We have a gentleman who has been taking care of paying our bills, paying property tax, etc., for the past 10+ years ... it is his business. He comes from a very poor background, is a genteel, soft-spoken, and extremely reliable person, who has come up in life through hard work. He now has diversified to running a canteen on weekends, where his wife and mother cook and sell traditional Tamilian food. I have great admiration for him.
He has a daughter, an only child, a couple of years younger than mine. He often speaks about the need to educate her, stating that he might not be able to accumulate any great wealth for her, but can certainly educate her to a place where she can climb out of the perpetual cycle of poverty and ignorance that his family has been in for many generations. Nothing can take that wealth away from her.
Since he has no problems with it, I have often handed over my daughter's old books, games, and the excess of crayons, sketch pens, other stationery, etc., that we invariably seem to collect. Yesterday when he had come over for something, he spoke again about his daughter's achievements in academics and sports at school. He was obviously proud of her. While handing over some things that I had kept aside for his daughter, I asked him if he would be OK with taking some of the kid's old clothes in excellent condition - denims and such, which have hardly any wear and tear.
"No ma'am," he said. "My daughter doesn't wear jeans and t-shirts. She is very cultured."
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Just realised yesterday - my grandmother (the one I had blogged about) was exactly my age now, when I was born. I have photographs of a few month old me with her - she looks much older than I do now. Was it BECAUSE she already was a grandmother? Or did nearly a decade of being a widow in a more conservative society, one in which you had to stick to the traditional image of a widow, do that to you? Or is it just my imagination, because as a child, my memories of her were such?
Wondering.
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
22 April, 2014
21 November, 2012
Of rising above a parent's life-choices
How many parents think about how their life choices affect their children? I am not speaking of parenting choices here. I am speaking of choices that we make for our self, or those that are made for us by significant others in our life. How much will my not working, despite a professional degree affect my daughter's life? Would that bare fact mold her thinking, or will the reasons behind that make a difference? Will she be able to see things from my POV?
Speaking for myself as a daughter, I began to really understand my mother only after I became a parent, and a lot more as I am growing older. I can now look beyond the strict parent whose strictures I so resented to the woman behind the facade. She is an intelligent, strong, principled woman, unfortunately married into a family that could never understand her - yes, my father's side was, and still is strongly patriarchal, and has managed to stifle my mother. I have very recently begun to appreciate the fact that her choices were often not real choices, and a lot of what I remember was a function of the times she lived in. Of late, I have been having conversations with my father about how he could have done differently by her. He, too, I realise now, was a victim of the system, and actually thinks that things were fine. He listens to me, fortunately, me being the favourite daughter.
Children like to make up stories. Watch a bunch of kids play-acting and one is amazed at the imagination and creativity they come up with together. What if there is the possibility that the story might be real? What if the story turns your view of the world upside down?
Here's a book that made me introspect: what do my actions convey to my daughter? Do my unfortunate choices taint her life? Do the good ones uplift her? How much is it possible for a child to lift themselves above the effects of their parents' choices?
Hitler's Daughter
Written by Jackie French
Published by HarperCollins Children's Books
Ages 8-12
Mark, Anna, Tracey and Ben play a story game as they wait for their school bus every day. They have stories of fairies, of ball games and of horses. Until one day Anna decides to tell a story. It is an amazing story set on the fringes of a great war. It is the story of a child growing up tucked away from all the action, a privileged child who is kept safe despite not being the blue-eyed, blond, tall Aryan ideal, a child hungry for family and love, holding on to memories of the few-and-far between visits of her father. A father who obviously is somebody important. Important enough that people around her who have always taken care of her are in mortal fear of displeasing him. We are told early enough that the child, Heidi, is Hitler's daughter.
Anna's story focuses on the genocide from the outside in, raising many questions in Mark's mind. What if one's parent or child has done something really evil- how does one deal with such a parent/ child? Does one love them regardless? Do the sins of our parents taint us irrevocably, or is there redemption? Do the actions of someone dear reflect on us as individuals? How does society look upon those who stand in evil's shadow? Is a bad thing really a bad thing, or are we just victims of our convictions? Do we have a right to raise our hand against someone else's questionable behaviour if we, too, might be in the wrong in our own time?
These are very profound existential questions, and Jackie French, (whom ST has interviewed here), in her inimitable chatty style, raises them through Mark's thoughts, without thrusting them at us. There are also references to Australia's own genocide- the colonial actions against their Aborigine population.
It has been so realistically told that we are left wondering if Hitler indeed, did have a daughter that no-one knows about. Also, it is an unusual look at the Holocaust; a great book to introduce them to it, along with Number the Stars and When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit. There are no grisly portrayals of the deaths, as the point of view is of a privileged, though unfortunate girl.
This page-turner of a book was devoured by A in an afternoon. She has been, since, recommending it to many of her friends.
Cross-posted at Saffrontree.
Speaking for myself as a daughter, I began to really understand my mother only after I became a parent, and a lot more as I am growing older. I can now look beyond the strict parent whose strictures I so resented to the woman behind the facade. She is an intelligent, strong, principled woman, unfortunately married into a family that could never understand her - yes, my father's side was, and still is strongly patriarchal, and has managed to stifle my mother. I have very recently begun to appreciate the fact that her choices were often not real choices, and a lot of what I remember was a function of the times she lived in. Of late, I have been having conversations with my father about how he could have done differently by her. He, too, I realise now, was a victim of the system, and actually thinks that things were fine. He listens to me, fortunately, me being the favourite daughter.
Children like to make up stories. Watch a bunch of kids play-acting and one is amazed at the imagination and creativity they come up with together. What if there is the possibility that the story might be real? What if the story turns your view of the world upside down?
Here's a book that made me introspect: what do my actions convey to my daughter? Do my unfortunate choices taint her life? Do the good ones uplift her? How much is it possible for a child to lift themselves above the effects of their parents' choices?
 |
| pic courtesy flipkart |
Written by Jackie French
Published by HarperCollins Children's Books
Ages 8-12
Mark, Anna, Tracey and Ben play a story game as they wait for their school bus every day. They have stories of fairies, of ball games and of horses. Until one day Anna decides to tell a story. It is an amazing story set on the fringes of a great war. It is the story of a child growing up tucked away from all the action, a privileged child who is kept safe despite not being the blue-eyed, blond, tall Aryan ideal, a child hungry for family and love, holding on to memories of the few-and-far between visits of her father. A father who obviously is somebody important. Important enough that people around her who have always taken care of her are in mortal fear of displeasing him. We are told early enough that the child, Heidi, is Hitler's daughter.
Anna's story focuses on the genocide from the outside in, raising many questions in Mark's mind. What if one's parent or child has done something really evil- how does one deal with such a parent/ child? Does one love them regardless? Do the sins of our parents taint us irrevocably, or is there redemption? Do the actions of someone dear reflect on us as individuals? How does society look upon those who stand in evil's shadow? Is a bad thing really a bad thing, or are we just victims of our convictions? Do we have a right to raise our hand against someone else's questionable behaviour if we, too, might be in the wrong in our own time?
These are very profound existential questions, and Jackie French, (whom ST has interviewed here), in her inimitable chatty style, raises them through Mark's thoughts, without thrusting them at us. There are also references to Australia's own genocide- the colonial actions against their Aborigine population.
It has been so realistically told that we are left wondering if Hitler indeed, did have a daughter that no-one knows about. Also, it is an unusual look at the Holocaust; a great book to introduce them to it, along with Number the Stars and When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit. There are no grisly portrayals of the deaths, as the point of view is of a privileged, though unfortunate girl.
This page-turner of a book was devoured by A in an afternoon. She has been, since, recommending it to many of her friends.
Cross-posted at Saffrontree.
31 May, 2012
Maurice Sendak and Leo Dillon : a tribute
Two notable illustrators, both Caldecott award winners, passed away this month. One is also a writer, and almost a household name for those who know their picture books. Maurice Sendak, who passed away on 8th May 2012 at the age of 83 and Leo Dillon who passed away yesterday, 30th May 2012 at the age of 79..
Do a google-search for Maurice Sendak, and the first few links thrown up (other than the recent obits) will be for his Caldecott winner book Where the Wild Things Are (1963) This book, along with In the Night Kitchen (1970) and Outside Over There (1981), formed a sort of trilogy. I say a 'sort of trilogy' because they do not comprise parts of a contiguous story. Authored and illustrated by him.
All of these can be read aloud to children as young as 3 years old, and older. The kind of classics that can be read over and over again, well into adulthood and beyond, and we can gain at every reading. They deal with the dark side of little children, the side that is real, but which we, as a society, are often in denial about. Or if we do recognise it, we can only deal it by doling out punishment. When all it takes is a little bit of validation from a parent, and treating it as the grey area that it is. After all, all human beings have some good along with some bad. Grown-ups are just that much more able to keep it in check.
Max is your regular, mischievous little boy, with an active imagination, and a penchant for getting into trouble. Sent one day to his room without any supper. A room that magically transformed into a forest- where the wild things were! Giving Max a chance to work off his angry feelings. A chance to send these wild things off to bed without there supper. Letting him come back to the reality of the safety of his room and a hot supper; the parent too has had a chance to cool off!
Sounds familiar? The book has been made into a lovely movie, that reads between the lines of the very spare text, and gives us the back story on Max. Watched it recently on DVD, and is worth every rupee spent on it!
I was reminded of the chapter in 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban' as I read this one. The way, we are told, of handling the boggart that frightens you, is to laugh at it, to recognise the ridiculous in it - which changes it to something we can have control over.
Children are characteristically afraid of the dark, and of things that go 'bump' in the night. In this story, we see Mickey coming face-to-face with his fears - of the dark, and of being mixed into the batter for tomorrow's cake and baked - and his gaining of an upper hand. Happens a lot of time, doesn't it? Maybe a story that the child has read/ has been read to, or something that it has seen or heard, gets into the dark recesses of the subconscious, only to surface in a dream. Happens to us adults too!
Which first-born child hasn't wished the next-born away? There is no doubting the bond between siblings, but there is always sibling rivalry. Ask any parent of more than one child.
Ida has been asked to keep an eye on her little sister while her mother is a little busy. Something that she does because she has to do.
"Ida played her wonder horn to rock the baby still - but never watched."
The goblins come in and snatch the baby away. So now Ida goes to the rescue. She goes all the way outside over there, where the goblins have taken her baby sister away, tricks the goblins, and gets the baby back home.
Here is a review of another notable book by him at Saffrontree.
******************************************************
Our other Caldecott winner is Leo Dillon, who is one half of a team with his illustrator wife, Diane Dillon. Their illustrations are larger than life, with a lot of detail, rooted in African culture. The couple is the only recipient of the award two years in a row.
The first was awarded in 1976 for Why Mosquitoes Buzz in People's Ears, reviewed here on Saffrontree by Tharini. (Do click on the link to read). We loved this tale from West African folklore, which goes on and on from one animal to another, in the fashion of a neverending tale, coming full circle finally to the mosquito.
Their book that won the Caldecott the following year, 1977, is
Ashanti to Zulu : African Traditions.
Written by Margaret Musgrove
Published by Puffin Pied Piper
Ages: 8+
An alphabet book with a difference - for older children who already know their alphabet. The book takes one African tribe for each alphabet, and gives us a peek into their culture, traditions, lifestyle and history. With vibrant, richly detailed illustrations.
As we read through the book, we realise how varied life is for people fairly close in geography, and yet human beings are so much the same all over the world.
Two more books illustrated by the couple have been reviewed on Saffrontree here and here. Do hop over and read.
Pics courtesy flipkart. Crossposted at Saffrontree.
Do a google-search for Maurice Sendak, and the first few links thrown up (other than the recent obits) will be for his Caldecott winner book Where the Wild Things Are (1963) This book, along with In the Night Kitchen (1970) and Outside Over There (1981), formed a sort of trilogy. I say a 'sort of trilogy' because they do not comprise parts of a contiguous story. Authored and illustrated by him.
All of these can be read aloud to children as young as 3 years old, and older. The kind of classics that can be read over and over again, well into adulthood and beyond, and we can gain at every reading. They deal with the dark side of little children, the side that is real, but which we, as a society, are often in denial about. Or if we do recognise it, we can only deal it by doling out punishment. When all it takes is a little bit of validation from a parent, and treating it as the grey area that it is. After all, all human beings have some good along with some bad. Grown-ups are just that much more able to keep it in check.
 |
| Published by HarperTrophy |
Sounds familiar? The book has been made into a lovely movie, that reads between the lines of the very spare text, and gives us the back story on Max. Watched it recently on DVD, and is worth every rupee spent on it!
 |
| Published by Red Fox books Random House |
Children are characteristically afraid of the dark, and of things that go 'bump' in the night. In this story, we see Mickey coming face-to-face with his fears - of the dark, and of being mixed into the batter for tomorrow's cake and baked - and his gaining of an upper hand. Happens a lot of time, doesn't it? Maybe a story that the child has read/ has been read to, or something that it has seen or heard, gets into the dark recesses of the subconscious, only to surface in a dream. Happens to us adults too!
 |
| Published by Red Fox books Random House |
Ida has been asked to keep an eye on her little sister while her mother is a little busy. Something that she does because she has to do.
"Ida played her wonder horn to rock the baby still - but never watched."
The goblins come in and snatch the baby away. So now Ida goes to the rescue. She goes all the way outside over there, where the goblins have taken her baby sister away, tricks the goblins, and gets the baby back home.
Here is a review of another notable book by him at Saffrontree.
******************************************************
Our other Caldecott winner is Leo Dillon, who is one half of a team with his illustrator wife, Diane Dillon. Their illustrations are larger than life, with a lot of detail, rooted in African culture. The couple is the only recipient of the award two years in a row.
The first was awarded in 1976 for Why Mosquitoes Buzz in People's Ears, reviewed here on Saffrontree by Tharini. (Do click on the link to read). We loved this tale from West African folklore, which goes on and on from one animal to another, in the fashion of a neverending tale, coming full circle finally to the mosquito.
Ashanti to Zulu : African Traditions.
Written by Margaret Musgrove
Published by Puffin Pied Piper
Ages: 8+
An alphabet book with a difference - for older children who already know their alphabet. The book takes one African tribe for each alphabet, and gives us a peek into their culture, traditions, lifestyle and history. With vibrant, richly detailed illustrations.
As we read through the book, we realise how varied life is for people fairly close in geography, and yet human beings are so much the same all over the world.
Two more books illustrated by the couple have been reviewed on Saffrontree here and here. Do hop over and read.
Pics courtesy flipkart. Crossposted at Saffrontree.
30 April, 2012
An answer to a question- why set age limits?
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| Link here to the CSAAM blog |
In my erstwhile career as a medico (I haven't worked as one for many years now), I worked to a certain extent with drug abusers. So I can guarantee to my readers that I am not talking through my hat.:)
There is a decided statistical correlation between age of initiation to smoking and the risk of hardened drug abuse in later life. It has both the physiological aspect, where receptors need higher dosages and stronger drugs to attain the same high, and the psychological aspect of things getting more easily out of hand at a younger age, when a sense of responsibility has not yet matured, and it is more difficult to differentiate between the right and wrong of anything.
Let me share this link, that discusses this in detail.
Psychologically speaking, the same thing applies to 'that tingly feeling'. Very young children cannot necessarily differentiate between fingers and toes and private parts. They do, however, in their explorations, realize that it feels all 'tingly' when they touch say their penis or vagina. It feels good, so they do it more. And they also indulge in exploration with other children.
Now, these children, even when they are older, say 8-9, still do not understand the implications of touching their private parts, and may do so in full public view. This can be misconstrued by older kids or adults as precocious behavior, and put them more at the risk of sexual abuse.
Also, the 'tingly feeling' feels good. So why not try something else? That something else can be dangerous, as children cannot very well discern risky behaviour from the non-risky. That can hurt, damage, cause unwanted infections, lead to teenage pregnancies, or can even, in extreme cases, prove to be fatal. Not to mention the psychological damage it can cause.
Again, the explorations can become addictive, and as with drug addictions, an early onset of these behaviours can lead to actual precocious behaviour and often to unhealthy sexual behaviour as the child grows up. It can also lead to sex addiction or porn addiction, which further leads to unrealistic expectations from partners and the self. Which can, in turn, lead to unhappy/ unhealthy relationships.
Let me be clear here, that not every child who indulges in early sexual exploration goes down the above path. The correlation to high risk/ aberrant sexual behaviour is just too high statistically to disregard it.
Also, I am speaking only about self-exploration by the child, or mutual exploration by children. Not an adult-child equation, which is outright abuse.
As parents, of course, it is our job
to gently re-direct the explorations to something else (which can work in very young children),
to talk to our children about good touch-bad touch,
to educate them about keeping safe,
to keep communication channels open,
to be available if /when they want to discuss something with us - it could be school, peer pressure, bodily and/ or sexual matters, substance abuse, anything at all...
to network with their friends and friends' parents and
not lecturing them/ not clamping down on their behaviour, which may lead to the opposite happening. Make something a taboo, and it instantly becomes cool.
24 April, 2012
They are children too!
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| Link here for CSA Awareness Month blog |
In the middle ages, in a world where the same occupations were practiced through generations, children were considered an asset. More hands to work- either in the house or at business.
Now children then were considered as babies till the grand young age of 7-8 yrs. After that, they were supposed to be able to work, and assigned small or big tasks, and were considered miniature adults.
This led to a very strange situation, where, without a proper understanding of how children's minds and body works and develops, there was also this belief that these miniature adults were somehow repositories of evil that had to be purged of it. This was especially true during the adolescent years, when the hormonal changes made these poor kids behave in a way not keeping with the way reasonable grown-ups should. They were also attributed a sexuality extrapolated from an adult perspective, inevitably leading to sexual exploitation.
All this may seem very far-fetched, but these were the times when anybody with any unusual characteristics or behaviour was wont to be branded a witch and burnt at the stake. People were regularly given the death sentence (the drawn and quartered types) or put in dungeons and forgotten for even minor misdemeanours. Interpretation of the law depended upon the whims and fancies of the current monarch. The dark ages.
With the advent of the Industrial revolution, things went from bad to worse. Children were now hired out by families to factories and workhouses that made profit from the cheap labour they provided.
This does not apply just to the western world. In most places the world over, it was the same story, with variations of culture.
All this put children out there where they were more vulnerable. With this kind of imbalance of power, these children were open to all kinds of abuse, including sexual abuse.
It is not that abuse did not happen in the home or family- it always has happened, and it has always been kept veiled to a large extent, especially in societies that put a large premium on that nebulous factor called honour. It is just that, children involved in organized labour were more at risk, much like street children are. Especially if there wasn't much awareness of their rights.
This still true in these enlightened times wherever there is child labour- domestics like in the developing countries, children employed in factories like in Sivakasi, children recruited for combat purposes in many war-torn nations. This article on frequently asked questions quotes from the UNICEF:
"Child soldiers perform a range of tasks including participation in combat, laying mines and explosives, scouting, spying, acting as decoys, couriers or guards, training, drill or other preparations, logistics and support functions, portering, cooking and domestic labour, and sexual slavery or other recruitment for sexual purposes." (Read trafficking)
These children, too have a right to a childhood. Happily, we have come a long way from the middle ages in terms of an understanding of this wonderful period of life. We have to collectively as a society now see that every child gets it.
So, yes, protect your own children from sexual abuse, make them aware of this scourge, prepare them to protect themselves. Teach them about recognising aberrant behaviour on the part of ANYONE - known or unknown, about good touch, bad touch.
At the same time, do speak up about anything that might lead to such a situation, whether in the private or public sphere. A drive such as CSA Awareness Month is a small first step in global awareness. Please do your bit to join in however you can.
22 March, 2012
Book review: Cinderella Ate my Daughter
I would like to thank Utbtkids for introducing me to this wonderful book.
Consider this. A cousin, who is a parent to three girls aged 12, 8 and 3, has always picked up girlie stuff for her daughters. Pink, frilly dresses, tutus, barbies, disney/barbie toys, dresses, fashion accessories, all the latest disney/barbie movies/dolls' houses, barbie add-ons, barbie UNO cards(??), decor in all shades of pink- baby pink, magenta, fuschia, crimson, carmine, cerise, rose...you name it. Even hot pink cakes for every birthday. Bratz stuff, shiny lip gloss and nail polish (for these age groups??) - such pride on the mother's face when she recounts her children's obsession with dressing up and hair-dressing! I am often chided for not getting all the pinky-pink stuff for my daughter, that I should lighten up and let 'a girl be a girl'! She is welcome to have her opinion, of course! Not for me, though.
Things are made more difficult by the burgeoning in-your-face hard-sell of all things pink. Or rather all things stereotypical. Parents, beware. The people to decide what your kid plays with, how s/he plays, how s/he dresses are not you, but commercial establishments who have invested big money in the business of deciding this for you. So much so, that sometimes there isn't any choice in the matter.
In her book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, Peggy Orenstein (see blogroll on the right side for her wonderful blog) discusses this wide-scale commercialisation of gender stereotypes, the messages it passes on to the hapless, impressionable children, (of both gender) the long-reaching effects of this stereotyping, and the way this industry is fed by the hopes and aspirations of every parent who buys into it.
Cinderella Ate My Daughter
dispatches from the front lines of the new girlie-girl culture
Written by Peggy Orenstein
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers
Gender stereotyping is not a new thing. It has not begun with the culture of all things girlie. It is as old as civilisation- maybe even from before civilisation. Gender stereotyping has its roots in biology. A woman can give birth to and suckle her baby, a man cannot. So the woman stayed at home to take care of the baby, ensuring the propogation of humans, while the man ensured survival in terms of providing for food and protection.
However, what began as a matter of convenience and an equitable division of labour that worked wonderfully well for the survival of humans, has evolved slowly but surely into something that denies human beings their most fundamental right- of being humans. The world gets divided into the masculine and the feminine, each strait-jacketed into our notions of what is right or wrong for each.
In an out-and-out patriarchial society like ours, this has always featured big. We already have a million ways to perpetuate gender stereotypes. We do not need another way to achieve the same.
Good girls don't do this, they don't do that- so many social restrictions based on gender- Oh, yes, there are these for boys, too. They don't have it easier. Real boys don't cry, real boys cannot play with dolls...I could go on. Resulting in aggression as the only acceptable emotion for them to show- crippling them emotionally!
Paradoxically, the girlie culture has its roots in the feminist movement. Barbie, in fact, was introduced in 1959 as a symbol of feminist aspirations(throwing off the shackles of domesticity), and was then targeted towards teenagers. Soon, though, Barbie, (astronaut, scientist, doctor, etc. in her initial avatars) and her successors were no longer a sign of empowerment- there was a definate element of sexualisation coming in. Girls who played with them were getting younger and younger and more impressionable by the day- of course putting the dolls off the radar for the original older age groups. Making it that much more difficult to contain and deflect the subliminal messages that were being sent to these children.
A short-sighted view of the princess/barbie culture provides a vision of empowerment. After all, our kids think it is so 'cool' to emulate the way Barbie dresses. So 'cool' to know about the latest in celebrity activities. Hannah Montana becomes a goddess. Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus,...the latest pop icon become role models. Not yet 3-yr-olds aspire to be like these idols. Ordinariness, simplicity is seen as totally 'uncool.' After all, who wants to be an old-fashioned so-and-so? So stereotypical!
Commercialisation, of course, demands that where there is a demand, there has to be a supply- so that profit can be made. After all, that is how it works in a capitalist set-up. Crass comercialisation takes it a step further, and feeds on the social weaknesses that come disguised as another step in empowerment.
'The pursuit of physical perfection was recast as a source - often the source - of young women's "empowerment." Rather than freedom from traditional constraints, then, girls now were free to "choose" them. Yet the line between "get to" and "have to" blurs awfully fast. Even as new and professional opportunities unfurl before (the girls), so does the path that encourages them to equate identity with image, self-expression with appearance, feminity with performance, pleasure with pleasing, and sexuality with sexualisation.'
... by the time they are teenagers, the girls (quoting a study by Deborah Tolman, a Professor of human sexuality studies at the City University of New York) respond to questions about how their bodies feel - questions about sexuality or desire - by talking about how their bodies look. They say something like, "I felt like I looked good." Orenstein says, "My fear for my daughter, then, is not that she will someday act in a sexual way; it is that she will learn to act sexually against her own self-interest." Something seen in victims of low self-esteem, and not a sign of empowerment.
Sounds eerily like something the manusmriti has advocated for the female half of the population long long ago, doesn't it? We have plenty of our own misplaced ideas and beliefs to correct without complicating things in this way, thank you very much!
So what's with the pink and blue? Let us consider here a discussion on children's fashions in the past few hundred years.
Disclaimer: The next two paragraphs have much to do only with patterns of fashion in the western world. India has a very different story - a veritable study in ethnology ... but that is a subject for an entirely different post. Suffice here to say that the pink v/s blue debate with all its history has made an entry to our country quite recently - though making waves enough to start worrying.
In the west, children of both genders wore only white, at the most, shades of grey, up to 6-7 years of age, for a very practical reason: soiled clothes could be cleaned only by boiling them, and coloureds were a waste. The styles were also similar, much like dresses, with boys' clothes buttoned up in the front and the girls' buttoned up behind. When pastels came in, both genders wore all colours. Around the time of WW1, pink was actually associated with boys, as it was considered a watered down version of red, a colour associated with strength and bravery.
Yet, today, all things feminine are associated with the colour pink - a belief that we have to thank Nazi Germany for. Just like they made it compulsary for Jews to put on a yellow Star of David to distinguish them, they issued pink stars to those men that they believed were homosexual - these too were part of the reprehensible Final Solution. This gave pink a 'non-masculine' tag, and was equated with all things feminine. This, of course, has been exploited by marketing divisions of companies like Disney and Mattel to widen the divide and create a market for girl things and boy things. Not just toys and clothes, but every b****y thing!
Let me put one thing straight. I have nothing against pink, and I think it is a beautiful colour. I have no problems using something pink, on the stipulation that it does not have the associations I have spoken of. Same goes for orange, grey, turquoise, white, green, blue, red, black, yellow, violet, and any other hue of the rainbow. Speaking of rainbows, pink is not even a colour from the spectrum- there is no wavelength that translates to pink. It is a trick played by our brain, that interprets a mixture of the wavelengths for red and violet as magenta, a deep shade of pink. Experimentally, this can be created by superimposing two different spectrums created by two prisms. Try it. Go ahead- click on this link to read the complete explanation. It's fascinating!
I would just like to mention a couple of things from the book at the end.
Cinderella's story as we know it is the one popularised by Charles Perrault. He, in turn, based it on a tale from the Grimm Brothers' collection of folktales and fairy tales. The tale of Aschenputtel, a fiesty girl who does not wait around for any fairy godmother or the prince to rescue her- complete with gory bits, now sanitised for our consumption to the point where we have a good and beautiful but wimpy heroine.
Peggy Orenstein also dedicates the last chapter to do-able remedies against the unstoppable and unavoidable onslaught of the girlie culture. And keeping in mind the natural rebelliousness of the fast-growing but impressionale children whose lives can get impacted.
Consider this. A cousin, who is a parent to three girls aged 12, 8 and 3, has always picked up girlie stuff for her daughters. Pink, frilly dresses, tutus, barbies, disney/barbie toys, dresses, fashion accessories, all the latest disney/barbie movies/dolls' houses, barbie add-ons, barbie UNO cards(??), decor in all shades of pink- baby pink, magenta, fuschia, crimson, carmine, cerise, rose...you name it. Even hot pink cakes for every birthday. Bratz stuff, shiny lip gloss and nail polish (for these age groups??) - such pride on the mother's face when she recounts her children's obsession with dressing up and hair-dressing! I am often chided for not getting all the pinky-pink stuff for my daughter, that I should lighten up and let 'a girl be a girl'! She is welcome to have her opinion, of course! Not for me, though.
Things are made more difficult by the burgeoning in-your-face hard-sell of all things pink. Or rather all things stereotypical. Parents, beware. The people to decide what your kid plays with, how s/he plays, how s/he dresses are not you, but commercial establishments who have invested big money in the business of deciding this for you. So much so, that sometimes there isn't any choice in the matter.
In her book, Cinderella Ate My Daughter, Peggy Orenstein (see blogroll on the right side for her wonderful blog) discusses this wide-scale commercialisation of gender stereotypes, the messages it passes on to the hapless, impressionable children, (of both gender) the long-reaching effects of this stereotyping, and the way this industry is fed by the hopes and aspirations of every parent who buys into it.
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| Pic courtesy flipkart |
dispatches from the front lines of the new girlie-girl culture
Written by Peggy Orenstein
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers
Gender stereotyping is not a new thing. It has not begun with the culture of all things girlie. It is as old as civilisation- maybe even from before civilisation. Gender stereotyping has its roots in biology. A woman can give birth to and suckle her baby, a man cannot. So the woman stayed at home to take care of the baby, ensuring the propogation of humans, while the man ensured survival in terms of providing for food and protection.
However, what began as a matter of convenience and an equitable division of labour that worked wonderfully well for the survival of humans, has evolved slowly but surely into something that denies human beings their most fundamental right- of being humans. The world gets divided into the masculine and the feminine, each strait-jacketed into our notions of what is right or wrong for each.
In an out-and-out patriarchial society like ours, this has always featured big. We already have a million ways to perpetuate gender stereotypes. We do not need another way to achieve the same.
Good girls don't do this, they don't do that- so many social restrictions based on gender- Oh, yes, there are these for boys, too. They don't have it easier. Real boys don't cry, real boys cannot play with dolls...I could go on. Resulting in aggression as the only acceptable emotion for them to show- crippling them emotionally!
Paradoxically, the girlie culture has its roots in the feminist movement. Barbie, in fact, was introduced in 1959 as a symbol of feminist aspirations(throwing off the shackles of domesticity), and was then targeted towards teenagers. Soon, though, Barbie, (astronaut, scientist, doctor, etc. in her initial avatars) and her successors were no longer a sign of empowerment- there was a definate element of sexualisation coming in. Girls who played with them were getting younger and younger and more impressionable by the day- of course putting the dolls off the radar for the original older age groups. Making it that much more difficult to contain and deflect the subliminal messages that were being sent to these children.
A short-sighted view of the princess/barbie culture provides a vision of empowerment. After all, our kids think it is so 'cool' to emulate the way Barbie dresses. So 'cool' to know about the latest in celebrity activities. Hannah Montana becomes a goddess. Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, Miley Cyrus,...the latest pop icon become role models. Not yet 3-yr-olds aspire to be like these idols. Ordinariness, simplicity is seen as totally 'uncool.' After all, who wants to be an old-fashioned so-and-so? So stereotypical!
Commercialisation, of course, demands that where there is a demand, there has to be a supply- so that profit can be made. After all, that is how it works in a capitalist set-up. Crass comercialisation takes it a step further, and feeds on the social weaknesses that come disguised as another step in empowerment.
'The pursuit of physical perfection was recast as a source - often the source - of young women's "empowerment." Rather than freedom from traditional constraints, then, girls now were free to "choose" them. Yet the line between "get to" and "have to" blurs awfully fast. Even as new and professional opportunities unfurl before (the girls), so does the path that encourages them to equate identity with image, self-expression with appearance, feminity with performance, pleasure with pleasing, and sexuality with sexualisation.'
... by the time they are teenagers, the girls (quoting a study by Deborah Tolman, a Professor of human sexuality studies at the City University of New York) respond to questions about how their bodies feel - questions about sexuality or desire - by talking about how their bodies look. They say something like, "I felt like I looked good." Orenstein says, "My fear for my daughter, then, is not that she will someday act in a sexual way; it is that she will learn to act sexually against her own self-interest." Something seen in victims of low self-esteem, and not a sign of empowerment.
Sounds eerily like something the manusmriti has advocated for the female half of the population long long ago, doesn't it? We have plenty of our own misplaced ideas and beliefs to correct without complicating things in this way, thank you very much!
So what's with the pink and blue? Let us consider here a discussion on children's fashions in the past few hundred years.
Disclaimer: The next two paragraphs have much to do only with patterns of fashion in the western world. India has a very different story - a veritable study in ethnology ... but that is a subject for an entirely different post. Suffice here to say that the pink v/s blue debate with all its history has made an entry to our country quite recently - though making waves enough to start worrying.
In the west, children of both genders wore only white, at the most, shades of grey, up to 6-7 years of age, for a very practical reason: soiled clothes could be cleaned only by boiling them, and coloureds were a waste. The styles were also similar, much like dresses, with boys' clothes buttoned up in the front and the girls' buttoned up behind. When pastels came in, both genders wore all colours. Around the time of WW1, pink was actually associated with boys, as it was considered a watered down version of red, a colour associated with strength and bravery.
Yet, today, all things feminine are associated with the colour pink - a belief that we have to thank Nazi Germany for. Just like they made it compulsary for Jews to put on a yellow Star of David to distinguish them, they issued pink stars to those men that they believed were homosexual - these too were part of the reprehensible Final Solution. This gave pink a 'non-masculine' tag, and was equated with all things feminine. This, of course, has been exploited by marketing divisions of companies like Disney and Mattel to widen the divide and create a market for girl things and boy things. Not just toys and clothes, but every b****y thing!
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| Magenta, an extraspectral colour pic courtesy biotele.com |
I would just like to mention a couple of things from the book at the end.
Cinderella's story as we know it is the one popularised by Charles Perrault. He, in turn, based it on a tale from the Grimm Brothers' collection of folktales and fairy tales. The tale of Aschenputtel, a fiesty girl who does not wait around for any fairy godmother or the prince to rescue her- complete with gory bits, now sanitised for our consumption to the point where we have a good and beautiful but wimpy heroine.
Peggy Orenstein also dedicates the last chapter to do-able remedies against the unstoppable and unavoidable onslaught of the girlie culture. And keeping in mind the natural rebelliousness of the fast-growing but impressionale children whose lives can get impacted.
12 December, 2011
Book Review: The Diddakoi
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| Pic courtesy flipkart |
Written by Rumer Godden
Cover illustration by Christian Birmingham
Published by Macmillan Children's Books
Ages 8-12 yrs
I've learned a lot about adoption and attachment from Sangi's posts, and there are many nuances to the whole issue that I would not have otherwise being sensitised to. Thanks, Sangi!
So it was hardly a surprising thing that I unwittingly picked up quite a few books that deal with that on different levels. A few are books for children, and here is one of them. A complex, well written book that draws one into it.
A spirited, half-gypsy, half-Irish girl. An orphan. A misfit at school, targeted with some serious bullying for being different. The fact that 'normal, nice' children can, in fact, be very cruel, especially if they reflect the prejudices of their elders. The fact that prejudices can lead to fear of a situation/ person, and that it can become difficult to overcome.
An ordinary 'Miss Marple-ish' British village in the 1960s where everyone knows everybody. A legal care system where the best interests of a child is decided by the letter of the law, and not by what the child would want, or what might be truly best for the child. Some well meaning going wrong. Others unaware of their own ability to give and heal.
'It's good of you, Edna,' Miss Brooke repeated, but it might spoil your holiday. Besides, I don't think Kizzy would go.'
'Heavens, you don't have to ask her.'
'I think I do. People should always be asked before being disposed of.'
'A child?'
'Children are people, Edna,' said Miss Brooke as she had said it to Mrs Blount.
'Well, please yourself,' said Mrs Cuthbert. 'But I tell you, Olivia, that child's too much on your mind.'
'Isn't that what she came for?'
'For what?'
'To be on my mind.'
An ordinary children's story of extraordinary meanings, the book takes one on a roller coaster ride of emotions, which nevertheless unfold very gently at times and with the dramatic quality of a tempest at others. That brings home to us the fact that the human spirit is more resilient than one can imagine, and that we all that the light with the dark in all of us. That patience, love and care can wrought wonders.
Rumer Godden herself was very difficult, and different in many ways as a child, and in this book she writes from her own memories of it. Kizzy Lovell, our central girl character, the 'diddakoi'=half-gypsy, who is picked on by the other children for being different, and who is in the centre of a controversy over who should foster her, and how, is a throwback to that childhood. In some ways Kizzy reminded me of some of Enid Blyton's similar characters- Carlotta from the St. Clare series, and Lotta from her Circus books.
This is her best known book for children, which got the Whitbread Award in 1972. It has been called "the sort of book children had to fight for to get it from adults". The book should be read in the context of the period in which it is set, as there is much that can be considered 'politically incorrect'. And inspite of the many negatives, the many questions it raises, especially in young minds, it is an incredibly uplifting book, with a happy ending. A loved it!
Crossposted at Saffrontree.
14 November, 2011
Book review: Letters from a Father to His Daughter
Written by Jawaharlal Nehru
Published by Puffin Books, Penguin books India
Ages 8+ yrs
A father and his daughter. The bond has to be seen to be believed. When I see A and her father together, the affection is palpable. They often get into discussions about deep things- of late it has been religion, as we have friends of many faiths, and gender issues, especially those encountered at school!
By the nature of his work in the struggle for the freedom of India, Nehru was often away from his family, and his daughter was away at boarding school. Letters being the prime means of communication at the time, Nehru wrote these, which, according to the foreword written by him, were 'personal letters addressed to a little girl, ten years of age.' They, however, speak of many things. In the preface, written in 1973, Indira Gandhi writes, "they deal with the beginnings of the earth and of man's awareness of himself. They were not merely letters to be read and put away...they taught one to treat nature as a book."
The letters speak of the beginnings of the universe, the formation of the earth and its landforms, of pre-history, the beginnings of mankind, the migration of human beings- he shows great learning and vision in his conclusions- "It may be that the German and the Negro are descended from different types of men, but some time or other they must have had the same ancestor. The differences must therefore have come in by the process of adaption to their surroundings...so we find that people's complexions are the result of the climate they live in. They have nothing to do with the worthiness or goodness or beauty of a person." Explained wonderfully in this vein in language easy enough for a 10 yr old to understand.
He goes on to speak of races, religion- early beliefs and faiths, religions as we know them now, languages- the beginnings of communication by making meaningful sounds, of making meaningful marks leading to writing, of the relationships of the different languages of the world. He speaks of civilisation, the division of labour - leading to the patriarch- which led later to kings and kingdoms. And of ancient civilisations all over the world. About trade and travel.
He speaks of the coming of the Aryans to India, and the Ramayana and the Mahabharatha- I loved the simple way in which he has explained the gist of these great epics- again, putting them in an interesting perspective.
Of the Ramayana, he says, "The Ramayana, as you know, is the story of Ramchandra and Sita against Ravana, king of Lanka, that is now Ceylon...it may be that the story of the Ramayana is really the story of the fights of the Aryans against the people of the South whose leader was Ravana."
And the Mahabharatha- "It tells of a great fight between Aryans and Aryans. But apart from the fight, it is a wonderful book, full of great ideas and noble stories. Above all, it is dear to all of us because of that jewel of a poem which it contains--the Bhagavad Gita."
The book comprises 30 letters in all, short, independent reads each, or read in a sequence. Each is a story lucidly told, a father's affection for his daughter coming across in each. These letters were written over the summer of 1928, and retain all of their freshness for every child who has the opportunity of reading them. They have to be, of course, read in the context of terminologies used in the early 1900s, some of which might not be politically correct today.
This 2004 edition by Puffin is hardcover, printed on crisp white paper, and an easy-on-the-eyes font. With a fresh foreword by Priyanka Gandhi Vadra, Nehru's great-grand-daughter.
A loved it.
A logical follow-up to this book would be Nehru's Glimpses of World History, which was written from October 1930 to August 1933, as letters addressed from prison to his 13-16 year old daughter, published much later.
Pic courtesy flipkart. Crossposted at Saffrontree and Bookreviews.
17 August, 2011
Book Review - THE OTHER SIDE OF SILENCE: Voices from the Partition of India
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| Pic courtesy flipkart.com |
Voices from the Partition of India
Written by Urvashi Butalia
Published by Penguin Books
1998.
Urvashi Butalia, the writer, has impressive credentials. Along with Ritu Menon, she set up Kali for Women, the first feminist press in India, in 1984, and later, Zubaan Books. Born to in Ambala, India, to parents who were refugees from West Punjab, now in Pakistan, she grew up hearing stories of the Partition, which tore apart the Indian subcontinent at the time of its freedom from British rule.
She began her research as a process of making sense of her family's personal tragedy. One thing led to another, and over time she realised that what 'history' tells us of the Partition are the bare political facts: tales of warring political parties and the British involvement in the whole gory process, the loss of property and lives, the statistics of the largest mass migration in recent history and violence in the riots between the Hindus, the Muslims and the Sikhs caught in the unfortunate event.
There was not much data on the renting apart of the closely enmeshed fabric of society and the actual sufferings of the flesh-and-blood people caught in the crossfire. The feminist in her also became aware of the huge conspiracy of silence (this term has also been used in reference to the victims of that other regrettable horror of the same time, the Holocaust) that enfolded the suffering of those considered to be of 'not much account' and therefore on the margins of citizenry- the women, the children and the harijans.
"But the 'history' of Partition seemed to lie only in the political developments that led up to it. These other aspects - what had happened to the millions of people who had to live through this time, what we may call the 'human dimensions' of this history -- somehow seemed to have a 'lesser' status in it. Perhaps this was because they had to do with difficult things: loss and sharing, friendship and enmity, grief and joy, with a painful regret and nostalgia for loss of home, country and friends, and with an equally strong determination to create them afresh. These were difficult things to capture 'factually.' Yet, could it be that they had no place in the history of Partition? Why, then, did they live on so vividly in individual and collective memory?"
Ms Butalia takes us through these events as pieced together from first-person accounts of survivors. The stories seem fantastic, the violence, the bloodiness ant the loss inexplicable, as does the almost mythological account of a society where the different religions had lived together in harmony, love and trust. Surely something had gone seriously wrong somewhere for the anger to have erupted as it had, killing and maiming millions, and creating a legacy of communal disharmony, and an almost pathological enmity between the two countries which were once part of one whole. A whole that had effectively driven their colonial rulers away.
The feminist in the writer notes some very interesting aspects of the problem. Even the interviews were necessarily taken in a family setting, where men did most of the talking, and women were often silenced. While men spoke of the politics, the killings, the violence, the women's experience of Partition was largely defined by the death of children, abductions, sexual violence, honour killings, forcible co-habitation/marriages with their abductors, their making peace with it, especially after children were born of these relationships.
During their interviews, Ms Butalia tried to listen to the unsaid, the silences, the sudden breaking-off of the narrative, the nuances. "In my work, the more I looked at women's voices and found them inserting themselves into the text, the more I realised that the silences did not exist only around women, but also around others, those whose silences have been even less important to society. The search for a history of women was what then led me to a search for a history of others. The voices of women, of children, of untouchables, to me provide not only a different perspective on the history of Partition, but they also establish this history as a process, a continuing history, which lives on in our lives today in a variety of ways."
Then there was the ultimate insult to injury- the Abducted Persons (Recovery and Restoration) Act, 1949. A lot of this has been pieced together from accounts of social workers who were actively involved in the operation. Ostentiably to recover abducted women and children and return them to their families, the Act would not take into account the women's choice in the matter, something that all citizens were given upto the late fifties. After being abducted, these women often got assimilated into those families, bore children out of those relationships, but were torn from these children when they were 'recovered' to return to their families of origin. The original families would often refuse to accept these 'children of sin' which were left with their abductor-fathers. Quite often these children ended up on the streets with the other children who had been displaced or orphaned in the Partition. Both the women and children were refused the 'choice' that citizens of both countries had at the time.
First-hand accounts by some of these children, adults at the time of interviewing, underscore the same conspiracy of silence. Many of them glossed over their accounts, unable as adults to relate their memories of the horrors. Some of them, like a Sikh survivor who was just 9 at the time of Partition, had memories overshadowed by one particular incident- the death of their own familiy's hands of almost a hundred girls and women to 'save' their honour - an incident immortalised in the book and later movie Tamas.
In fact, most of these personal stories have been found to a large extent in a multitude of short stories and novellas written by many noted authors who have lived through the Partition- Amrita Pritam (Pinjar), Saadat Hasan Manto (Toba Tek Singh, Kingdom's End and other stories), Gulzar (Raavi Par and other stories), Khushwant Singh (Train to Pakistan), Bapsi Sidhwa (Ice-Candy Man), Bhisham Sahni (Tamas), and more. Many of these stories have been made into film, reaching a larger audience. Many bollywood movies, too, speak of the Partition or 'Batwara' as it is called in Hindi.
History, as told in history books, however, sticks mostly to the bare facts and statistics of the Partition. 'The other side of silence' tries to address this deficit in a more factual way, that can be corroborated, than the fictionalised accounts. Showing us that the fiction is not a very long way off reality.
More than twelve million people left their roots and migrated, about ten million of these crossing the western border. Around two million died in the violence. An estimated 75,000-1,00,000 women are thought to have been abducted and raped by men of religions different from their own (and indeed sometimes by men of their own religion). An estimated 50,000 children were born to the abducted women, an an unaccounted number of children were abandoned or simply lost. "People travelled in buses, in cars, by train, but mostly on foot in great columns called kafilas, which could stretch for dozens of miles. The longest of them, said to comprise nearly 400,000 people, refugees travelling east to India from western Punjab, took as many as eight days to pass any given spot on its route."
Ms Butalia has very honestly admitted that her work does not represent the whole of the history of Partition, but is a very personal history, her reading of the interviews she took. She also candidly admits that it is probably a very one-sided view of the whole thing, as by 1984, when she began her research, it was no longer possible to obtain access to those on the other side of the border, and cautions communal groups from using her research to reach their ends.
Here are some more excerpts from the book.
Am entering this book in the 2011 South Asian Reading Challenge at S.Krishna's books.
21 July, 2011
And for some hypnotic magic: Molly Moon
This is a fun book that was recently recommended to us by Choxbox's FB, and we were thrilled to realise that we had picked it up at the recent Strand book sale. There's a picture at the bottom of this post.
MOLLY MOON'S Incredible Book of Hypnotism
Written by Georgia Byng
Published by Macmillan Children's Books
Ages 8-12 yrs
Hardwick House, the decrepit orphanage where Molly, our 10 yr old heroine lives, is a Dickensonian place, owned and run by the mean and spiteful Miss Adderstone and Edna, the equally mean and spiteful cook whose cooking is horrible. There are other bullies, too, the older children who make life extremely difficult for the younger ones.
Molly, too, is no angel, and often gets into trouble because of her lazy and stubborn ways, although she is good to those younger than her. Her only friend is Rocky, a boy at the orphanage, who has a calming personality, the one person who can motivate Molly and keep her from getting into trouble.
Then everything goes further wrong one day when Rocky is taken away by an American couple who want to adopt him, and he goes away without saying goodbye. Molly's one support in her short life is gone.
Just when things begin to look very bad indeed, Molly finds a book on hypnotism in the library. She 'borrows' it, and learns the art by following the very clear instructions in the book. What follows is an out-and-out fantasy that any 10 yr-old might have and thoroughly enjoy.
We have Molly winning a talent show, and using her winnings to travel all the way to New York, with Petula, the pug belonging to Miss Adderstone who is now hypnotised into loving Molly. In New York, along the way to finding Rocky, she becomes a huge star, which draws her into the clutches of Simon Nockman, a crook out to use her talents for big-time robbery.
How does it all end? Since the fantastical seems to escalate? Well, you have to read the book to find out. The narrative is just as hypnotic, and both A and I read it at one go, unable to put the book down. Things do resolve, and a lot of good lessons are learnt. All around. Molly and the reader included. While having a good laugh as we read.
The book reminded me of Mathilda by Roald Dahl, another book about an extraordinary little girl belittled by her own parents and bullied by the monstrous school headmistress, Miss Agatha Trunchbull, and who uses her magical powers to teach her a lesson.
A loved this one, and we will be looking out for the sequels, Molly Moon stops the world, Molly Moon's hypnotic time-travel adventure, Molly Moon Micky Minus and the time machine and Molly Moon and the morphing mystery. They all sound delicious.
Crossposted at Saffrontree.
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| Pic courtesy flipkart |
MOLLY MOON'S Incredible Book of Hypnotism
Written by Georgia Byng
Published by Macmillan Children's Books
Ages 8-12 yrs
Hardwick House, the decrepit orphanage where Molly, our 10 yr old heroine lives, is a Dickensonian place, owned and run by the mean and spiteful Miss Adderstone and Edna, the equally mean and spiteful cook whose cooking is horrible. There are other bullies, too, the older children who make life extremely difficult for the younger ones.
Molly, too, is no angel, and often gets into trouble because of her lazy and stubborn ways, although she is good to those younger than her. Her only friend is Rocky, a boy at the orphanage, who has a calming personality, the one person who can motivate Molly and keep her from getting into trouble.
Then everything goes further wrong one day when Rocky is taken away by an American couple who want to adopt him, and he goes away without saying goodbye. Molly's one support in her short life is gone.
Just when things begin to look very bad indeed, Molly finds a book on hypnotism in the library. She 'borrows' it, and learns the art by following the very clear instructions in the book. What follows is an out-and-out fantasy that any 10 yr-old might have and thoroughly enjoy.
We have Molly winning a talent show, and using her winnings to travel all the way to New York, with Petula, the pug belonging to Miss Adderstone who is now hypnotised into loving Molly. In New York, along the way to finding Rocky, she becomes a huge star, which draws her into the clutches of Simon Nockman, a crook out to use her talents for big-time robbery.
How does it all end? Since the fantastical seems to escalate? Well, you have to read the book to find out. The narrative is just as hypnotic, and both A and I read it at one go, unable to put the book down. Things do resolve, and a lot of good lessons are learnt. All around. Molly and the reader included. While having a good laugh as we read.
The book reminded me of Mathilda by Roald Dahl, another book about an extraordinary little girl belittled by her own parents and bullied by the monstrous school headmistress, Miss Agatha Trunchbull, and who uses her magical powers to teach her a lesson.
A loved this one, and we will be looking out for the sequels, Molly Moon stops the world, Molly Moon's hypnotic time-travel adventure, Molly Moon Micky Minus and the time machine and Molly Moon and the morphing mystery. They all sound delicious.
Crossposted at Saffrontree.
26 June, 2011
Review- On My Honor
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| Pic courtesy goodreads.com |
Written by Marion Dane Bauer
Published by Yearling books, an imprint of Random House Children's books.
Ages: 8-12, 12+
Peer pressure. Everyone faces it, children more so. It looms large in their small world, often leading to literally life-and-death situations.
Twelve year old Joel and Tony are 'best friends', very different in temperament, often squabbling and bickering, but inseparable.
Tony- exuberant, fun-loving, risk-taking, with a devil-may-care attitude. Joel, the more cautious of the two, introspecting, sensitive to undercurrents in a situation, a foil for Tony.
On the way to a cliff-climbing trip, (which Joel had earlier tried to wriggle out of, hoping his father would not give him permission to go), the irrepressible Tony had decided he wanted to go swimming in the river instead. The turbulant, treacherous Vermillion river, known for its rapids. Inspite of having promised his father 'on his honor', that he would not do anything dangerous, Joel falls for the bait when Tony accuses him of being over-cautious.
"Sometimes, Bates, you sound just like your old man."
Joel could feel the heat flooding his face. "What's wrong with that?"
" 'Be careful in that tree, son,' " Tony mimicked, " 'you might get hurt. Watch Bobby when he crosses the street. Those drivers never pay any--' "
Joel had been moving closer to Tony as he spoke, and now he gave him a hard shove.
Tony keeps needling Joel, driven by bravado and dare-devilry, goading him to challenge Tony to a swimming race to a sandbar a hundred yards away. With terrible consequences.
Peer pressure. Wanting to fit in. Misplaced confidence. A sense of being indestructible. A devil-may-care attitude. Inability to lose face. Unwillingness to be perceived as a 'coward' when being just sensible and careful. A recipe for disaster?
Marion Dane Bauer has written a fast-paced, racy, but sensitively told story based on a real incident that happenned in the town where she grew up, at the very same place as described in the book. A very short, 90 page book that is very hard-hitting.
Bauer's potrayal of Joel's effort to get out of what is very clearly a fool-hardy venture, without losing face- first hoping that his father would not give his permission, then trying to make Tony see sense is very realistic. It happens ever so often in our own kids' peer-group. The disaster comes on unexpectedly, chillingly, with everything else seemingly the same, unchanged.
The potrayal of Joel's survivor guilt is heart-wrenching. The disbelief, denial, anger, dissociation, grief, a desire to hide, not face the parents, an obsessive 'washing-off of the stench of the river', are powerfully written. It helps, that his father is understanding, trying to help him let go of the paralysing, mind-numbing grief.
The wracking sobs flowed out of him like water.
His father held him for a long time, saying nothing, until Joel's tears came without sound and his breaths were quivering gasps. Even then, his father held him.
"Do you believe in heaven?" he asked at last. "Do you believe Tony's gone there?"
"I don't suppose anybody knows," his father answered gently, "what happens after...I believe there's something about life that goes on. It seems too good to end in a river."
It is a Newbery Honor winner, 1987, and the William Allen White Childrens' book award winner, 1989. A wonderfully written book, that chills me on each reading. Given a thumbs-up by A.
Crossposted at Bookreviews and Saffrontree.
08 June, 2011
Our Great Mumbai Holiday plus
So the kid is off to school, and as Starry so succintly puts it: the chains are off! First time in 2 months that I have managed to sit down in front of my laptop without someone wanting my attention.
So what did we do in the holidays? Quite a list.
Attended a super Carpentry workshop at Hippocampus, our library, run by a dear friend. We have a working model of a sun-dial, and a toy aeroplane to show for it. Thoroughly enjoyed by A.
Went to Mumbai after a very long 2 years, visiting parents and in-laws.
Sisters-in-law (2 of them) and I carted the kids (4 boys aged 12-17 years and A) over to the over 200 year old Shree Siddhivinayak temple in Prabhadevi, which is believed to grant wishes to devotees. It is a favoured place to visit for those who revere Ganesha/ Ganapati- the elephant headed god of learning, who is also believed to remove obstacles from one's life, and is invoked as 'Shree' before undertaking anything of importance.
Also visited the Mahalakshmi temple in Worli, which is built right next to the sea, with the waves breaking on its walls at high tide. The sea fascinated A more than anything else, as the last time we saw the sea was the North sea off Scotland when she was just 3, and she doesn't have any memory of it.
Went shopping with the entire gang (ladies and kids only) to Crawford Market built by the British in 1869 after travelling by the mumbai local trains. A was horrified by the crowd, the rush, and the chaos of both, but enjoyed the outing with her cousins.
Also checked out the extremely high end and absolutely unaffordable Palladium mall and the adjacent High Street Phoenix mall at the place where the famed Phoenix mills- cotton mills- were situated. The only place there that we could even think of buying something was the absolutely enormous Landmark, which had such a wide range of books that I could not do justice in terms of browsing. Picked up a few titles there- but of course. It was literally like getting into Alladin's cave for both A and I, and I plan to make a visit to just that one store on a later visit to Mumbai.
Made a family trip to the absolutely wonderful Tikuji-ni-wadi with brother and his family- A now had two cousins, my nephew aged 11 and niece aged 5 with her. It is very near the city, a few kilometers from my parents' house, but it is like stepping into another time zone. Of course there are the rides and the water parks that were fun for the kids, but the part I enjoyed most were that there was a sprawling chickoo orchard, with village style cots scattered around on which we could relax after a morning of activity and just chill. Which the sister-in-law and I did, as the brother took the kids off for rides. The food is very ordinary, though, just routine noodles-pizza-sandwich-chelpuri-other chaats stuff, not very inspiring. I was hoping for a homestyle gujju spread, and was much disappointed.
Immersed myself in many things marathi-
Typical food cooked by my mother- pithla bhakri, ambadichi bhaji, puraN poLi, kadhigoLe, waTli daL, waraNphaL, shrikand (home made) puri, and most of all, alphonso mango in many avataars. I even picked up aambawadi (a burfi like preparation from mango pulp), aambapoLi (alphonso pulp put out on plates and sundried), phaNaspoLi (made from jackfruit pulp), aambyacha satha (just a lump of dehydrated alphonso pulp).
I also picked up the all important Goda Masaala which is an important and indispensible ingredient of maharashtrian cuisine, and which is unfortunately not available anywhere. At least I have never found it. It is a difficult masaala to make at home, as it has many ingredients and is quite labour intensive. Something I have been too lazy to make at home, as my mother and grandmother always did.
Took A to many Marathi theatre performances for children. The most notable of which was Durga Zali Gauri, a dance drama, which moves forward only in song and dance. A loved it, and we heard nothing but those songs for a few days. It is comparable to Agatha Christie's play "Mousetrap", in that it has been running to a full house for the last 29 years, and its popularity shows no sign of abating. Unfortunately, it has still not been released on DVD, but I picked up an audio CD at the time of the performance. Something I would recommend to any theatre lover visiting Mumbai during the summer vacations. Performances are only then, as the children acting in it are free at the time. I spoke to Arun Kakade, the person behind it all, about having shows in Bangalore. He was interested, and told me that he had spoken to some people here about it, but that the logistics of transporting a 50+ troupe of dancers, housing them, almost all children, was daunting. Our loss!
I went for a few Marathi theatre performances too- two of which were written by the noted playwright, Sai Paranjpye, better known outside of Maharashtra for her sensitively made movies like Katha, Chashhme Baddoor and Sparsh. Also saw a few Marathi movies- some on DVD and one in theatres- the newly released Bal Gandharva which is a biographical film based on the life of one of Marathi's greatest and pioneering singers, and actor Narayan Shripad Rajhans, better known by his alter-ego : Bal Gandharva.
On DVD, saw quite a few. Am convinced that regional movies have a lot more to offer on realistic and well made movies- of an extremely high calibre as compared to the staple bollywood fare. I can probably count those bollywood films that impressed me in the last five years on the fingers of my hand. I do not really know much about regional films in other Indian languages, but going by those that are aired on LokSabha channel, there are quite a few world-class movies being made. When will bollywood wake up and smell the celluloid?
Anyway, the ones I saw this time-
Rita, based on the book of the same name by renowned marathi writer Shanta Gokhale- it is the story of Rita Welingkar, the eldest of three daughters, who starts working at an early age when her no-good father loses his job, and pretty much becomes the parent for her sisters, inspite of having both her parents alive. On the way she gets into a relationship with her much older and much-married-with-kids boss. The movie captures very well Rita's struggle to make things more meaningful in her life- wonderfully played by Pallavi Joshi.
Mee Sindhutai Sapkal (I, Sindhutai Sakpal) based on her autobiography named Mee Vanvasi (I, the exiled), is the story of a poor woman born in rural Maharashtra- pulled out of school and married off at age 12 to a man more than twice her age, and her struggle for a life of dignity. She is thrown out by her husband, pregnant, near term, with her third child, on a false charge of infidelity. This is the story of how she stands up in dignity, not just for herself, but for the rights of many more of the downtrodden, establishing 5 orphanages in the process, and travelling to the US on invitation to raise funds. Sindhutai, or Mai as she is known, is a living legend, doing her work even today. Wonderful performances by the actors, the movie may be seen just for the underplayed performance of Tejaswini Pandit, who plays the protagonist in her youth, her real life mother, Jyoti Chandorkar playing the elderly Mai.
Went to a few book exihibitions exclusively for Marathi books. Found out that many of our favourite Tulika books are been published by Jyotsna Prakashan, a well known publishing house of Marathi children's books, at a fraction of the price, with full credits to Tulika's copyright.. Was thrilled on finding them. Picked up a lot of Marathi books for A and for myself. Now that she knows the Devanagari script, common to both Marathi and Hindi, A can read simple books on her own. Am really thrilled about it.
It goes without saying that both A and I read a lot of books including Harry Potter 6, which we will be finishing in a day or two. To be followed by book 7, so that we will be all set for the last movie due in mid-July.
Ate at a lot of interesting restaurants many times with family and friends, too many too enumerate. The high point was a small place where we ate home-style Malwani food. Yum!
Met a lot of my old friends after a loooooonnnngggg time.
Also met a new friend, Ugich Konitari, a wonderful blogger whose posts I love for the clear headed analysis of so many different things, done with a wry sense of humour. She has written a whole post here about our meeting. We met midway between our houses, and had lunch together at a mall where we even had icy cold gola for dessert. She was exactly as I had visualised her, and much more. It was lovely meeting you, Ugich.
Chilled out totally over our trip, and was back home with a few weeks to spare before school re-opened. Soon after we were back, A had her birthday party.
And we made mango pickle at home- A helped in lot in the process.
We also had a long awaited meet of Saffrontree members from Bangalore at Artnavy's lovely home.
Then there were the usual round of dentist, doctor, etc., shopping for school, and here we are. School has started!
So what did we do in the holidays? Quite a list.
Attended a super Carpentry workshop at Hippocampus, our library, run by a dear friend. We have a working model of a sun-dial, and a toy aeroplane to show for it. Thoroughly enjoyed by A.
Went to Mumbai after a very long 2 years, visiting parents and in-laws.
Sisters-in-law (2 of them) and I carted the kids (4 boys aged 12-17 years and A) over to the over 200 year old Shree Siddhivinayak temple in Prabhadevi, which is believed to grant wishes to devotees. It is a favoured place to visit for those who revere Ganesha/ Ganapati- the elephant headed god of learning, who is also believed to remove obstacles from one's life, and is invoked as 'Shree' before undertaking anything of importance.
Also visited the Mahalakshmi temple in Worli, which is built right next to the sea, with the waves breaking on its walls at high tide. The sea fascinated A more than anything else, as the last time we saw the sea was the North sea off Scotland when she was just 3, and she doesn't have any memory of it.
Went shopping with the entire gang (ladies and kids only) to Crawford Market built by the British in 1869 after travelling by the mumbai local trains. A was horrified by the crowd, the rush, and the chaos of both, but enjoyed the outing with her cousins.
Also checked out the extremely high end and absolutely unaffordable Palladium mall and the adjacent High Street Phoenix mall at the place where the famed Phoenix mills- cotton mills- were situated. The only place there that we could even think of buying something was the absolutely enormous Landmark, which had such a wide range of books that I could not do justice in terms of browsing. Picked up a few titles there- but of course. It was literally like getting into Alladin's cave for both A and I, and I plan to make a visit to just that one store on a later visit to Mumbai.
Made a family trip to the absolutely wonderful Tikuji-ni-wadi with brother and his family- A now had two cousins, my nephew aged 11 and niece aged 5 with her. It is very near the city, a few kilometers from my parents' house, but it is like stepping into another time zone. Of course there are the rides and the water parks that were fun for the kids, but the part I enjoyed most were that there was a sprawling chickoo orchard, with village style cots scattered around on which we could relax after a morning of activity and just chill. Which the sister-in-law and I did, as the brother took the kids off for rides. The food is very ordinary, though, just routine noodles-pizza-sandwich-chelpuri-other chaats stuff, not very inspiring. I was hoping for a homestyle gujju spread, and was much disappointed.
Immersed myself in many things marathi-
Typical food cooked by my mother- pithla bhakri, ambadichi bhaji, puraN poLi, kadhigoLe, waTli daL, waraNphaL, shrikand (home made) puri, and most of all, alphonso mango in many avataars. I even picked up aambawadi (a burfi like preparation from mango pulp), aambapoLi (alphonso pulp put out on plates and sundried), phaNaspoLi (made from jackfruit pulp), aambyacha satha (just a lump of dehydrated alphonso pulp).
I also picked up the all important Goda Masaala which is an important and indispensible ingredient of maharashtrian cuisine, and which is unfortunately not available anywhere. At least I have never found it. It is a difficult masaala to make at home, as it has many ingredients and is quite labour intensive. Something I have been too lazy to make at home, as my mother and grandmother always did.
 |
| pic courtesy lokvani.com |
I went for a few Marathi theatre performances too- two of which were written by the noted playwright, Sai Paranjpye, better known outside of Maharashtra for her sensitively made movies like Katha, Chashhme Baddoor and Sparsh. Also saw a few Marathi movies- some on DVD and one in theatres- the newly released Bal Gandharva which is a biographical film based on the life of one of Marathi's greatest and pioneering singers, and actor Narayan Shripad Rajhans, better known by his alter-ego : Bal Gandharva.
On DVD, saw quite a few. Am convinced that regional movies have a lot more to offer on realistic and well made movies- of an extremely high calibre as compared to the staple bollywood fare. I can probably count those bollywood films that impressed me in the last five years on the fingers of my hand. I do not really know much about regional films in other Indian languages, but going by those that are aired on LokSabha channel, there are quite a few world-class movies being made. When will bollywood wake up and smell the celluloid?
Anyway, the ones I saw this time-
Rita, based on the book of the same name by renowned marathi writer Shanta Gokhale- it is the story of Rita Welingkar, the eldest of three daughters, who starts working at an early age when her no-good father loses his job, and pretty much becomes the parent for her sisters, inspite of having both her parents alive. On the way she gets into a relationship with her much older and much-married-with-kids boss. The movie captures very well Rita's struggle to make things more meaningful in her life- wonderfully played by Pallavi Joshi.
Mee Sindhutai Sapkal (I, Sindhutai Sakpal) based on her autobiography named Mee Vanvasi (I, the exiled), is the story of a poor woman born in rural Maharashtra- pulled out of school and married off at age 12 to a man more than twice her age, and her struggle for a life of dignity. She is thrown out by her husband, pregnant, near term, with her third child, on a false charge of infidelity. This is the story of how she stands up in dignity, not just for herself, but for the rights of many more of the downtrodden, establishing 5 orphanages in the process, and travelling to the US on invitation to raise funds. Sindhutai, or Mai as she is known, is a living legend, doing her work even today. Wonderful performances by the actors, the movie may be seen just for the underplayed performance of Tejaswini Pandit, who plays the protagonist in her youth, her real life mother, Jyoti Chandorkar playing the elderly Mai.
Went to a few book exihibitions exclusively for Marathi books. Found out that many of our favourite Tulika books are been published by Jyotsna Prakashan, a well known publishing house of Marathi children's books, at a fraction of the price, with full credits to Tulika's copyright.. Was thrilled on finding them. Picked up a lot of Marathi books for A and for myself. Now that she knows the Devanagari script, common to both Marathi and Hindi, A can read simple books on her own. Am really thrilled about it.
It goes without saying that both A and I read a lot of books including Harry Potter 6, which we will be finishing in a day or two. To be followed by book 7, so that we will be all set for the last movie due in mid-July.
Ate at a lot of interesting restaurants many times with family and friends, too many too enumerate. The high point was a small place where we ate home-style Malwani food. Yum!
Met a lot of my old friends after a loooooonnnngggg time.
Also met a new friend, Ugich Konitari, a wonderful blogger whose posts I love for the clear headed analysis of so many different things, done with a wry sense of humour. She has written a whole post here about our meeting. We met midway between our houses, and had lunch together at a mall where we even had icy cold gola for dessert. She was exactly as I had visualised her, and much more. It was lovely meeting you, Ugich.
Chilled out totally over our trip, and was back home with a few weeks to spare before school re-opened. Soon after we were back, A had her birthday party.
And we made mango pickle at home- A helped in lot in the process.
We also had a long awaited meet of Saffrontree members from Bangalore at Artnavy's lovely home.
Then there were the usual round of dentist, doctor, etc., shopping for school, and here we are. School has started!
01 June, 2011
It is never too late for mommy to learn
1. Are you there, God?
I grew up in a household which put a lot of premium by God, prayers, going to temples, rituals, etc., but I was never convinced of the existence of the said almighty. If anything, I actively rebelled against all of what seemed to me to be a lot of foaming at the mouth over something that was not proven to be existing anyway.
Oh, I knew all the scriptures I was expected to know as a child- the mythology, the epics, the prayers, what could/could not be done- the works. I have to thank my grandmother for much of that. Not complaining! It has definitely enriched me.
I was, however, entirely confused by a ritualistic approach to God- an insistance on the paraphernelia of religion- that one must have red flowers/ white flowers/ leaves of a particular plant/ coconuts, etc. for a God that seemed to me too petty to have wanted all that JUST SO. My belief thus bordered on atheism, but, as I feel sometimes, I threw the baby out with the bathwater. Pun not intended.
Having A was a miracle of sorts. I had her quite late, also having complications during pregnancy, a difficult labour and finally, an emergency C-section. The anxiety and heartache I went through during all this, and finally having her, healthy and whole, in my arms made feel that yes, there must be a God.
So did I finally get religion? Not quite. I cannot still abide by rituals. The occasional pooja I do, on festive days, is more to introduce this part of her culture to A, rather than for its own sake. I do not pray everyday, for then, I feel, it will become a meaningless ritual; or go that extra mile to get those red flowers/ white flowers, etc. I do pray the day I feel like praying, for, on that day, I know that my prayer is true and heart-felt, and it will certainly reach God. And A knows all the prayers, songs and stories that are part of her inheritance, her birthright as my grandmother's great-grand-daughter.
At times, I even feel close enough to God to quarrel or fight, if need be. When I feel the presense of the divine, my eyes close of their own accord and I bow my head. Spiritual yearnings? Maybe.
2. A smile in my heart.
"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new." Osho Rajneesh.
When I see the affection A has for younger children, the raptures she goes into over any baby, see the affinity younger children have for her, I think back to myself as a child- heck, myself as a grown-up and wonder over how different she is from me in this aspect. As an adult, I loved babies, still do, and am a natural in handling the extremely fragile lovelies. But I normally cannot have easy coversations with older kids, unless they share my interest in books. I was never what you would consider 'mother material'. I never fantasised over having babies as she does, never wanted to get the little kids in the neighbourhood together to raise rabble. I was fine with my book in my corner, inhabiting my imaginary world, thank you very much!
When I saw the two purple stripes, and later A's heart going 'twinkle, twinkle' at an impossible rate on the screen at an ultrasound, I realised how much I wanted my baby. Connecting with her when in utero was an out-of-this-world experience, and I was absolutely smitten by her once I had her in my arms.
Please bear with me over the next paragraph.
The day she was born was an extremely hot day even by Mumbai standards. Since all AC rooms were occupied at the time, I was moved to a non-AC room temporarily, just for one day's time. A could not yet suckle, and as a result she got dehydrated. She was taken away by the nursing staff on duty for some time (the nursing home believed in rooming in; babies were NOT taken away to the nurseries like in most hospitals those days. AND the obstetrician was a dear friend, who had hand-held me through my extremely difficult pregnancy, with me going ballistic over things that could go wrong- a distinct disadvantage of being in the know in medicine) on the doctor's orders, so that she could be given some glucose water orally to tide over till she could suckle. The panic I went into over that was unimaginable. This was my baby. Where were they taking her? Why? So what if these were doctor's orders? Couldn't they do whatever they needed to do right there, in front of me? Blah, blah, blah, blah...you fill it in.
Love is here to stay. Always, in my heart. No matter what, no matter when, no matter how.
3. They are not always right, nor always wrong.
As a child, I often thought my parents were always right in everything, until came a time when I thought just the reverse. Now they could do nothing right. And one's peers also thought the same of their parents at the same time. So I often ended up blaming my parents for things that I did not do right.
While some of it may be true, (see, I have a long way to go yet!) I realise now as hands-on mom that my parents always did that which they thought was right at the time, and what was humanly possible for them. The realisation has gone a long way in making my peace with them over issues we didn't see eye-to-eye.
Something I hope my daughter also realises over a period of time- that her mother is just human, and that I do the best I can do, the best I believe I should do. I hope to God that it is the right thing.
4. Just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down!
Coming from a background where my mother was the rulebook, and considering that I rebelled against it wholeheartedly, sometimes even to my detriment, I always thought that with my child I would be different. I would not do this, or that, that I would always talk to my child, explain things, do things right. I am not saying that I had bad parents, just that they were very conservative, old-fashioned, and pretty much followed the norms of the times they lived in.
I was living in a fool's paradise. No, not till she came along, but till she learnt to stand up to me and say NO! WON'T! pretty early in her toddlerhood. A true-blue Taurean, she knew very well how to dig her heels in and...err...so did I.
I had to go great lengths to unlearn all that I had absorbed. As always, I took the help of books. It was a lot of trial, and much more of error. Still is sometimes. I learnt that logic works more wonders with A than putting my foot down. I need to back off and calm down, be less authoritarian. I who needs to get my act together if I am to make any headway with teaching this lovely but stubborn as a mule child of mine the right things. Blogs by friends who are wonderful parents, like Starry, Choxbox and Sangi help. Their views and extremely clear headed analysis of so many little things often show me the light.
5. It is never too late to get an education.
Having a daughter taught me so many things.
*That one cannot learn everything from books.
*That I cannot bear it when she is in pain, but have to be strong enough for both of us to make it bearable.
*Everything that is humanly possible is certainly achievable, especially if your child needs it of you.
*The human body is amazing- and this doesn't include just what they teach you at medical school. One can survive on the barest minimum of sleep, oxytocin and lots of TLC.
*That much more can be achieved by being patient and explaining things instead of laying down the law.
*That sometimes one is only human and wishes one does not have to explain things so much but can lay down the law!:)
*That one can have conversations with an extra-chattery child where one can switch off and yet make satisfactory rejoinders.
*That even though one loves the child so much, one can wish that someone takes her away for the day, on the stipulation that she is returned in the evening safe and sound. Sending her off to school is the best option.
*That the best part of the day is when A comes home with a smile and a hug for mommy, followed closely by the time in the morning when everybody, including the husband, are out and one can finally rest one's errr...backside with a hot, steaming cup of tea.
*That children can ask the darnedest questions. And one never has an answer for them when they are asked in company.
*That one has absymal / long forgotten / outdated knowledge about the things children learn as early as in middle grade. And that one has to read up a lot to be able to keep up.
*That it is a lot of fun to do things together, and it does not always have to cost a bomb.
*That the best times we have spent together are when we have sat together on the bean-bags near the wide open windows, reading aloud to her in the light streaming in from a book I have loved and wanted to share with her.
*That one has to exercise tough love at times and settle for being the bad cop- mommies often are, as they are the ones usually around. That certainly goes for SAHM mothers like me, as also for working moms, though that bit is slowly changing.
*That there is no single rule about how things should be done, although a large portion of love, faith, hope, belief in oneself and patience is required on our plate.
I have to tag five others as part of the rules. I would like to tag Starry, Utbtkids, Ranjani, Crazy mum and Arundhati. Let us know what you think, ladies.
23 May, 2011
A birthday-- we are now in double digits!
I can't let the month of May slip away without a post! I have been away all month, but all about that later. A had a birthday this month, and I can't let THAT go unrecorded.
It has been 10 years now since I first set eyes on a warm, wriggly bundle with a shaggy mop of hair which was considering me seriously (It was an emergency caesarian and I was sedated enough to have fallen into a deep sleep soon after I heard her cry and the obstetrician, who is a friend, told me that I had a beautiful girl baby. So I saw her after she was all cleaned and wrapped up!) with the biggest black eyes I've yet to see on a baby.
It has been a wonderful decade of motherhood, and there have been good times and bad times, none of which I would exchange for anything in the world, all memorable. I would have loved to hold on to all the moments and feel sad that they have to grow up so soon. How time flies!
As usual, my preparations started well in advance, before school closed for the vacation. I asked A to make a list of guests she wanted to invite, and to get relevant phone numbers (I had quite a few as most mothers are good friends) and email IDs. That took a few days, considering her friends are spread over different classes, as also some who are not from school.
Next I checked with the mothers if they were here in the vacations, and got a tentative headcount, as I had to give my caterer a fair idea of the numbers. Then for a theme and place. A and I were sure of one thing, we wanted someplace outdoors. "Something like a picnic, Aai!"
Our first choice was the Martin Farm but it was not available on the date we wanted. Then I considered the the Birthday Nature Walk that Starry had had for her daughter's birthday, but she had hers in January, with a more friendly sun, something that could be troublesome in May. Then a friend from my complex suggested a place that was owned and run by another friend of hers.
Bang in the middle of the city, behind Manipal hospital, was a playschool called The Green Pocket which also holds summer camps, and rents it out for birthdays, with a list of activities that one could choose from. The lady who runs it, Anahita Cooper, is really sweet and helpful, and we hit it off from the word go. But what clinched it for me was that the moment I stepped in there, I heard cuckoos in the chickoo orchard and a rooster crowing loudly, transporting me back to summers of childhood spent at our native place playing in mango orchards by little brooks with the only sounds those of birds and monkeys in the trees, bullocks lowing in fields nearby and the chatter of all us children.
So 'The Green Pocket' was on, a tentative headcount was done, and I had a talk with Mallika, the caterer who has catered for all A's birthdays, except the one when she was 8, when I had a cooking party, and the children made their own pizzas, and we gave away aprons as return gifts.
After that, it was all long distance, as we shifted base to Mumbai for 5 weeks of the vacation (will soon do a post on all the fun we had there- kept seriously offline for most of the time) and we were due back just 2 days before the birthday. So phone calls to all guests were made from there.
Then followed last minute phone calls and mails to Mallika and Anahita, for all the details. Return gifts had been bought and packed before leaving for Mumbai. So all we had to do was bake the cake (She wanted me to bake it this year. Some of our guests do not eat egg. So we decided to make an eggless, maida-less wholewheat flour cake- satisfied my yearning for healthier options wherever possible.)
The kids ran riot. There was a treasure hunt organised and conducted by Anahita, and a visit to PetStepin, a pet care centre next doors, for those who loved animals. There were dogs, and rabbits to pick up and feed, and of course, the rooster. There were huge mango trees laden with raw and ripening mangoes, with tire swings hanging by sturdy ropes. There was a tree house to climb up onto. There were scores of chickoo, sitaphal and mango trees laden with fruit, and some of those delicious, mini gooseberries, what we call raiawala in marathi. There were also squirrels, running around quite used to having children around them. The children were strictly told NOT to feed any animals, except for the rabbits, and even those were to be fed the leaves that were provided. They loved it all!
Then we had cucumber-and-cheese sandwiches, pizzas made on whole wheat bases, boiled corn with salt and butter, (the ubiquitous) chips from Hot Chips and cake. And of course, the ice lollies. These were unlimited, and I was proud of A for resisting them! (She had been a bit unwell for some days, and had been asked to keep off the ice lollies.)
Anahita had earlier asked me to send her a photo of A, and she had made a Happy Birthday banner using it, on which all the guests could write their message. That is going to be a prized possession. Especially as one of the girls who wrote on it (and drew horns on A's picture, which were later made into a tiara!) is a special friend, and is moving to another school, and will be sorely missed.
All friends who were invited came, except for one very close friend W, who is out of town, and was sorely missed. And the gifts- people have been very thoughtful while gifting, and we have a rope ladder from Sutradhar (no prizes for guessing who gave that!), a pair of adjustable skates, gift vouchers to book shops (but of course!) an architectural kit (from Artnavy) an amazing board game based on the Harry Potter series, called CLUE, and much more.
Return gifts? We picked up folders from Gurjari, embroidered beautifully in their characteristic style, with each child's name painted along the edge by A. And of course, folders couldn't be given empty- so each one contained a book that the particular child may enjoy- again picked by A. And just books for some younger kids.
Next year- she has already told me- she will be doing everything from the planning stage onwards. I need to only facilitate her plans.
Sure, sweetheart! And may you have many more!
It has been 10 years now since I first set eyes on a warm, wriggly bundle with a shaggy mop of hair which was considering me seriously (It was an emergency caesarian and I was sedated enough to have fallen into a deep sleep soon after I heard her cry and the obstetrician, who is a friend, told me that I had a beautiful girl baby. So I saw her after she was all cleaned and wrapped up!) with the biggest black eyes I've yet to see on a baby.
It has been a wonderful decade of motherhood, and there have been good times and bad times, none of which I would exchange for anything in the world, all memorable. I would have loved to hold on to all the moments and feel sad that they have to grow up so soon. How time flies!
As usual, my preparations started well in advance, before school closed for the vacation. I asked A to make a list of guests she wanted to invite, and to get relevant phone numbers (I had quite a few as most mothers are good friends) and email IDs. That took a few days, considering her friends are spread over different classes, as also some who are not from school.
Next I checked with the mothers if they were here in the vacations, and got a tentative headcount, as I had to give my caterer a fair idea of the numbers. Then for a theme and place. A and I were sure of one thing, we wanted someplace outdoors. "Something like a picnic, Aai!"
Bang in the middle of the city, behind Manipal hospital, was a playschool called The Green Pocket which also holds summer camps, and rents it out for birthdays, with a list of activities that one could choose from. The lady who runs it, Anahita Cooper, is really sweet and helpful, and we hit it off from the word go. But what clinched it for me was that the moment I stepped in there, I heard cuckoos in the chickoo orchard and a rooster crowing loudly, transporting me back to summers of childhood spent at our native place playing in mango orchards by little brooks with the only sounds those of birds and monkeys in the trees, bullocks lowing in fields nearby and the chatter of all us children.
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| A clump of green |
After that, it was all long distance, as we shifted base to Mumbai for 5 weeks of the vacation (will soon do a post on all the fun we had there- kept seriously offline for most of the time) and we were due back just 2 days before the birthday. So phone calls to all guests were made from there.
Then followed last minute phone calls and mails to Mallika and Anahita, for all the details. Return gifts had been bought and packed before leaving for Mumbai. So all we had to do was bake the cake (She wanted me to bake it this year. Some of our guests do not eat egg. So we decided to make an eggless, maida-less wholewheat flour cake- satisfied my yearning for healthier options wherever possible.)
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| Kids on a treasure hunt |
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| Petting animals at PetStepin |
Anahita had earlier asked me to send her a photo of A, and she had made a Happy Birthday banner using it, on which all the guests could write their message. That is going to be a prized possession. Especially as one of the girls who wrote on it (and drew horns on A's picture, which were later made into a tiara!) is a special friend, and is moving to another school, and will be sorely missed.
All friends who were invited came, except for one very close friend W, who is out of town, and was sorely missed. And the gifts- people have been very thoughtful while gifting, and we have a rope ladder from Sutradhar (no prizes for guessing who gave that!), a pair of adjustable skates, gift vouchers to book shops (but of course!) an architectural kit (from Artnavy) an amazing board game based on the Harry Potter series, called CLUE, and much more.
Return gifts? We picked up folders from Gurjari, embroidered beautifully in their characteristic style, with each child's name painted along the edge by A. And of course, folders couldn't be given empty- so each one contained a book that the particular child may enjoy- again picked by A. And just books for some younger kids.
Next year- she has already told me- she will be doing everything from the planning stage onwards. I need to only facilitate her plans.
Sure, sweetheart! And may you have many more!
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