing moment' was my way of remembering her classmate. So she decided to set matters right. The next time I said those words again, she said, “Ma, please don’t refer to my friend like that. I have often told you his name.” I said it was alright for me to say it for after all it was only between us. She insisted it was still `not on’. I have never forgotten that boy’s name since, though he left school to join another and was not mentioned much at home. Ponnu had a point there, I concede.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
`My' Way
I have never wanted Ponnu to obey me. When she was too little to understand, the power wrested with me to dress her the way I wanted to, feed her, take her out, read to her – everything was my decision. As she began to understand things, I would explain why we needed to do things the way we did. That there were `desirable’ and `undesirable’ behaviour and she needed to make her choices with care.
Somewhere down the line, I found that I had in me `Do it my way’ commands which I gave in to, without pausing to reflect. On one occasion, Ponnu and I went to buy her shoes. Ponnu liked one style and colour and I, another. There was nothing wrong with Ponnu’s choice. Neither was it exorbitant or flimsy or even unfit for a child to wear. Yet, since I liked the other colour on display even more, I wanted Ponnu to buy it. She reluctantly did. But I found my answer when she never wore that pair of shoes. I asked her about it. “I don’t like it much Ma. I did tell you then. But if you insist, I will wear it now.”
Another time, Ponnu wanted a jacket. I did not find the time to go shopping with her. On way to an assignment, I was passing by a shop where I saw a sea green colour jacket that I liked. So I bought it for Ponnu though I know she is not too fond of the colour. Ponnu saw the jacket and said, “I wish you had asked before you bought it for me. I would have liked us to go together and buy it. I don’t like this colour.” The rebuffed parent in me stood up in all anger and I told her off.
I could easily have got Ponnu to wear what I wanted to. But that is not the way I want us to be. There is no joy in getting anyone to obey.
Somewhere down the line, I found that I had in me `Do it my way’ commands which I gave in to, without pausing to reflect. On one occasion, Ponnu and I went to buy her shoes. Ponnu liked one style and colour and I, another. There was nothing wrong with Ponnu’s choice. Neither was it exorbitant or flimsy or even unfit for a child to wear. Yet, since I liked the other colour on display even more, I wanted Ponnu to buy it. She reluctantly did. But I found my answer when she never wore that pair of shoes. I asked her about it. “I don’t like it much Ma. I did tell you then. But if you insist, I will wear it now.”
Another time, Ponnu wanted a jacket. I did not find the time to go shopping with her. On way to an assignment, I was passing by a shop where I saw a sea green colour jacket that I liked. So I bought it for Ponnu though I know she is not too fond of the colour. Ponnu saw the jacket and said, “I wish you had asked before you bought it for me. I would have liked us to go together and buy it. I don’t like this colour.” The rebuffed parent in me stood up in all anger and I told her off.
I could easily have got Ponnu to wear what I wanted to. But that is not the way I want us to be. There is no joy in getting anyone to obey.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Happy Things
In my efforts to get my child understand the rights and wrongs, I have sometimes delivered the homilies in a matter-of-fact manner and at times found it better to say it through incidents. But that was when Ponnu was little. As she grew up, the latter would not quite work.
The newspapers are rife with unfortunate incidents and I would constantly ask Ponnu whether she had read them. When sad stories were told to me or I was privy to some in my workplace, I would mention them to Ponnu. Soon the `sad’ stories became a daily evening affair. One day Ponnu asked me, “Why do you say something sad that has happened with someone in office or what a colleague says over here?” I said that was because I was quite upset about it. “Can we do something towards that,” was her query. Not quite, I said. “Then leave it Ma. Don’t come and tell dad and me these sad stories. Let us talk about something nice.” In my defense I said, “You know, you can’t escape sad things in life.” Pat was the reply. “Of course, I can’t. But I don’t think we should be speaking about other people's sad stories everyday at home.”
At another time, I told Ponnu, I was planning to write a story. “Please write happy stories, Ma,” she urged. Now, why was that, I wondered aloud. “You know, it is so easy to get people to feel sad. The challenge is to make people happy. That is what I think you should be writing.” A split second later, she added, “Hope I did not sound rude now.” Of course not, I reassured her. I thought over what she had said. It is a task to be happy and only talk of happy things. But I accepted that challenge.
The newspapers are rife with unfortunate incidents and I would constantly ask Ponnu whether she had read them. When sad stories were told to me or I was privy to some in my workplace, I would mention them to Ponnu. Soon the `sad’ stories became a daily evening affair. One day Ponnu asked me, “Why do you say something sad that has happened with someone in office or what a colleague says over here?” I said that was because I was quite upset about it. “Can we do something towards that,” was her query. Not quite, I said. “Then leave it Ma. Don’t come and tell dad and me these sad stories. Let us talk about something nice.” In my defense I said, “You know, you can’t escape sad things in life.” Pat was the reply. “Of course, I can’t. But I don’t think we should be speaking about other people's sad stories everyday at home.”
At another time, I told Ponnu, I was planning to write a story. “Please write happy stories, Ma,” she urged. Now, why was that, I wondered aloud. “You know, it is so easy to get people to feel sad. The challenge is to make people happy. That is what I think you should be writing.” A split second later, she added, “Hope I did not sound rude now.” Of course not, I reassured her. I thought over what she had said. It is a task to be happy and only talk of happy things. But I accepted that challenge.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
A Belief
Raising a child is a delicate task. One wrong move and the child could be scarred forever.
I wanted Ponnu to know and depend upon a force beyond us, her parents and other family members. An energy that she could call upon in times of need and feel secure. I wanted to introduce God into my child's life. But what religion is God, I wondered. I did not want Ponnu to have any confusion or compulsion in this regard. So I would take the little Ponnu to the altar at home and observe what her dad and I was doing -- pray. She was free to pray or simply look at the glowing lamps.
As Ponnu grew up to understand things better, I have asked on a few occasions, "Will you light the evening lamp today?" Most days her answer was in the negative. For her dad and me, that was not a matter of concern. Yet, on rare occasions I worried. For, if my child did not believe in a God, where would she draw her strength from in times of need?
Sometimes Ponnu visits a temple close to home. When I ask her the reason for the sudden visit, she says either the idol there is beautiful or she `felt like it'. Ponnu's dad feels it is a non-issue and asks, "Does it really matter whether we formally call out or pay obeisance to God?" Each of us must make the choice, he says. I have learnt to respect Ponnu's.
I wanted Ponnu to know and depend upon a force beyond us, her parents and other family members. An energy that she could call upon in times of need and feel secure. I wanted to introduce God into my child's life. But what religion is God, I wondered. I did not want Ponnu to have any confusion or compulsion in this regard. So I would take the little Ponnu to the altar at home and observe what her dad and I was doing -- pray. She was free to pray or simply look at the glowing lamps.
As Ponnu grew up to understand things better, I have asked on a few occasions, "Will you light the evening lamp today?" Most days her answer was in the negative. For her dad and me, that was not a matter of concern. Yet, on rare occasions I worried. For, if my child did not believe in a God, where would she draw her strength from in times of need?
Sometimes Ponnu visits a temple close to home. When I ask her the reason for the sudden visit, she says either the idol there is beautiful or she `felt like it'. Ponnu's dad feels it is a non-issue and asks, "Does it really matter whether we formally call out or pay obeisance to God?" Each of us must make the choice, he says. I have learnt to respect Ponnu's.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Mother's Day
I have a secret desire to receive flowers. Gifts are generous thoughts, but flowers are spontaneous gestures, I think. It may seem strange but a six-year-old Ponnu surprised me with wild flowers that she plucked from a hedge on her way back from tuitions. On reaching the door, she held her hand to the back and when I asked her what she was hiding, she grinned. After she came into the house, she put the tiny yellow heads with thin stems into my hand and said, “For you.” I was ecstatic and walked around with a smile the whole day.
On some days I received long leaves that she liked or white flowers that she found on hedges that were grown on the boundary walls of our building compound. After she gave me the flowers, she would stand to watch what I was doing with them. Usually I put them in a saucer with water in it for they were too small to be put into a vase. Some days, if I was too busy at work in the kitchen, I would take them, thank her and place it on the window sill. Soon enough I would hear a, “You are badly behaved”. I would then turn and hurriedly ask why, to which the answer would be, “You placed my flowers there and not in a cup. It will die without water.” I had to quickly tend to the flowers or I would have to hear the `You are badly behaved’ statement many times for days together.
I still receive flowers from Ponnu. On one rare occasion, I got a bunch when I came home at night after work. I was surprised and hugged her. “Sorry for yelling at you this morning,” she said by way of a reply.
One of my finest gifts from Ponnu was a couple of years back for Mother’s Day. In the evening when I reached home, Ponnu asked me to come to the living room with my eyes closed. I heard a match being struck and then she said, “Now open your eyes.” When I did, she said, “Happy Mother’s Day”. What I saw was beautiful. Ponnu had switched off the lights and on the centre table was placed a crystal bowl filled with water on which floated gerberas in varied colours. Between the flowers were floating candles amongst which were a few artificial pearls. I looked on at the beautiful creation and said, “This is super”. She said, “I got this idea after watching the Oprah show.” I just looked on at the lit candles and the flowers and said a swift prayer of thanks. I could not say anything to Ponnu than a Thank You. Words do seem meaningless at times.
On some days I received long leaves that she liked or white flowers that she found on hedges that were grown on the boundary walls of our building compound. After she gave me the flowers, she would stand to watch what I was doing with them. Usually I put them in a saucer with water in it for they were too small to be put into a vase. Some days, if I was too busy at work in the kitchen, I would take them, thank her and place it on the window sill. Soon enough I would hear a, “You are badly behaved”. I would then turn and hurriedly ask why, to which the answer would be, “You placed my flowers there and not in a cup. It will die without water.” I had to quickly tend to the flowers or I would have to hear the `You are badly behaved’ statement many times for days together.
I still receive flowers from Ponnu. On one rare occasion, I got a bunch when I came home at night after work. I was surprised and hugged her. “Sorry for yelling at you this morning,” she said by way of a reply.
One of my finest gifts from Ponnu was a couple of years back for Mother’s Day. In the evening when I reached home, Ponnu asked me to come to the living room with my eyes closed. I heard a match being struck and then she said, “Now open your eyes.” When I did, she said, “Happy Mother’s Day”. What I saw was beautiful. Ponnu had switched off the lights and on the centre table was placed a crystal bowl filled with water on which floated gerberas in varied colours. Between the flowers were floating candles amongst which were a few artificial pearls. I looked on at the beautiful creation and said, “This is super”. She said, “I got this idea after watching the Oprah show.” I just looked on at the lit candles and the flowers and said a swift prayer of thanks. I could not say anything to Ponnu than a Thank You. Words do seem meaningless at times.
Monday, January 14, 2008
I Can
I never thought I would be amongst folks who talk to their child affectionately and yet be polite, without a need to yell when the situations or circumstances are beyond them. I have surprised myself (quite happily, I must admit) at having done just that on most occasions.
It isn’t that I am a paradigm of model behaviour with Ponnu. But she is the only person I can go back to immediately and say, “I think that behaviour was not on.” I hear that from Ponnu as well, when she is angry with me.
Is it the love for one’s offspring that challenges a parent and brings out the best? I wish I knew. No matter how angry I am, I can still modulate my voice and tell her, “I am very angry now. Just don’t speak with me.” A little while later, I can also go back and explain why I did it, this time in total calm. Or tell her in a grave voice what I disapprove.
It is very easy, I think, to talk to a child with respect and love, and then not be surprised with the delightful results. We are all blessed with talents and bonuses in the form of people and relationships. I have mine in Ponnu. Like every other relationship, it needs to be constantly worked at. I think, unlike other relationships, a child springs a surprise everyday for she is growing up and the process is a long one.
It isn’t that I am a paradigm of model behaviour with Ponnu. But she is the only person I can go back to immediately and say, “I think that behaviour was not on.” I hear that from Ponnu as well, when she is angry with me.
Is it the love for one’s offspring that challenges a parent and brings out the best? I wish I knew. No matter how angry I am, I can still modulate my voice and tell her, “I am very angry now. Just don’t speak with me.” A little while later, I can also go back and explain why I did it, this time in total calm. Or tell her in a grave voice what I disapprove.
It is very easy, I think, to talk to a child with respect and love, and then not be surprised with the delightful results. We are all blessed with talents and bonuses in the form of people and relationships. I have mine in Ponnu. Like every other relationship, it needs to be constantly worked at. I think, unlike other relationships, a child springs a surprise everyday for she is growing up and the process is a long one.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Our rituals
There are certain rituals, all my own, that I follow with Ponnu. I have this fear that I may die and not have told Ponnu what she means to me. I don't ever want to end up like that.
So in the morning, I go up to her room and much to her father's amusement say, "Hey, my princess, wake up. Good Morning." After a while of this, and if Ponnu is still sleeping, I go on with "Wake up baby. It is morning." Most days she wakes up after a little while. But on some days, she refuses to budge. If, after a while of more such words from me, Ponnu has still not woken up, her father will remark, "Your princess is still sleeping?" He takes charge then. There is this loud, "Ponnu, wake up," after which he proceeds to switch on the bedroom lights. With a howl, Ponnu is up and in the bathroom.
In the many conversations that we have on the phone through the day, Ponnu and I sign off always with, "I love you." Once I was entering office and found my chief in the corridor talking to someone. I was on the phone with Ponnu. By the time I could go past my chief, Ponnu wanted to hang up as she had a class to attend. "I love you, Ma," she said and I replied, "I love you too". I hung up and then saw my chief raise his eyebrows at my declaration of love. I have yet to be more embarrassed.
Every night before going to bed, Ponnu and I say our goodnights to each other. On one occasion I hugged her and said, "You are the best child in the world". Ponnu's father happened to be nearby and chipped in with, "Of course the best kid, if there are no other kids in the world."
So in the morning, I go up to her room and much to her father's amusement say, "Hey, my princess, wake up. Good Morning." After a while of this, and if Ponnu is still sleeping, I go on with "Wake up baby. It is morning." Most days she wakes up after a little while. But on some days, she refuses to budge. If, after a while of more such words from me, Ponnu has still not woken up, her father will remark, "Your princess is still sleeping?" He takes charge then. There is this loud, "Ponnu, wake up," after which he proceeds to switch on the bedroom lights. With a howl, Ponnu is up and in the bathroom.
In the many conversations that we have on the phone through the day, Ponnu and I sign off always with, "I love you." Once I was entering office and found my chief in the corridor talking to someone. I was on the phone with Ponnu. By the time I could go past my chief, Ponnu wanted to hang up as she had a class to attend. "I love you, Ma," she said and I replied, "I love you too". I hung up and then saw my chief raise his eyebrows at my declaration of love. I have yet to be more embarrassed.
Every night before going to bed, Ponnu and I say our goodnights to each other. On one occasion I hugged her and said, "You are the best child in the world". Ponnu's father happened to be nearby and chipped in with, "Of course the best kid, if there are no other kids in the world."
Saturday, January 12, 2008
It's A Myth
I have raised Ponnu on a lot of stories. When she was very little, our favourite was the story of Santa Claus.
Each year, a fortnight before Christmas, Ponnu would start writing down her list of goodies she wanted from Santa. When she finished with it, I would tell her she could not ask for many things from Santa Claus as he had to give other children around the world as well. Ponnu would go through the list again and some goodies were struck off. If there were any that were very expensive, Santa could not give her those too. He could not be partial to Ponnu and not have enough to give other children. So she understood.
Ponnu was three years old when we made the first list. As the years went by, the choices broadened to include sketch pens instead of colouring pencils, a specific brand of chocolate instead of just chocolates, games and so on. As we read the list together, she'd ask, "Do you think Santa would be able to get this for me or will he think I am too greedy?" and I would ask her to tick off at least one thing from the list every year. Simply to let her know that even Santa Claus has limitations.
When Ponnu was six, my mother told her there was no Santa Claus. The child was hurt with that revelation. When I came home from work that night, and was spending time with her before she slept, she looked up at me and asked, "Ma, are you Santa?" I asked her why and she said, "Grandma says you are."
I said it was true that there was no Santa Claus, but I loved playing Santa to her during Christmas time. She smiled. The next year though, the list was being prepared at least three months in advance. The questions asked this time and since then have been, "Ma, I want this book for Christmas" and many other such requests. "Do you mind Ma, if I ask for three books this Christmas and also a CD?" With no Santa to protect me, I have just stressed which request could be taken up and those that had to be rejected. Christmas now does not have Santa leaving his goodies at our home at midnight. But over the years, I have Ponnu playing Santa to me during Christmas and getting me things I have mentioned in passing through the year. From a book of my favourite poet to even my first ever cookery book (for she saw me trying hard to write and keep pace with the chef on TV), Ponnu touches me with her thoughful gestures.
Each year, a fortnight before Christmas, Ponnu would start writing down her list of goodies she wanted from Santa. When she finished with it, I would tell her she could not ask for many things from Santa Claus as he had to give other children around the world as well. Ponnu would go through the list again and some goodies were struck off. If there were any that were very expensive, Santa could not give her those too. He could not be partial to Ponnu and not have enough to give other children. So she understood.
Ponnu was three years old when we made the first list. As the years went by, the choices broadened to include sketch pens instead of colouring pencils, a specific brand of chocolate instead of just chocolates, games and so on. As we read the list together, she'd ask, "Do you think Santa would be able to get this for me or will he think I am too greedy?" and I would ask her to tick off at least one thing from the list every year. Simply to let her know that even Santa Claus has limitations.
When Ponnu was six, my mother told her there was no Santa Claus. The child was hurt with that revelation. When I came home from work that night, and was spending time with her before she slept, she looked up at me and asked, "Ma, are you Santa?" I asked her why and she said, "Grandma says you are."
I said it was true that there was no Santa Claus, but I loved playing Santa to her during Christmas time. She smiled. The next year though, the list was being prepared at least three months in advance. The questions asked this time and since then have been, "Ma, I want this book for Christmas" and many other such requests. "Do you mind Ma, if I ask for three books this Christmas and also a CD?" With no Santa to protect me, I have just stressed which request could be taken up and those that had to be rejected. Christmas now does not have Santa leaving his goodies at our home at midnight. But over the years, I have Ponnu playing Santa to me during Christmas and getting me things I have mentioned in passing through the year. From a book of my favourite poet to even my first ever cookery book (for she saw me trying hard to write and keep pace with the chef on TV), Ponnu touches me with her thoughful gestures.
Friday, January 11, 2008
A `Special' Friend
Ponnu’s views on marriage were now out in the open. So what does that mean? Time for me to ask the question that was worrying me. Is `worry' the right word? No. Not worry, really. Curious, I guess. Yes, `curious' sounds best for I don’t expect Ponnu with anything foolish or impractical.
I know Ponnu’s friends. Every one of them is familiar by name, some by faces and some I bond with very, very well. But I haven’t yet heard of any `special’ friend amongst them. Anyway this was the work of my overanxious mind.
I thought I was being casual when I’d ask, “Ponnu, do you have a special friend?” She replied, “No” just as easily. Ok, so she got what I was hinting at. I asked the question, I guess, a little too frequently and one day Ponnu decided to help me with, “Are you asking, do I have a boyfriend?” What relief! I don’t know why I could not have been open and just asked the question, considering we don’t have a this-is-the-limit cordon about our relationship.
“Yes, that is what I want to know,” I said finally. “See Ma, I don’t have a boyfriend now.” That meant there could be one in the future. Ponnu looked at my seemingly calm face and then put her arm around my shoulders and drew me close. “When I do have a boyfriend, you will be the first to know.” I laughed self-consciously. I don’t have a choice in the matter and yet, I am anxious. The fears are nameless and the list endless if I mentally prepare one. I think it is better for me to live the moment, which is meaningful everytime Ponnu and I are together.
I know Ponnu’s friends. Every one of them is familiar by name, some by faces and some I bond with very, very well. But I haven’t yet heard of any `special’ friend amongst them. Anyway this was the work of my overanxious mind.
I thought I was being casual when I’d ask, “Ponnu, do you have a special friend?” She replied, “No” just as easily. Ok, so she got what I was hinting at. I asked the question, I guess, a little too frequently and one day Ponnu decided to help me with, “Are you asking, do I have a boyfriend?” What relief! I don’t know why I could not have been open and just asked the question, considering we don’t have a this-is-the-limit cordon about our relationship.
“Yes, that is what I want to know,” I said finally. “See Ma, I don’t have a boyfriend now.” That meant there could be one in the future. Ponnu looked at my seemingly calm face and then put her arm around my shoulders and drew me close. “When I do have a boyfriend, you will be the first to know.” I laughed self-consciously. I don’t have a choice in the matter and yet, I am anxious. The fears are nameless and the list endless if I mentally prepare one. I think it is better for me to live the moment, which is meaningful everytime Ponnu and I are together.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Unrealistic
Whenever someone mentions the word marriage and associates Ponnu with it, I can feel my temper rising. I can’t think of Ponnu being married. I realise this is not right. But I can’t see my child going off with a man for life. Since Ponnu has come into my life, I find that when I go for a wedding and see the nuptials taking place with the mridangam and naadaswaram blasting away, I get emotional.
Ponnu’s dad once remarked, “Everyone gets married. So did you.” Of course I did. But still. “I can’t see my daughter being taken away by a guy.” He asked, “Who takes her away? That is not the way to see it. She gets married.” Yes, yes. But I still revolted against the idea. Someone taking away my girl. Can’t digest that.
One nurtures one’s fears and over a period of time these grow so large that sane reason stands no chance. One day I mentioned casually to Ponnu, “You don’t really have to get married. You study, get a job, see the world and enjoy yourself.” Ponnu looked at me for a little while and then said, “You know something… That is a selfish thing to say.” After which she walked away from the room.
I sat rooted to my seat and was thinking about what Ponnu had said. I mentally cringed at the word, `Selfish’. I have never seen myself in relation to that adjective. Selfish. It was just that I was afraid another person would not be as good and loving to Ponnu as I or her dad. But that was a negative thought without any reference point. A thought which came out of my unwillingness to let go and put another’s happiness first.
A little while later I went to Ponnu’s room and found her reading on the bed. I sat across her and apologized for what I had said. It was indeed selfish on my part to tell her something that came out of my fear. I hugged her and said, “You were right. It was a selfish thing to say.” She only asked, “Did I hurt you?” A bit, I replied. But you were right, I stressed.
A parent is learning anew with a child. The roles are not rigid. Most times the parent shows the way and sometimes the child points out the signs ahead.
Ponnu’s dad once remarked, “Everyone gets married. So did you.” Of course I did. But still. “I can’t see my daughter being taken away by a guy.” He asked, “Who takes her away? That is not the way to see it. She gets married.” Yes, yes. But I still revolted against the idea. Someone taking away my girl. Can’t digest that.
One nurtures one’s fears and over a period of time these grow so large that sane reason stands no chance. One day I mentioned casually to Ponnu, “You don’t really have to get married. You study, get a job, see the world and enjoy yourself.” Ponnu looked at me for a little while and then said, “You know something… That is a selfish thing to say.” After which she walked away from the room.
I sat rooted to my seat and was thinking about what Ponnu had said. I mentally cringed at the word, `Selfish’. I have never seen myself in relation to that adjective. Selfish. It was just that I was afraid another person would not be as good and loving to Ponnu as I or her dad. But that was a negative thought without any reference point. A thought which came out of my unwillingness to let go and put another’s happiness first.
A little while later I went to Ponnu’s room and found her reading on the bed. I sat across her and apologized for what I had said. It was indeed selfish on my part to tell her something that came out of my fear. I hugged her and said, “You were right. It was a selfish thing to say.” She only asked, “Did I hurt you?” A bit, I replied. But you were right, I stressed.
A parent is learning anew with a child. The roles are not rigid. Most times the parent shows the way and sometimes the child points out the signs ahead.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Letting Go
When does a parent really let go? Or does it ever happen? I have embarrassed both Ponnu and her father with my feelings over her. Yet, I would not like to term it an obsession, because Ponnu is not an obsession. I can see her living her life without me around -- without me on the phone talking to her and inquiring after her.
Yet, there was a distraught me a few years ago when Ponnu was in her last year at school. Soon enough it was time for Ponnu to appear for her final examinations. And the day came when her dad and me accompanied her to the examination hall. No word escaped my lips as I saw my child talking with her friends and then it was time to say good bye. I hugged her and she kissed me and I wished her the best for her exams. She joined the queue that would take her into the examination hall. Then it hit me. This was the most important examination in my child’s student life, until then. Perhaps, I think now, perhaps, the fact that she was no longer the child whose hand I had held and taken to school years ago or the reality that she was a grown up girl though still in school uniform that made me sad or it was just an amalgamation of these thoughts. I really don’t know. But the tears slipped unchecked and Ponnu saw it. She looked at me, enlarged her pupils and put her finger across her lips. I nodded.
I left the school compound and Ponnu’s dad wondered why I was sniffing. "What happened", he asked. “Oh, I just felt a bit emotional seeing Ponnu going off to write her first public exams,” I said. He laughed. “Now, what will you do when she goes off as a bride,” he asked. I heard him and surprised myself by laughing. Really, what would I do then.
Yet, there was a distraught me a few years ago when Ponnu was in her last year at school. Soon enough it was time for Ponnu to appear for her final examinations. And the day came when her dad and me accompanied her to the examination hall. No word escaped my lips as I saw my child talking with her friends and then it was time to say good bye. I hugged her and she kissed me and I wished her the best for her exams. She joined the queue that would take her into the examination hall. Then it hit me. This was the most important examination in my child’s student life, until then. Perhaps, I think now, perhaps, the fact that she was no longer the child whose hand I had held and taken to school years ago or the reality that she was a grown up girl though still in school uniform that made me sad or it was just an amalgamation of these thoughts. I really don’t know. But the tears slipped unchecked and Ponnu saw it. She looked at me, enlarged her pupils and put her finger across her lips. I nodded.
I left the school compound and Ponnu’s dad wondered why I was sniffing. "What happened", he asked. “Oh, I just felt a bit emotional seeing Ponnu going off to write her first public exams,” I said. He laughed. “Now, what will you do when she goes off as a bride,” he asked. I heard him and surprised myself by laughing. Really, what would I do then.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Mother's Fears
As a mother, I have innumerable fears. Well, some of them can now be termed in the past tense. I am not going to spell out everything for I think it will only reinforce some of them. The initial fears of losing my child in a crowd refused to shake off years later.
A four or five-year-old Ponnu’s hand can be clasped firmly in mine in a public place and I can quell my fears. Or take her physically and deposit her down to her grandma’s house when she went there weekly to pay a visit. It was then unthinkable to send her off with anyone except her father. But as Ponnu grew older, I realized I could not do much in the matter.
It was like the time I would pick out Ponnu’s clothes for her. Until she was three years old or thereabouts and then she wanted to have a say in the matter. In my defense, I‘d like to say, I am graceful where Ponnu is concerned. I respect her. But I don’t think it would extend to any limits that I don’t consider safe or not right. A parent is a parent is a parent. Can’t escape that at times, methinks.
When Ponnu started going to college, though it was my decision to send her some distance away from where we stay so that she learnt to travel by the local trains, I still had my foot in the door. Ponnu was to message me when she boarded the train, when she reached college and also when she left for home. Initially Ponnu was okay with it. At times, she’d come up with, “Other parents don’t ask this of their children.” My answer always remained, “I am not comparing you to other children, so you don’t compare me to other parents.”
This arrangement of constant messaging lasted until one day, Ponnu said, she wanted to know why she had to punch in so many messages to me. “Is this a question of trust,” she asked. “Not at all, “ I said. “On the contrary, this is to do with my knowing you are safe.” “Then one message should do,” she said. It was then time to sit down and sort this out. “You are my only child,” I began. To that the repartee was quick. “Some of my friends are single children like me and they don’t have to message or call back as often as I do.” I thought for a while and said, “As a mother, my heart walks outside of me when you are not within sight.” I had read this somewhere long ago. Trust Ponnu to come up with, “Then, you must tell your heart to stay in its place, Ma. I am not getting lost or losing my way. Even if I do, I can ask and find my way.”
I am a parent. I just know that I worry. So I told Ponnu we could come to an agreement. Just one message to tell me when she has finished college for the day would be nice and I could message her instead, if I was eager. “Don’t worry, Ma. I will call you,” she said. Ponnu does that.
A four or five-year-old Ponnu’s hand can be clasped firmly in mine in a public place and I can quell my fears. Or take her physically and deposit her down to her grandma’s house when she went there weekly to pay a visit. It was then unthinkable to send her off with anyone except her father. But as Ponnu grew older, I realized I could not do much in the matter.
It was like the time I would pick out Ponnu’s clothes for her. Until she was three years old or thereabouts and then she wanted to have a say in the matter. In my defense, I‘d like to say, I am graceful where Ponnu is concerned. I respect her. But I don’t think it would extend to any limits that I don’t consider safe or not right. A parent is a parent is a parent. Can’t escape that at times, methinks.
When Ponnu started going to college, though it was my decision to send her some distance away from where we stay so that she learnt to travel by the local trains, I still had my foot in the door. Ponnu was to message me when she boarded the train, when she reached college and also when she left for home. Initially Ponnu was okay with it. At times, she’d come up with, “Other parents don’t ask this of their children.” My answer always remained, “I am not comparing you to other children, so you don’t compare me to other parents.”
This arrangement of constant messaging lasted until one day, Ponnu said, she wanted to know why she had to punch in so many messages to me. “Is this a question of trust,” she asked. “Not at all, “ I said. “On the contrary, this is to do with my knowing you are safe.” “Then one message should do,” she said. It was then time to sit down and sort this out. “You are my only child,” I began. To that the repartee was quick. “Some of my friends are single children like me and they don’t have to message or call back as often as I do.” I thought for a while and said, “As a mother, my heart walks outside of me when you are not within sight.” I had read this somewhere long ago. Trust Ponnu to come up with, “Then, you must tell your heart to stay in its place, Ma. I am not getting lost or losing my way. Even if I do, I can ask and find my way.”
I am a parent. I just know that I worry. So I told Ponnu we could come to an agreement. Just one message to tell me when she has finished college for the day would be nice and I could message her instead, if I was eager. “Don’t worry, Ma. I will call you,” she said. Ponnu does that.
Just Write
My friend who pushed me into writing a blog is seething at my inconsistency. “How can you,” he goes. I haven’t really sat down and collected my thoughts to put them down on my blog. Then comes the clincher, “What is there so much to think,” he asks. “Just write.”
My friend has since left the organization. Feels bad to know another good colleague and friend has gone off the comfortable pool we worked in. I would like us to stay in touch. But the cheeky guy has only one question to ask after the pleasantries are exchanged. Tera next post kab aayega? Ahem!
Is this post to answer his query? I wish it was. It is in fact a more can-be-done to myself. Until he comes up with his next, So what? Just one post!!!
My friend has since left the organization. Feels bad to know another good colleague and friend has gone off the comfortable pool we worked in. I would like us to stay in touch. But the cheeky guy has only one question to ask after the pleasantries are exchanged. Tera next post kab aayega? Ahem!
Is this post to answer his query? I wish it was. It is in fact a more can-be-done to myself. Until he comes up with his next, So what? Just one post!!!
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