Anger

I lost my temper yesterday. Of course my husband will tell you that that’s not something new. Yesterday, however, saw me extremely upset and angry. I do believe there was sufficient cause but I cannot excuse my behaviour. It hurt my son and it hurt me. I lost sleep that night and woke up anxious and with a headache.

My son is autistic – so there was never an easy way to raise him. This is not the time I’d like to share my problems about dealing with him. I only wish to tell anyone reading this to never lose their temper totally – a little is okay. Obviously when you are lashing out at an eight year old who does not have the ability to voice his frustrations, it is much worse. But I figured out that its the fear that leads to anger and hence loss of control. Fear that your child is regressing because he had a really off day. Fear that you will never be able to do enough for him. Fear that he will have no friends and nobody will love him or care for him after you are gone. To live with this fear and anxiety in and out for nearly five years is not easy. To think that it is a permanent thing is paralysing. I have been putting my present on hold in my anxiety for the future and have forgotten how to live. The rational part of me urges me to snap out of it – this too shall pass, it says. My irrational part goes berserk.

Dear God, please let me get through each day with patience and hope and courage to live in the present. And please let my little boy know that I love him more than anything.

Lost mornings...

I used to be an early riser – meaning I’d get up before 6 a.m. I also used to sleep before 9 p.m. That was mainly because I had no life at 18, 19, 20 – oh well, I don’t quite have a life now ten years later (!),but I do have more responsibilities so sleeping at 9 is out.

The problem with being an early riser is that you need something to rise for. Early on in my marriage, I was jobless in California and did not have the wit to figure out how to pass time. If I woke up at my usual time, I would have to just sit there since my husband was a very later riser who would also go to bed only after 12 . We did not go pubbing nor have I ever seen the inside of a nightclub in my life. It was just watching movies or late night shows that kept us up. Since I had the whole day by myself to do nothing, I would get up at 9 or 10!! Loneliness used to hit me bad even with the books I got from the community library. I also was terrified of driving (we did not have a second car anyway) and heartily wished for autos or a snappier bus system or just anywhere to go within 2 miles. Thus started my slide into what eventually became a reluctance to get up early.

Back in India I had enough to keep me occupied. I had to get all my work done before my son woke up so I had to get up early. This was not easy because my son was chronically colicky and would go to sleep only at 3 in the morning. I also did not know how to play with a tiny kid and silence reigned in the household during the daytime – something I discovered was unnatural only much later.

After my daughter came along, I got used to getting up early enough to go through the same routine of finishing chores before the baby woke up but she was really easy to care for-a child who demanded responses and would never settle for silence. Her growth and easy achievement of milestones opened my eyes to the fact that I needed to find help for my son who so preferred silence to communication that I blamed myself for my earlier deficiencies as a mother.

Now when my son is 8 and my daughter 5, I have learned to relish the few moments of quiet I get early in the morning before I have to make breakfast and the chaos begins. I wish to wake up even earlier so that I can walk and rejuvenate myself for the day ahead. Mornings have taken a different meaning for me over the years. I was brought up with the ritual of prayer in the morning. I haven’t done that in a while. I find no time to pray in the hustle and bustle of a busy morning spent in the service of husband, kids and assorted maids. I recall how right it felt to start the day with an offering of flowers and a prayer in my mind. I must get back to it, so I can once again get back my lost mornings.

Why Draupadi is not my favourite....

A character in the Mahabharata who is deified constantly is Draupadi, the wife of the Pandavas. She is epitomised as a true heroine; one with fierce devotion to the Lord Krishna. The story of how she manages to be the wife of five men is a bit silly. Arjuna, the greatest archer of all time, wins her in a competition. It is said that Karna also took part in the same competition but just as he is about to draw his bow, Draupadi taunts him in accordance with Krishna’s hidden gesture. This leads Karna to miss his shot and so Arjuna wins easily. Having won the fair damsel, he takes her home to his mother in company with his brothers. His mother Kunti Devi was busy inside the house and on his request to her to step out and see what he has brought her, she tells him she’s busy and to simply share whatever it is among all of them. They, apparently (like typical Indian men) took her rather literally and thus it was that Draupadi ended up being shared among the Pandavas.

Draupadi however had a strong partiality for the man who won her, namely Arjuna and it is this affection that is considered her major fault. It is but natural that a woman consider one man her husband – how she is supposed to feel the same way for five men and indeed why should she, a princess herself, be subjected to a ridiculous formula of sharing? In any case Arjuna had many other wives including Subhadra, Krishna’s sister – so things were more or less even!

I don’t particularly like Draupadi because of many reasons. The first is of course agreeing to be shared. The second is for laughing inappropriately and causing the Mahabharata war itself! The third is for letting herself be traded as chattel (though I agree she was honour-bound to appear weaker than the men in her life) during the infamous dice game between the Kauravas and the Pandavas. The fourth is for manipulating Bheema ad infinitum. She liked Arjuna better as I’ve mentioned but it was Bheema whom she turned to when she wanted someone killed or just had to have that flower, Kalyanasougandhigam which was almost impossible to obtain. What was the point of having that flower? It could be of no use and would last for at most a few hours once plucked. But the fact is that just asking for the impossible and having a strong man run to get it for her proved to her and indeed anyone else, just how much influence she had over Bheema, who was supposedly the mightiest in the realm.

In my mind, a strong female character should have been able to stand up for herself instead of passively accepting painful situations. Her character should inspire other women instead of teaching them to be manipulative and vengeful. There is not a single quality that makes her stand out as an epitome of womanhood – instead she is simply an ordinary character with ordinary emotions and a common mindset.

Philosophy at Breakfast...

“Amma!” piped up the five-year old at breakfast. “What?” I asked , none too sweetly – she was taking such a long time over her breakfast as usual that I was getting edgy. Meanwhile my son was staring off into space possibly ruminating on the fate of the farmers who grew the rice and urad dal that went into the making of his formerly crisp but currently very cloth-like dosa.

“Did you see God?” continued Mahi unabashedly. I swallowed hard and thought fast. What do I say? I told her there was a God over the years but I didn't specify as to colour or characteristics. I could say that I had seen God but that was not strictly true, was it? On the other hand I could not say I didn't see God because that would be followed by a “why not?”. So I thought fast and asked her “Did you see God?”. She nodded serenely over her mushy cereal “Yesterday, at school”. I did a double-take. “Really???” “Yes, Amma”, she said smiling up at me. “I saw God and so did Amit and Tamanna and Ritu. God was alone way up there. He didn't know our names so he only smiled.” My throat closed up at her words. “So did you like God?” “Yes, he was nice”, she said chewing a spoonful of decidedly spongy chocos. “So it was a he?” “Oh, yes”, she replied, confirming my deep-seated doubt that the universe was definitely headed by a male.

I sat down at the table, closed the newspaper and watched my kids eat. They were smiling at each other and twinkling their eyes and they looked at me waiting for the next “Oh hurry up you two” from their nagging mom. Yes, I think I have seen God too :-)

The perfect moment...

It was a really hot afternoon. Our car which was recently banged up in an accident did not return from the garage despite repeated follow-ups. So we took a taxi to the school carnival. Appu was excited about going in a taxi even if it meant that he was going to be hot and sticky and cramped.Mahi was less excited about the means of travel – rather she was excited about the carnival and the promise of meeting friends. I just wanted to get it over with.

The carnival was set up in a bare ground next to the school. A few stalls were set up as well as a merry-go-round. I bought some coupons and had the kids go for a ride. One of Appu's teachers came along and said that Appu's recitation would be right after the opening song. I nodded gravely while the butterflies attacked my stomach with a vengeance. How many times had I gone to 'performances' by my son only to shake my head sadly at his sincere but ridiculous displays! Oh he tried , my brave little one but he was always bundled in the 'special' category and the applause was usually out of pity rather than genuine admiration. I did not look forward to such a display again. I did not have him practice at home and indeed I believed it to be a complete waste of time. My husband was still on his way and I hoped he would be in time to watch our son because however painful it was for us, we definitely didn't want to let our son down by not being in the front row encouraging him.

In just a few minutes, the opening song started. I panicked thinking my husband would not be on time. Then I took Appu's hand and told him how he must tell the story in front of the mike and to be sure to do a good job. He told me he didn't want to speak into any mike. I told him I wouldn't hear him without a mike so he must try his best. By that time the song had ended and just as the teacher was approaching, my husband called saying he had made it to the main road but could I take the taxi to pick him up – I said I couldn't for then both of us would miss Appu's program. So it turned out that his dad never made it on time and my mom and I nervously watched the stage where the teacher had set up the mike not quite straight so Appu had to bend a little to speak into it.

The teacher announced Appu's story recitation. He started speaking holding the mike stand with one hand and the other hand held behind his back. He spoke clearly with a lot of expression and the right amount of emphasis. In between he smiled at me and his teacher. He frowned at the right places and stressed the right words and wound up with a flourish and a “The End!”. Everyone clapped. I overheard other parents saying how good he was. His teachers had tears running from their eyes. I stood dry-eyed bursting with pride and hugged him tight. My mother kept crying. It was the most perfect moment for me. Even if I am not allowed another like it I shall cherish it like nothing else – the image of my son standing proud and confident enthralling an audience with his words ...

Clueless...

I am probably one of the most clueless mothers around. Well yes I was partially responsible for their creation. I also delivered them naturally without anaesthesia of any sort and in considerable pain. After that I wasn't sure what to do with them. I mean it was fine when they were tiny babies. You had to put things at one end and clean them when they came out the other. They were basically tubes that could cry and keep you awake at nights but they were also (and this is important) very cute and so I didn't mind doing any of these things when they were small. As they grew older, however, I found my patience growing conversely shorter. Now when they are 8 and 5 , I honestly don't know how I am supposed to entertain them when they are at home. If I don't, they only watch TV which might be the bane of civilization but a boon when you have ill children or five guests for lunch and you just want to get on with your work.

During the course of a normal day, I don't really do much for the kids when they get back from school except make sure they are washed and then cook up some fresh snacks for them and then send them out to play after an hour or so. Then they play , come back , have dinner and do homework. After that its bed time - the bath and bed are handled by my husband so really its easy on normal days except for my fetish of giving them fresh food (the less packaged stuff , the better). But when they have tons of holidays or they are not feeling well, it becomes really difficult for me to get a quiet moment. I mean , can you imagine a whole day of "Don't yell at your sister!" "Don't kill your brother""Do try not to push each other down the stairs""Do you have to watch TV all day?" "Share the computer - I cannot buy one for each!!" and so on. This is interspersed with "You have been eating breakfast for an hour - its just a bowl of cereal - how long do you need??""Will you finish your lunch by tomorrow morning?" "Stop sitting on the remote!!"

I then feel guilty and volunteer to read to them - my elder one says "No, Amma!" and the little girl wants me to read fifteen books at one sitting while she repeats after me. The one who absolutely needs to master reading has no interest in it.The one who is already advanced wants to learn more! So there really isn't any point in my activities with the kids. We do have fun some of the time with the three of us dancing or fooling around but to be honest they just happen and I do not orchestrate them.

So am I a passable mother? Hard to say - I think one can learn almost anything else by reading up on it but being a good mother has to come from within - I just fumble along hoping that they grow up reasonably rich enough to afford therapy and slam their mom should they need to :-)

Positively alright

Positivity of spirit is much harder to achieve than sinking to negativity. It is easier to be pessimistic because most of the time it means that you end up saying,”See – I was right after all!”. I know many people who are naturally pessimistic and negative. I am one of them. But I know of only a very few who sound positive all the time. I have often wondered how people from similar backgrounds and educational qualifications have such different philosophies.
I used to believe that those who thought positively were more simplistic because they did not calculate all the odds that could go against them when analysing a particular situation. I have since changed my mind about that. Those who think positively are not unaware of the pitfalls of a situation, they simply choose to believe that all odds are in their favour and they will come out successful and lo and behold, they are right! The power of thought is not to be trivialised – one can actually will one’s success.
I remember a time when as the song says “Everything’s going my way” was a sort of theme in my life. I never knew a lot of negative consequences and they simply didn’t happen to me. My elder sister, on the other hand, who influenced me greatly, was wholeheartedly negatively and continues to be so. She would be afraid of exams and she’d score poorly. She would be sure everything would go wrong and indeed everything would. She had difficulty studying, getting a job, travelling, getting a recipe right – the whole works. But the point was she wasn’t really bad at any of these – just that she never got to any level without a lot of heartache. I used to think she was born unlucky till I got married and my husband suggested frankly that her attitude might be the key and not the other way around. I realised he was right because when she had a major crisis in her life which was enough to destroy anyone, she fought like a tigress and created a miracle when experts had written her son off. She put her whole heart into her fight and she took a year to turn her son around from a nearly non-verbal child with strong autistic traits to one who was the class topper in a regular school!
So the power of the mind is truly great. I have often tried to figure out when it was that I changed from a confident female to one who was wary and hesitant of trying anything new and afraid of making mistakes at every step. Perhaps it was when I realised life wasn’t all smooth sailing and I had my share of tough problems I screwed up. But that can never be a reason to give up. Life is not a straight line, it is really full of blind curves and you may fail at some points but it’s important to go on with the hope and faith that everything will indeed go your way and it will – be absolutely sure that it will.

A split second...

It took only a split-second. But the effects were long-lived. It was a late Saturday morning and we were on our way to my friend’s place for lunch. I was really excited to be going since I hadn't seen my friend in a long while and so were the kids for they adore any outing. The music was playing and I was humming along happily when I felt the car lurch to an abrupt stop followed by the sound of a sickening thud and an immediate webbing of fine cracks on the windshield. My daughter who is five got frightened and started sobbing. My son was upset that the car ‘broke’ as he put it. I felt nothing just an eerie calm underlying the thought that was a prayer “Let whoever hit us not be dead, oh God!” My husband, S jumped out and so did the driver. It was a scooter that hit us. There were two people on it. Neither was wearing a helmet as the rules require and the guy in the lead had head injuries but was able to sit up and talk. They were overtaking a bus and were on the wrong side of the road – our car was fairly large but they didn’t see us – we rammed the brakes and so the accident was not fatal. It couldn’t have been avoided because there was no place for us to swerve except onto the bus the scooter guys were overtaking. The car shows a clean cut right in the middle of the bonnet and the windshield shows the impact of the man’s head exactly in the centre.
Immediately after the accident, as is the case anywhere in India, people swarmed over the car and started to terrorize us for we were in the bigger vehicle. It didn’t bother them that there were two small children scared witless in the car or that we were being harassed for no fault of our own. Our insurance will prove any day how careful we were over the years. My husband insists that even in the middle of the night, the driver needs to follow all the rules like he does. It’s a common enough practice in Bangalore to flout every traffic rule so that you can inconvenience others in order to land up where you are going 3 minutes earlier than expected. Lanes are drawn to be ignored and if there is any way to cause a jam, then go for it.
In any case, they tried to scare us because we were not ‘Kannadigas’ – meaning we weren’t originally from Karnataka. They insisted we pay for the scooter as well as for the hospitalization charges of the two scooter riders. We refused. They were in the wrong and scaring us or threatening us with violence wouldn’t change the truth. But no one was interested in the truth – they wanted to see some action. The kids and I got back home in a taxi while S and the driver, K went to the police station to file a complaint. The police did not want to file a complaint. They kept them waiting till eight in the night and suggested that a compromise was better than complaining officially. The scooter meanwhile was towed in and it was found that it had neither insurance nor indeed any other documentation. The twenty people who had assembled to fight for the scooter riders began to disperse when they figured out that no one was going to get any money – neither the police nor the scooter guys. So both sides filed a complaint and the car lay in the police station for three days since it was a long weekend. We finally got the car back and the cost of repairing it amounts to the price of four good quality scooters. The insurance will cover 60 to 70 percent but the car would take 15 working days to be fixed.
We may have to go to court when the summons comes along and I bet that the other party will not show up. It may take 7 or 8 years before the case is even settled and if we want to sell the car off in the interim, we will not be allowed to but even then there is some satisfaction in sticking up for oneself and taking a stand when everyone else was saying “ Just compromise or they’ll trouble you” . Appearances are all that matter in today’s India – perception rules and truth has no place whether in government or day-to-day life. Almost everyone I know especially the IT crowd in Bangalore just don’t want hassles – they would just pay and move on to avoid unpleasantness because they don’t have the time to wait endless hours in government agencies. We were also like that – never stepping out of our comfort zone or dealing with anything less than pristine. But it is possibly this attitude that bolsters those who prey on the law-abiding. We should just refuse to be cowed, to bribe, to agree to ‘adjust’ – in short we should just stick to what’s right and not what’s convenient.

Pride and Prejudice

I love Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” with an irrational passion. I have read it so many times I have truly lost count. I do not know of a single male friend or acquaintance who can stomach it though. What makes this book so irresistible to me? It is not easy to come up with an answer – it’s sort of like asking “why do you love your kids?”
I have known this book ever since I was 14 years old. I loved it then for the storyline. I love it now for the humour and the accuracy of the picturisations of all the characters. I feel like I have known Darcy since he was a child. Elizabeth was probably my best friend. How I wished I could talk like her! Mr Collins truly had me sniggering and his style of proposing was beyond ridiculous. I have to admit I never liked Jane. She sort of reminds me of Aishwarya Rai and reeks of being too perfect. The delicious way Elizabeth spars with the horribly jealous Miss Bingley has to be read over and over again to be truly savoured.
The contemptuous Mr Bennet and his airheaded and hysterical wife along with the wicked Mr Wickham are other characters not to be missed. I know whole portions of the book by heart. I suppose it sounds rather weird to have such strong attachment to a book in this age of ‘e-everything’ but perhaps it’s the memories associated with it that make the book all the more precious to me.
The highlight of the book has to be Darcy’s haughty proposal and Elizabeth’s unforgettable rejection – “You are mistaken Mr Darcy if you suppose that the mode of your declaration has affected me in any other manner than as it spared me the concern which I might have felt in refusing you ,had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner!”. Phew! Isn’t that really awesome? Yes, I did write it from memory. Of course the two do get married at the end but that’s just to be expected.

Good deeds

My father was a generous soul. A man with a huge laugh, a big temper and an utterly generous heart. He gave and gave of himself till there was nothing left to give. He helped people even when he found himself with nothing in his pocket. By today’s standards he was a failure. He never made any money. But that never deterred him from continuing to help people. More often than not he was rewarded with ingratitude but that didn’t faze him. He always said that it is the good acts that we do that is the greatest gift we can give our children.
Many times I have resented my parents for never letting me join any extracurricular activity while in school because the extra fees were difficult for them to pay. I never understood how my father could feed as many as twenty people every weekend but not find the money to pay for a dancing class. Perhaps because it was considered frivolous or inessential. Many times I have felt bad because I saw the way my relatives sniggered behind his back about his devotion to his chosen guru and grumbled because he didn’t get them jobs in the Gulf or pay money for them to get something or the other. My father’s three children never demanded anything of him and I firmly believe it is because of that that all of us managed to do reasonably well in life. We never whined but took our lack of comforts in our stride growing up.
At times when I least expect it, I get help from people that I cannot possibly repay even in gratitude. At times like that I remember my father fondly – with his acts of generosity he has ensured that I would never want for help. I have also found out that the people you help out are the ones least likely to help you back – so never expect it. Instead repay a good deed with another so that what goes around comes around and keep the spirit of generosity alive so that your children will be blessed with the greatest gift of all.

Double standards

Double standards are a way of life in India. There is one law for the people who can afford it and another for those who can’t. A well-connected or public personality can and very often does get away with murder. Take the well known case of a Bollywood actor, Salman Khan, who ran over four people sleeping on the sidewalk outside a bakery in Mumbai. He killed one and injured the other three and then ran away. When the police reached his home, he slinked out the back door. Talk about taking responsibility for one’s actions and being a role model to the hundreds of thousands of fans who adore him. There can be no excuse for his actions. Those defenceless people were not on the road. Was he drunk or perhaps talking on his cell phone? It is a tribute to the law enforcement agency of the nation, that a murderer walked away scot free. He is still making movies. He is still enjoying a high profile lifestyle. Who cares about the dead chap? He couldn’t have been important in any way.
The same goes for another actor who was convicted and sentenced on the charges of harbouring weapons which were later used in the Mumbai bomb blasts of 1993. Due to a widespread uproar, he actually spent a few years in prison but he was only convicted of the lesser charge and wasn’t prosecuted under the TADA (Terrorists and Disruptive Activities [Prevention] Act). While it was entirely possible he didn’t intend to aid or abet terrorism, which sane person would keep grenades and AK-56s in his house? He tried to destroy the guns but failed. The Bombay blasts were responsible for taking 257 lives with over a thousand injured. Now Sanjay Dutt is out and contesting for a seat in Parliament. This can only happen in India – as a convicted criminal, why should he be given the chance to be a part of the nation’s government. Considering his popularity rise after the ‘Munnabhai ‘movies which portrayed him as a large-hearted Robin Hood like character, it is entirely possible that the masses will mistake his screen persona for his real one and elect him from Lucknow.
The cases don’t end here. Many public cases of rashness and violence amounting to grave crimes have been swept under the carpet because the accused have enough influence to pay away the law. What might be even worse is that law abiding people get persecuted because they are soft targets. It is grossly unfair and we should stand up and fight against being imposed upon at any level instead of just letting things slide. The first step is the hardest.