The library at home…

You have a library period?

He enquired after looking at my timetable stuck on the blue door in our government quarters.

Yes, we have it three times. It’s like a free period for us.

Which book did you read today then?

Well, I just hold a book in my hand. I finish my homework in that time so that I can play more in the evening, I share my secret, feeling accomplished.

No. You will not do that anymore. Next time, read a book – actually, can you get one home?

Yes, I can

Get a Nancy Drew or a Agatha Christie – I will read it out to you.

And that’s how it all began.

I never read till the my 8^th grade. It’s true. I never had my Enid Blyton or the Roald Dahl. Books meant the school books – the science text book, the history one, etc. But then Mutacha started reading out to me when I was in 8^th grade and it didn’t take more than one or two reading out loud sessions for me to start living in them. From Nancy Drew to Agatha Christie to John Grisham – that was my world till 12^th grade. I still remember crying for the first time while reading, John Grisham’s Client (the crying while reading hasn’t stopped much)

It’s the realisation of what I missed when I was a child that makes sure that I read to Aryav every day, mostly nights from the time I could remember!

I might have had a 12 hour shoot day, or meetings which made me travel to every part of the city, but it hasn’t changed much. It might be the same book again and again for a few weeks, but I see his happiness when he comes to bed every night.

Today, this book – he announces every night, pulling out a book from his library.

Mutacha bought me my first Harry Potter and the Sorcerers’ Stone. It still stands tall in my library with the other books which have made me laugh, cry, given me company, and played a small part in who I am today, and with a hope that Aryav will inherit them one day and live in the amazing world of stories, like I have been.

Like they say, better late than never 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That feeling called home…

A little bouncy landing wasn’t going to stop me from grinning as widely as I could today when the air hostess said ‘Welcome to Kempegowda International Airport’

It was a sixteen hour journey to reach the place I call home. Foggy mornings and delayed flights led me to work out of two airports and calling all dear and near ones for OTP to use the 45mins/mobile number internet in the airport.

Sitting in the taxi, listening to my current favourite track (new version of Ek ladki Ko dekha toh Aisa Laga), I open the window, feel the breeze and look out at this city which became my home 6 years ago.

Home. It’s a word that has been quite conflicting for me, for many years and numerous reasons. Geographical associations has made it even more difficult.

Oh, you are a Malayali – where is your home in Kerala?
Oh, you were brought up in Delhi – where is your home in Delhi?

In Delhi, I was the madrasi.
In Kerala, I was the hindi- wali.

There were labels associated with my home. Labels that I didn’t realise nor associate with. For me Delhi was the place where I made my bestest friends, and Kerala was where my bestest grand father lived. So which one was home?

Today when I ride back in the taxi, I approve of that forwarded message which I had once recieved, Home is a feeling.

Delhi was my home.
Kerala was my home.

But why does Bangalore feel more homely now? I can only think of one answer, cause it let’s me be. I am neither a madrasi or a hindi wali here. I became a bangalorean, may be not literally, but in my heart I feel this city every day.

So while I listen to my next song ( Malayalam song Malare), I hope you have one or many places that you call home, even if it’s amongst your favourite people!

That aunty of my life…

I have many single girl friends who tell me how they completely hate attending social functions since the topic of discussion, is not the function itself, but how they are still single even though they are entering their third decade of existence. It is true. It is mainly the aunty whose name you have no recollection about, who probably doesn’t know what you do for a living but has a vague idea (she works with media and camera) but definitely feels that she is the best to tell you how you are doing wrong by not getting married when you ought to.

While my friends tell me this story, I think about all the time I have been picked on for doing the exact opposite.

23 is apparently the correct age to get married, according to the same i-don’t-know-how-i-am-connected-to-you aunty, but when you actually do get married, the same kinda aunty asked me if there was a problem since I got married young. One of them even hinted if I was pregnant.

I had a child at the age of 26. The most apt time according to the same aunty. But when I did, she asked me why I decided to have a child so early. I could have waited for some more time. You could have done so much more, now you are stuck.

So to that aunty of my life, Thank you.

Thank you for reminding me that many women try to pull the other women down, and not encourage and motivate them.

Thank you for being the reflection of this society which keeps telling you (not subtly) that you are not enough, whatever you do.

Thank you for being a representative of that mindset which believes that women don’t have a life after they have a child.

And definitely thank you for being the spokesperson of those who believe that equality doesn’t exist in a marriage.

You make me push myself more to be a better wife, a better mother and overall, to be a better woman, more than you for sure.

 

While we rebuild…

Dearest Aryav,

I write this while Kerala is recovering. It has witnessed the worst flooding since decades, and people have lost almost everything they built in their entire life.

But you wouldn’t know much of this now. You might hear and read about this someday but not today. For you, Kerala is Ammamma and Achacha’s home. It’s the place where we take the train in the night and by morning, you see your Achacha in the train station. It’s the place you take your walks with Apoopa. And it’s the place where you open the house door and run outdoors to just play in the open space and cycle.

But it’s not about Kerala I want to tell you about. It will survive. It’s broken, but it will get fixed, with some scars and some memories which will be itched in its existence but it will survive.

It’s not about Kerala I want to tell you about. It’s about the other things that worry me. More than these floods.

I want to tell you about this world where there are a lot of people who believe that the people deserved it because people there enjoy eating beef. I want to tell you about people who feel that because women are allowed in Sabarimala, this is Ayyapa’s way of punishing them. I want to tell you about people who think it’s because of the Muslim and Christian population in the state.

They are more dangerous, more than that water which entered thousands of homes. The water has receded, but these thoughts? We might do our best to raise you with basic values and respect for humanity but you might be surrounded by some of these people.

So what can you do if people say the very same things in the future?

Here is my advice. Don’t keep quiet. Listen to them, calm down and answer back.

Answer back with your sense of truth.

Answer back with all the courage you can muster.

And answer back with the knowledge that calamity doesn’t strike you with a tally note.

It’s high time that some idiots deserved to know where they belong.

Love,

Amma

PS: To all those, who believe that all this happened because of one of the above mentioned reasons – I don’t know how and why we are friends. But let’s be clear – we are not anymore.

My toddler and this gender dilemma!

Aryav wants a pink cake for his birthday which is four days away. Since we haven’t celebrated his last two, J and me have decided to indulge him especially after hearing him say, Aryav happy birthday to you March twenty four. Aryav like pink. Aryav pink cake. Okay amma?

I have been very happy and content with the way J and me have tried to be gender neutral during these last three years. From sharing responsibilities of Aryav, to communicating with him, Aryav seems well balanced in my eyes. At least most of the times.

We ordered a pink water bottle for him because that’s the first colour he could recognise and he proved that by picking out all pink clothes from our cupboard one afternoon and went on loop saying Pink! Pink! Amma Pink! Appa Pink! He picked his first bag, a pink one, even before his school started. Phrases like ‘you can’t cry, you are a boy’ have been consciously avoided because well, we both believe that they are inherently wrong! So while all this happens, there is a part of me which knows that I am struggling somewhere.

It started when he was just 28days old. In traditions on both the sides of the border (Kerala and Karnataka), the ear of the baby is pierced. J and me were strong believers that this would do nothing but just cause additional pain to this little new, extremely small human who could not even hold his neck properly at that time. Literally fighting against both our families, we made the call and refused to pierce Aryav’s ears. Would I have fought the same way if this little new, extremely small human was a girl? Strike 1.

People who know me are well aware that koehl is the only piece of makeup I buy, and I am aware off. I have one shade of nail paint which I use on occasions and will wait for that bottle to get over before I go back and buy the same shade again. Aryav showed interest in this new colourful paint once when my sister-in-law who lives close by was applying some on her toes. He comes back home with nail paint on his little toes and hands. J and me tell him that it looks nice cause he showed us with such enthusiasm but in the same breath try to tell Aryav how he doesn’t need nail paint. Would I have felt the same if those little toes and hands belonged to a girl? Strike 2.

How to catch a star by Oliver Jeffers and The Story of Ferdinand by Munroe Leaf are Aryav’s current favourite bedtime books. It’s been a tradition since Aryav was few days old, and today, even if we are travelling by train, the book is at an arm’s distance. One of the other books, a touch and feel book, has images of a lot of things – from house, to flowers, to frog, etc. A page also has an image of a boy and girl. Tonight, while I decided to read this book as his third one before he sleeps, we read the page with the boy dressed in blue shorts and girl in a white frock. Aryav suddenly decides to pause, look straight in my eye and tell me that he wants a white ‘frock’. He goes on to say how his friend, Athu, has jeans, t-shirt and frock but Aryav has only jeans and t-shirt. While my brain tries its best to form a sentence which is logical, and that I can approve off, he adds on how he could wear this white frock and cut his pink birthday cake. I am perfectly fine with the pink birthday cake, but what about the white frock? Strike 3!

I am not down with Strike 3. But how many more strikes till I am able to clarify gender for my little toddler. What is the right and wrong answer? Do I just say something to calm him down for the moment, or is it important to think it through and help him explain?

Our solution – Well, we don’t have one now. We never knew we could raise this little human and look where we are now. So we go back to basics – hoping to raise a human who cries when he feels like, wears and buys anything ‘pink’ and is alright if his Appa puts him to bed and Amma goes out to hang out with her friends.

If you have a boy…

It was a public secret that J wanted a girl.

Sitting in our terrace in the evening, J on the hammock and me with my 6month pregnant tummy, I remember picking out names for our yet to be born junior.

We had selected a name for a girl.
What if it’s a boy?
We’ll see then. But I know it’s a girl

Fast forward to March 24,2015 – Aryav was born healthy and premature. The same year, two months later, M had a healthy baby boy as well. It was also a public secret that M wanted a girl.

On an afternoon, after the congratulatory calls, I remember a conversation between J and M.

So we have boys now.
We wanted girls but it’s not something we can control.
I realised that it doesn’t matter now, boy or girl.
I know. It doesn’t matter. But I also realised something. We have boys because it might be in our households that we can teach the best on how to treat women. Our boys will grow up to be men who respect women, treat them equally and stand up for them, when needed.

Aryav turns three in exactly two months. Nothing has changed much around me. From Nirbhaya to abuse of children at school, things only seem to have gotten worse and unsafe for girls/women.

So if you have a boy, on this National Girl child Day, promise yourself that you will do something very little at home.

We try every single day to make Aryav realise that he is only equal to any girl, neither inferior nor superior. That amma and appa both have meetings to attend, and it’s okay for amma, like appa to go away for 2days for work. And it’s also normal for appa to feed you lunch just like the way amma does!

So if you have a boy, like us, do something for all the girls who might be as old as your little dude today!

Memories. Stories. History.

What happened within half hour?  Svati said the moment she opened our hotel door and looked towards the sky. From sunny, it had became cloudy and grey now.  May be we cursed the sun a lot yesterday Vand , she said picking up the black …

I am being extremely grateful for a calm day (today) after a week that has been nothing short of a nightmare. While the little man finally decides to not hold on to my skin, and play by himself, I realise that just being up and functioning every single day of this week in itself has been quite an effort.

This last week also made me realise the lengths we go for our loved ones. People who have met my mother-in-law know that as open she is to a lot of things, she is also quite conservative about many things. From making sure that the lamp is lit everyday in her Pooja room, to being okay with me being out late at nights, she’s been a person who possibly has all shades of pantone,many of which I am yet to discover. She’s also been one of the main reasons why I headed back to work with so much of conviction when Aryav wasn’t even a year old. This week, I discovered a new shade which left me amazed.

While aryav battled fever and diarrhoea, we tried all forms of medicines on him just to keep him functioning. On an evening when vomitting joined the symptoms, my mother-in-law​ called me and asked if I could come home quickly from work cause she wanted to take Aryav somewhere. 

With aryav sitting in the front of my bike, and my MIL at the back with an immensely huge helmet, I asked her where we were headed to.

The place you hear that sound from in the evenings. The one on that road. Take the next left, I will show you. 

I decided to follow her lead and took the next left. Curiosity didn’t leave me though and I asked her again to explain the place so that I can navigate better. 

The place of Allah. That masjid which is there on that road. We have to go there. 

A little perplexed, I went ahead and before I knew it my MIL directed me to the parking place just next to a Masjid. Like a pro, she got down, held the helmet and asked me to carry Aryav. I simply obliged because I knew this is going to be an experience I will remember. 

She goes around enquiring like she knows the place well and comes back to me in a hurry.

We need to go ahead in that direction. They don’t do this anymore here. We need to follow that man on the bike, she says pointing at someone who looks like a maulawi (though I am not entirely sure). On the bike again, she tells me that for all her four kids (including my husband), she came to this Masjid and this very same man tied them a thread which helped them heal better. 

He has a healing hand. All the children get cured once he meets them.

We park what seems to be in front of his house and he calls us in. He ties a thread (with a taveez) and puts his hand on Aryav’s head and prays. I watch this in amazement cause Aryav is NOT good with strangers at all and here he is standing calmly just looking at this 70+ old man. We wait for him to finish and he looks at me and tells me Sab theek ho jayega. Fikr Matt karo.

I left that place, with Aryav and my mother-in-law and a memory which will last a lifetime and realisation that there’s always a possibility to find a bond with anyone!

The year of discoveries!

You see something strange and I can see that you are finding it difficult to understand. I decide to let you be, cause I am excited myself to see how this turns out. You just started walking, so in the quest to understand what’s happening, I see you tumbling, close to 10 times. You crawl sometimes, or stand up and try to walk. But I don’t see you giving up, and I don’t see you upset. I see the wonder in your eyes.

You lift your left hand, look at the floor. You repeat the same with your right hand.

I can see that you are thoroughly amused. You look up to check if I am still sitting on the staircase and now, you put up a show for me! It’s your right leg this time which goes up but since your capacity to balance on two legs is equivalent to what I have and we are now talking just one leg, you fumble, and are back on the floor. I decide to watch you because I realise that it’s been a while something amazed me so much. I feel alien to the emotion you are so engulfed in.

You sit up and I see you staring at your fingers placing them on the ground. You look up at me and smile. A smile of sheer excitement.

It’s been a year that you realised you have shadows. It’s been a year of discoveries for you and us (J included).

We have had our share of sleeplessness, anger, patience, joy, frustration. And I am sure you have had your share of tantrums, vaccinations, laughter, irritation at these first-time parents but I think we did well. This last year – all three of us – We did good! Between work, travel, somewhat vacations, I think we found our rhythm.

So now that you have turned two (2.1 as of today), here’s hoping that we do justice to you and raise you well! Belated Happy Birthday Aryav!

 

End of this year!

The husband is sitting and working on a proposal. I can hear him talking to people and discussing with people, who like him, have very distorted definition of a vacation. We’ve never been the end of the year vacation people, but this year warranted it.

This is our second vacation in December. Well, to call the first one a vacation is a delusion of sorts. Cyclone Nada decided to grace us within just 12hours of our landing in the beautiful (how would I know, I haven’t seen it yet) island of Andamans. So we call ourselves lucky to be able to leave the place within 24 hours by a normal aircraft rather than being air-lifted and with a 18month old toddler who refuses to remain still for more anything more than 5seconds.

Anyways, this vacation is about books, sitting by the beach and not running behind the little dude. He is back home being super pampered by his grandmother. The husband was sure that ‘we can have at least 4days a year without him to ourselves’ and it took good persuasion by the mother-in-law to leave him behind. The decision was made 20 minutes before we had to leave.So here I am sure to finish the book in my hand (tonight itself if this proposal doesn’t finish) and a full night sleep realising that our entire vacation agenda is totally dependent on weather the little dude joins us or not.

The conversation is now about Mysore, and hopefully shall be nearing its end. So here’s hoping (for myself) a new year with a patient and calmer toddler, amazing work, new places to travel, time to read and definitely no unexpected cyclones!