Hand Made....

Dear Izyaan

There is something so beautiful and special about handmade things. The thought, the effort, the planning, the delivery, the emotions. It can't be quantified. The result might be one simple card or item but it represents a culmination of so many beautiful intangibles.

I know you find it hard to express your affection and emotions to others. But, I didn't want that to be a reason for you to be stoic or unexpressive. Love is best when expressed. So, I encouraged you to write letters, make cards, put your feelings in words.

I love how you spend time laboriously making a Happy Birthday, get well, I'm sorry, or welcome home card for family and friends. More than that, I love the emotions you express in them. Emotions that wouldn't otherwise be evident or conceivable behind the nonchalant 7 year old face of yours. I would hate for such pure , raw emotions to be lost, pent up or misdirected.

I love how you write introspective apology letters after you have messed up. Real power lies in humble acceptance of our mistakes and real growth lies in learning from those mistakes.

In a world where we can buy $1 cards, I am proud that you put in an hour of effort, time and creativity to create something that captures your affection. It's the handmade stuff that is beautiful and memorable. I hope you never lose this art, the art of using your hands to create something for those around you. I hope like so many young boys, you don't feel that expressing emotions makes you weak or threatens your masculinity.

Too many human beings feel unloved and unappreciated because someone close to them didn't have the tools, the words, the actions to remind them of their worth, and value. I can only pray that I raise you to be a man that feels strong by his vulnerabilities and never makes his loved ones question or wonder about their worth in your eyes.

Love
Mama

Who is My Child?

We start the parenting journey with such high aspirations of what we will and will never do.
 "I'll only breastfeed,  I'll only feed them organic foods, I'll only make them sleep in their crib, etc etc".

 Being a parent makes us realize the naivety of our arrogance and idealism. If done correctly,  it is the most stimulating and enriching course. It keeps you on your toes, it keeps you experimenting with different things,  it makes you an astute observer of your own and other children, it keeps you thirsty for more knowledge, it is a beautiful study of the power of human attachment and ability of detachment. It tells you a lot more about yourself than you think. Parenting is the only thing that so amazingly connects you back to your own childhood, your insecurities, fears and parental relationship.

  I often wonder who my seven year old really is? Some nights, I sip my cup of tea at the end of the day, telling my husband I think I'm completely failing this parenting business after my 7 year old shocks me with the amount of intense emotions he can have over not getting his choice of dinner. Some nights, I am bursting with joy and pride after my 7 year old has laid the whole table with plates, forks, glasses correctly placed,  washed all my big pots and pans in the sink and offered to make dessert for guests. Those nights I feel like I'm doing it right, I'm raising an empowered, responsible and kind young man.

But, who really is my 7 year old? The crazy, erratic kid who flips out every now and then or the kind young boy that hugs me and tells me it's ok when I break the glass bowl after he quietly picks up its broken pieces. I finally came to an answer. Our children are beautiful shades of everything from their worst to their best moments.  So, we should neither take their best moments or worst moments as judgements of our parenting but rather as notes to self about what we can tweak. This fluidity keeps the parenting journey interesting since parenting was never really about you to begin with.....

Oh, My God....

We go back a long way
When I meet you in private, we seem divinely connected.
You seem close and reachable.
You appear to be warm,kind and forgiving.
You feel closer than my jugular vein to me.

When I meet you in the confines of my home, I don't feel my external appearance is being judged by you.
You don't seem focused on the length of my dress, the color on my nails, a strand of hair being visible.
You seem to see far beyond all that deep into my soul.

But, all that changes when I meet you in public.
You are spoken about with fear.
You seem surrounded by an army of serious looking men.
You appear strict, harsh and unforgiving.
You feel so very distant.

When I meet you in the confines of places of worship, you feel inaccessible.
Men with beards, men in saffron,  men and more men seem committed to separating you and keeping you far away from the rest.
You can't be reached without their consent, involvement and permission it seems.

They talk and give grand sermons about you.
But, these sermons only seem to elevate you to ranks that make you seem more unreachable. They infuse everything about you with fear, judgement and punishment.

But, that's not the God that I know or the God that I meet in private. The God they speak of is not like my God.

My understanding of you can be characterized as "blasphemous". A great sin and crime, I'm told because it is disrespectful to God.

But, isn't their narrow, harsh and fearful understanding of you the real blasphemy?

I Don't Want the Best For My Children

Yes, you read that right. I don't want the "best" for my children. There seems to be a  rat race for wanting to provide the "best" life for our children. The list starts even before the child is born. We must have the "best" baby shower . Our child must have the "best" shoes, diapers, clothes, extra curricular activities, the "best" birthdays, presents, vacations. But, this obsession with "best" is  only creating one thing: "The best" parenting tragedy.

Historically, parents have always strived to provide what they could for their children. The vision and motivation seemed to be to give children the tools they needed to build a life for themselves. Never before in history have parents been so obsessed with providing the "best" material things for their children. It's as if the amount of materialism they can serve to their child  is directly proportional to their success as a wonderful parent. So, it's no surprise that rampant consumerism is a global trend. Superficially, it seems to work great. We no longer need to suppress any desires, no need to delay gratification; if we want it, we buy it. Globalization has made it so affordable to satisfy any material desire. Prices are low, options unlimited, buy it now, pay for it later, have it delivered same day, scroll through to choose from infinite options, enjoy "suggestions" of what else you might like based on your previous shopping history. It seems like a perfect marriage between unlimited providing and unlimited  desiring.

The challenge with this seemingly simple and perfect model is that it creates  deeper issues within our children. Issues that will outlive us and ensure they don't feel the "best" about themselves and their lives. By being obsessed with wanting to provide them with the "best" of things, we make them entitled, impatient, dissatisfied. They want more and we feel convinced that if we can't provide more, we are bad parents because our child feels deprived.

Deprivation is not such a bad thing. We fear it like the plague. We don't want its shadow anywhere near our children. But, in today's world, you would really do your children a huge favor by depriving them of some things. No, I'm not suggesting you deprive them of food, clothes and basic necessities. But, basic necessities don't have to be the "best" of luxuries.

But, basic necessities don't have to be the "best" of luxuries.

Like most parents, Dollar Tree is a common stop for me. My 6 year old gets tempted and wants to buy this and that. I tell him he can choose one thing. A lot of people say, come on, it's just a dollar. Here's what they are missing. The issue here is not about it being a dollar but about the need to buy something every time we go out. By not getting to buy everything he wants, I'm consciously choosing to offer him a little bit of deprivation, delayed gratification, making choices about what he really wants and seeing that somethings need to be painfully taken out of the shopping cart. Sure, some times I'll get what he wants but most of the times, I will take the hit for not being the "cool" mom that gives in.

We are living in times where we can all afford so much more than previous generations. There is nothing we must really yearn for as it's all quite attainable. This is where it becomes that much harder and that much more important to model and teach delayed gratification, contentment, conscious refusal to give in to every innocent desire.

So, dare to say "no" when you want to say "yes". Dare to step out of this rat race and you will make it easier for others to step out too. The best gift I can offer my children is delayed gratification. Because I want what's good for them, I'll dare to deprive them of the "best".

Thoughts of a 5 year old Mother.....

It's supposed to be a happy moment, a great milestone, the beginning of a new chapter. But, for some reason, all such landmark and milestone moments make me very emotional, philosophical and reflective. I don't just see them as happy, cheery moments but also as a reminder of time passing by, growing up, growing old, the cycle of life.

And so, your first day of Kindergarten was not easy and neither were the many months leading up to it. The mere thought of it choked me up. So, as I walked up to your classroom that Monday morning thinking I can do this quickly and matter of factly, I failed. With the sudden, involuntary flow of tears, I turned to face the wall so neither you and the many other people standing there would have to witness my water works. Your father told me that I'm making this harder for you but what fathers don't seem to understand is that we don't "plan" , "choose" or "orchestrate" these sudden emotions. Motherhood just makes the toughest of us weak and so vulnerable. It makes the most stoic and unexpressive of us capable of experiencing emotions that were previously foreign to us. And trust me, the liberated independent women don't like being reminded me of how our children have forever enslaved a part of our hearts and souls. Such is your power, your significance and your meaning in our lives.

Time and life seem to be passing by so fast. I sometimes watch you observing the world around you, your bright, intelligent eyes, your insightful questions, your reflective theories, your expanding independence, your innocent emotional dependence, your sweet voice and I wish I could freeze it all because it's all so transient. In the midst of being young, working and juggling so much in life, I feel I take it for granted that you will always remain this child like, sweet and little. But, I know one day I'll be looking at a young man and all these memories will seem so unreal, surreal or even imaginary. The little boy that yearns to touch my cheeks as his comfort toy may find himself too "cool" for such expressions of affection. The endless questions and conviction that I always will have the answers will diminish and my answers wont seem "smart" enough. The sources of your worldly knowledge wont be monopolized by your parents' answers. This is the beauty and strange sadness of life. As parents when we need the assurance of being the center of your universe, the "smart" ones with the answers, the magicians who can fix your world; you have grown up and sought other avenues.

Such are the many thoughts that go through my mind as you get ready to become a 6 year old boy. But, Izyaan, you will always be my baby.

The Past Mothers....

It's a dark rainy night. I hear the gentle and often not so gentle patter of rain as it falls outside. I sit nestled in my study. Happy to be alone, happy to finally put into words somethings that have danced around in my mind. Today was Mother's Day and I was spoilt by my hubby who took me shopping and cooked dinner and indulged by my 4 yr old who whispered " Happy Mother's Day" in my ears several times and snuggled next to me for an extra long time this morning.

As I mature as a woman, I find myself thinking of my maternal and paternal grandmothers often. My maternal grandmother who we all called Baji passed away when I was around 21. I always knew her and thought of her as just a grandmother. A very selfless, righteous, and good woman. But, as I grow older, I wish she was around so I could ask her about the complexities of being a woman. Women of that generation carried such depth within them. They didn't pour their heart or soul out to many if any. I want to ask and share with her things but not as a granddaughter but as a woman sharing the same DNA. I want to ask her what was her happiest moment, what she found most difficult about marriage, about motherhood, about relationships, about societal expectations. Like every woman, she must have cried herself to sleep many times, she must have many times chosen silence over words, she must have been exhausted by the demands of children, husband and in laws. At the moments when her patience was at its ends, what thoughts ran through her mind? Women made of that fabric are so rare. The closest match I have is my mother. I'm a lot like my mother and my mother was a lot like my grandmother. So, I often wonder what advice she would have given me on love, life, relationships, etc, etc. So many et ceteras. I still recall her sweet smell, her paranoia about having her torch and cupboard keys close by. I remember thinking sometimes that her concern about the torch and keys is so unnecessary. But, I understand now that what seems unnecessary and obsessive at 21, starts making sense at 31 and most likely at 61 will be how I am.

My paternal grandmother ( Dadi) passed away when I was less than a year old. All I know about her is from what I've heard. I wish she lived longer and I could have known her. My image of her is of a strong, confident, determined and firm woman. She spoke her mind, had convictions and wasn't afraid to do what she thought was right. She was an empowered soul that didn't discriminate between sons and daughters. Something rather unheard of at that time and unfortunately even in this time. I think of her often as a fellow mother who raised 4 sons that were very progressive in their thinking, who didn't discriminate or treat their daughters any differently from their sons, who never shyed away from helping their wives in the kitchen,  who knew the meaning of hard work and allowed open and honest communication from their own children. The credit of which goes to Dadi.
How one woman impacts so many generations. I'm told my grandfather really doted on her. I wish she was around so I could ask her a host of frivilous and silly questions.  My Dadi was an exceptional daughter in law who shared her home with many of her brother in laws and their families. I want to  ask her how she did it, how she shared with limited resources and if she found giving intrinsically rewarding or sometimes difficult.

These women were rare, they were multi faceted women that could give unconditionally, love selflessly, stand up for what they believed and so beautifully manage relationships that they are still remembered by everyone that crossed their path.

It's the end of Mother's Day but I'm glad I could pay tribute to the mothers that gave birth to my parents. I miss you both and wish you had stayed around to guide me through the maze of womanhood. I would have massaged your feet and shared so much with you. Thank you for raising such wonderful children who are exceptional parents and human beings.Pieces of your mind and beautiful soul are dispersed across many generations but we will never have the completeness that you did.