I think, therefore I write

Category: US & ADITI (Page 1 of 3)

Parenting lessons #1

I must admit, I am a skeptical and a cynical person for the most part. Although, I outwardly appear strong and positive to many, most of the times, I am worrying about something or the other inside. I struggle with keeping negative thoughts at bay and hence I go into a constant loop of overthinking, worrying, and fear. Given this predisposition, you could imagine the level of anxiety, stress, and fear my mind can generate as this horrible pandemic rages on. The only way I seem to be able to cope is to live in denial for the most part while taking all the necessary precautions anyway. I spend my daytime doing all the chores, cribbing and crying over how difficult it is. I spend my nights thinking about my privilege of being able to work and earn from home, having the family safe so far, and having my essential needs met.

As I oscillate between being the ingrate and being extremely grateful for everything I have, our toddler has taken to different coping methods of being cooped inside with no one to play with, her parents always claiming that they have some or the other work to do. I worry about her, her social skills, the impact of this situation on her, her future, and so on. It may seem like overkill but what did I tell you? I am a worrier. If I worry about general stuff, my life, or my husband 50 times a day, I worry about our daughter 100 times a day.

Anyway, today I gave my daughter a fishing game to keep her engaged while I was working. The game goes through the typical workflow of catching a fish with a fishing rod. She claimed that the fish needed water to live and only then she can catch the fish from the water. No matter what I said, she was not convinced that it is just play and she can pretend that there is water. So I gave her a box with water and asked her to put the fish inside it and then play fishing. She was okay with that for a while. Then she wanted to feed the fish. Again the same routine of convincing her that it is not really required as she was going to catch the fish anyway and her denial continued. Finally I gave in just so that I can get back to work, I gave her bits of paper and asked her to use it as pretend food for the fish.

She was finally playing happily when I noticed that she was not catching the fish at all. When I probed her with a few questions, I realized that she was happier pretending that the fish are happily swimming in the water, feeding on what she is giving them than actually catching them and putting them out of the water, thereby costing their lives. She actually reasoned with me that she does not want to catch the poor fish because they would become sad and that they cannot live. (Yeah, she still hasn’t grasped the concept of life-death fully well but to a fair extent).

This whole thing just goes to show how much positivity and hope kids have in spite of being in a bad situation. I know that their innocence and loving nature is what gives them the ability to see the good in everything. Something as simple as the glee when they get a cookie makes them forget everything else. I long for that. I am tired of being an adult, worrying all the time. I wish I could be like a kid, just being who I am, now. I have heard that the way to do this is being mindful of the present and realizing the power of now, but that is definitely easier said than done.

Until later 🙂

P.S: I did an intentional twist with the title. It is not a lesson in parenting, it is a lesson learnt as a parent.

Kids and gender bias

I admit that I was that rebel kid who constantly questioned unfair treatment, just because I am a girl. To the question whether rebellion got me anywhere, the answer is – it’s complicated. It solved my issues at times but it made things worse at other times. But my stand has always been and is still that, just because you cannot change anything about it at the moment, it is not right to stay compliant and swallow the pill forced down your throat.

If I trace back, gender bias is so seeped into our lifestyle that I am shocked to discover the many, many, normal things that we do are colored by unwanted stereotypes. Like when we unconsciously pick out a barbie doll or a cooking set for a girl’s birthday party while cars and trucks are piling up for a boy’s birthday. Like when we unconsciously tell a story or pretend play, where amma is cooking and appa is watching TV. Like when you find only pink colored shoes for girls and not for boys. These are the most famous stereotypes and given the struggle I have to go through to avoid these, I am pretty sure that there are many more where these came from.

It is not news that kids are easily suggestible, impressionable, and more importantly, super observant. Fighting against open oppression seems easy than weeding out the ideologies that are intertwined into our lives. But the reality is that neither is easy. Each demands a different method, voice, and effort. That’s a topic for another post. So with kids, it is super important to question yourself on every word (you can use the 5 whys method) before you tell them something.

Some things that I do, in an attempt to create a gender-neutral growing environment for my daughter:

I go out of my way to pick neutral colors for my daughter’s toys, clothes etc. Sometimes I encourage her to pick a blue toy, when given the choice. This does not mean I don’t pick pink at all. I just ensure that she does not associate any labels with the colors. This is not easy because the market out there does not have enough choices unless you are willing to do the stereotype ride.

I talk about my husband cooking in the kitchen, even if it is a small attempt. I openly appreciate my husband for making dosas for me. Some people may think this is overkill but I think that this is necessary to balance the scale to neutral.

In any story that I tell her, I twist the narrative from time to time to create a gender neutral scene. For example, if I tell a story about a family, I present the scene in such a way that the dad is seen doing a household chore (or something else that is often unconsciously perceived as a woman’s chore) and the mom helping him out. The next time, I do it in the reverse so that my daughter does not associate gender with a chore. And every time, I need to get something done by my husband or vice versa, we call it as asking for help. I think this encourages children to think of a family as a group of people helping and supporting each other, rather than taking things for granted.

When we go to my parent’s place, I addressed it as “grandmother’s place”. It is such a simple thing but you wouldn’t believe the unease that registered because everyone else was calling it as her “grandfather’s place”. No matter what others addressed it as, I stuck to my narrative.

I teach her household chores as life skills to her. It is not because she is a girl but because she needs to learn to be independent. Since she is our only kid, I often refer to my nephew and his activities when I teach her household chores, pointing out that my nephew, her cousin, learnt it and how he is able to handle things independently. I think this helps her focus on the skill and not who does it.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg. Every time I do a new activity with my daughter, I analyze it for any bias, not just gender bias, and try to see if there is a way out of it. You could even say that I am obsessed about doing things the right way. Some people say that this is not sustainable but I don’t see any other way out of it. We, as adults, created this biased, judgmental environment, based on our context, our opinions, and our thoughts which are purely subjective. And when you experience the innocence of a kid, as a parent, your core is shaken. Kids are the epitome of pure, non contextual, non judgmental love. Why teach them something bad and then crib that the society is filled with ungrateful youngsters?

Do you know any other ways to break out of this destructive shell? How do you engage your kids in gender neutral activities? Think now, act today.

Until later 🙂

A parent’s anguish

My almost-3-yr-old has been extremely cooperative and understanding of the situation considering her age, what with us being holed indoors. I try to be positive but as days turned into months which could now turn into years, there are times when worry eats me. The worry is mostly for my family, with an at risk husband and a toddler whose life seems to have been turned upside down. She does not know it but I do. And on bad days, the knowledge of what should have been and the memories of what were, breaks my heart.

My heart breaks into countless pieces,
When I see you holed inside these 4 walls,
You are peeping out the window,
Achingly looking at the playground,
That was your second home until a few months ago.
You don’t understand what changed and why,
All you know is that there is something out there,
Some call it corona, some call it the virus,
You get that it is something scary,
Something you don’t want to catch,
And that’s why you can’t go out.
Even the few occasions you stepped out for a walk,
With your Amma and Appa, you wore a mask,
You wore it with enthusiasm, the new cool thing for you,
You thought you were part of a grown up ritual and exulted,
Little did you know of my anguish at that sight,
Of you having to wear a mask to stay healthy and probably to stay alive.
At your age, you hardly remember a world before and after,
For you, what you see is what you get.
Hold on tight, my baby, for hope is the only thing keeping us going,
Hold on tight, to us, your parents who seem to be the world for you now,
To the vague memories of going out to that restaurant or mall,
To those memories of your birthday celebrations that just escaped the clutches of this pandemic,
To those dreams of going to your first school and playing with new friends,
Just hold on tight, let’s hope, this too shall pass.
Just so that I don’t break,
Let me believe in miracles, and
That the world will be yours again to explore.

Until later 🙁

A worthless gift

Something I wrote in a bleh state of mind, thinking about children of today who are to be the keepers of this world tomorrow.

Oh my precious little one, my hope was still bright
When you stepped into this world
Today, I am not so sure if I was right.

The world I gave you doesn’t seem so ideal
Most days, it does not show any promise of getting better
Nor does it promise you anything that’s real

The rational part of me says, this is not your battle to fight,
Do what you can to your best and teach as much
But I cringe, wondering if you even got your birthright.

Clear air, water and a place to live is all you need
Even those are hard to come by and,
Nature’s already looking for ways to trim the weed.

I really hope you get a chance to
Love what you have, and
Live how you want,
Cherish your life as you rest.

But hope is all I got,
For I am also one part of all this havoc,
Nothing else can I say except that I am sorry,
For giving you the world in this state.

Until later 🙁

Recreating memories

By this post, you would know that my interest in cooking is fairly recent. It still is a chore for me on most days but I manage to get by knowing that I can cook up a delicious meal, when needed. Anyway, as I made my way through different dishes from amma’s culinary repertoire, trying one at a time, I realized that the newly discovered interest has a backstory after all. One that’s so obvious that I am surprised that I missed it.

I miss my mom and her cooking.

Though this has happened when I first moved out from home to my hostel, then dealing with various cuisines of PG food (ugh!) throughout my spinster life and so on. I have missed amma’s cooking earlier too but that was different. This time, with each of us locked in different cities in the pandemic, it’s been a while since mom got a chance to pamper me and my daughter I got a dose of her pampering. It’s amazing how she never gets bored with cooking and always has the energy to cook up something delicious.

Anyway, this week as I tried my hand at making Vaazhaipoo urundai (A type of falafel made from banana flower), Vaazhaithandu adai (A patty with banana stem – a variant of the first dish), paruppu dosai (My favorite dish with coconut chutney, always ready when I visit home from hostel), Mushroom curry fry, Masala dosa and many more of mom’s signature dishes, the aromas wafting through my kitchen reminded me of my childhood memories, particularly around food that I enjoyed the most as I grew up. I could just close my eyes and see amma working her way around in that dingy kitchen of the monumental house that I grew up in.

Amma in the kitchen was the norm for us. I was a pathetic daughter who didn’t help around much, I did an odd chore here or there but that was it. Yes, I do feel bad that I didn’t do more for her. I would ask her why she keeps at it and how she is not bored day after day, doing the same chore and she would reply, “You enjoy the food, right?” I couldn’t imagine the level of selflessness it took to have that attitude, even if it is for one’s own daughter.

For more than 30 years, she has never tired of the kitchen and cooking. Every time I cook something, my mind automatically compares it with amma’s. The comfort of childhood memories with amma combined with the comfort of food just makes my heart fill with content to the brim. That’s probably what made the experience better for me with time – else I was unhappy that I had to work to develop the interest unlike amma for whom it just came naturally.

Of course, there is a benefactor to all this – my daughter. She is happy that she is getting a variety of dishes as opposed to the mundane routine of rice and sambhar. I don’t think I’ll ever get over amma’s cooking, no matter how old I get. I hope my daughter retains some of these memories as nostalgia when she’s all grown up. I am surprised that she, unlike me, shows an interest in cooking and household chores at such an young age. She loves sitting in the kitchen and watching me cook. And narrating the recipe to her as I cook does make the chore less boring. Sometimes, I put on music and we do a bit of dancing jumping around as well.

So if my daughter looks back at one of these evenings and thinks of it as fondly as I think of my mom in the kitchen, I’d consider it my greatest reward.

Until later 🙂

P.S: Maybe, I should start posting some recipes. Lemme think about it.

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