Random Bits And Pieces To My Grown-Up-Version Daughter

It's mid-afternoon in Mumbai, the month of December, but a scorchingly hot day, straight out of mid-May. My four-year old daughter is wearing three layers of clothes - my sheer jacket, her fur-vest and my ridiculously large-bowed plaid shirt that fits her as a maxi. (The things I buy for compulsively keeping up with fashion.) She's twirling all around the room, drunkenly swaying to "Love you Zindagi". Her eyes have got this virgin sparkle, going with the theme of all the pink and purple sequins that she's tossed on the floor in the name of art. Of course, it's completely normal in our house to have some degree of tacky pinkness on the floor or on our faces at any given time of the day.

To my dear girl as I look at you today,

I can see it in your eyes that there is no other acceptable form of life for you right now, except the one that involves you in the centre of your bubbling joy. It doesn't matter who joins you in your over-the-top party. You are your own party. As much as I enjoy looking at this right now, I can't help wondering if you would eventually, like the rest of us, cross this rainbow-zone to join us in the world of self-restraint, measured happiness, shuffling forever between aspirations, the past and future, never quite belonging to the moment. (Pray not.)

And that is why I've decided to write to you some random bits of wisdom, nothing of too much consequence, but hopefully nothing you'd want to pay a deaf ear to or filter off as "These Millennials - they'll never understand us."

Take it from me love. While mother-daughter gyaan is subject to change as we move forward, these are some valuable words that'll come to your rescue, when the Google search engine won't. Oh, and while we're on the subject, can you promise me never to Google medical symptoms? Instead, look up idioms on Urban Dictionary. Or indie artists on Wikipedia. Or any wickedly charming anti-heroes you fancy. Try Pablo Escobar.

You might look up Escobar. But the rest, you're going to disregard. I can tell.

One day, you'll leave my cushy nest and embark on your own journey. For all the little things in life, of course, you'll have your friends and cousins and aunts and uncles and parents and grandparents to turn to. Even then, the only counsel that will matter, at times, is that of your heart. And that's when it'll all get very confusing. I can't blame you. You heart what you heart. And that heart of yours - it's a tricky beast to capture. The only way I know about it is to take a step back, slowly disentangle yourself from its lure and remind yourself that you're enough. It may work. It may not. But always sleep on it before you go blindly chasing what that nasty red devil wants.

This one too, you're going to disregard. I can tell.

OK, so for all practical purposes, why don't I just tell you things that'll actually be of some use to you, instead of giving you trite, self-help mantras that everybody quotes at friendly brunches but nobody actually follows? Maybe, these'll make the process of growing-up less complicated.

Or not.

25 Bits And Pieces From Mama (Enriched With My Half-Life Experiences)

1. You're never too old/ too fat/too full/ too sick to eat  ice-cream: And I'm safely assuming you're not going to be the vegan/ froyo/cake-trumps-ice-cream category. God, p-l-e-a-s-e, tell me you aren't. First of all the cake vs ice-cream argument is moot. You can have both! And ice-cream's a life-saver. Got me through heart-aches and headaches. Brightened my dull days. Kept my food down during my final pregnancy term. So, please just keep a tub of it handy in your refrigerator. Right now, you love it so here's hoping.

2. Never give up your seat: Well, you should make an exception to pregnant women and senior citizens. But definitely not to anxious-looking, grouchy aunties and uncles. They're still going to look as miserable so one miserable person is better than two.

3. Travel. Alone or with your tribe: And if a spontaneous plan comes up, fight for it! Cos that's the only time when all of you will be available. Learn new languages, eat with chopsticks, however futile it may seem, karaoke, and never sit it out when you want to. ( I'm referring to strictly dancing here.)

4. And while you're travelling, take a polaroid cam: No staged-camera pictures and duck-face selfies (or whatever animal you're channelling these days) with mountains in the background please! Polaroid may be ridiculously retro but film cameras make the perfect holiday postcard. Plus they pack a lot of memories.

5. Clean the kitchen top before you sleep: 'Cos if next morning Shanta mausi doesn't show up, you'd not have to drag yourself with half-open eyes to the kitchen and moments later, storm out of it in utter disgust only to head to Starbucks.

6. Look in the mirror and find something you like: Yes, that silhouette is fascinating on you. Your smile is worth a million-dollars, your curls frame your face nicely and no, that tiny stain on your brand-new, white pants isn't that pronounced. (I just saved you half-hour.) Incidentally, that is the gist of what you're saying to me now. ("Mom, stop staring at the mirror. Your hair looks great!")

7. Don't leave the house in PJs. Not even the cute starry ones. They're not the most flattering in bright lights.

8. Always keep wet wipes in your bag: By the way, you introduced me to them. And boy, are they a miraculous find! Work on stains, smudged kohl, and dirty leather alike.

9. If a boy/man pulls a chair for you on the first date and leaves you stranded while he goes talks to his friends on the second, he's not worth it: Human behaviour is inconsistent. But such swift inconsistencies, you can do without. You'd rather be with someone who doesn't pull a chair for you at all.

10. Don't be a quitter: And if for any reasons involving your sanity you are one, have a back-up plan and don't look back.

11. Don't swallow your feelings or pride: And if you must, don't gorge them down with cold French fries or old doughnuts. That's wasting precious calories.

12. Step out often: But wear sunscreen. Actually just wear it regardless. We've fuckin' polluted every place.

13. Be somebody's speed-dial: And have someone on speed-dial. Or whatever you're calling it these days. Especially useful for post-midnight apocalypses.

14. Knock lightly before you open a deserted cabinet. You don't want poor unsuspecting lizards dropping on your feet.

15. When you get to your thirties, always make room for Aunt Ruby. She can barge in any time. (You may want to look up Aunt Ruby under long-dead idioms.)

16. Is it worth doing it everyday when you hate it so much? Just learn to trust somebody with your laundry.

17. There is such a thing as the chain of assholery: Please don't give sweethearts grief for what jerks did to you. Cos Karma's watching and she's a bitch who loves moving in circles.

18. It doesn't help to be stressed-out and whiny:  (Something I'm working on personally.) Take it from me. Things will be out of control once in a while. And nobody likes a whiner. Plus it brings on early wrinkles.

19. Always carry something to a party. Even if it's just rye-bread. (No, not rye-bread really.)

20. Once in a while, know how to push the right buttons. Cos the world moves on push-technology, if used correctly.

21. Saying 'Sorry' shouldn't be a knee-jerk reflex: Don't we often end up saying "Sorry" for being trampled on? Train your reflexes to not do that. Right now, you assess the situation and damage before saying you're sorry. In other words, I have to eyeball it out of you. You got it babe.

22. Don't watch any classics or Jane Austen based movies with your man: Cos he'll ruin it for you. I can't watch Pride and Prejudice with a straight-face any more.

23. As a rule, I know you're going to disregard everything over-concerned Aunties tell you. But if you find an aunt with large, pop-coloured eyeglasses/crazy purple hair/a biker jacket/a stack of Virginia Woolfs in her library, pay close attention.

24. Greet everyone and treat them as you'd like them to treat you: Cos a kind word goes a long way. Besides, you don't want the server spitting in your coffee.

25: Never wear white-on-whites: Top five things to get jinxed. After freshly-ironed hair in monsoons and spotlessly clear skin before a really important day.

I asked you what you want for your 5th birthday. You couldn't decide between a long vacation, a labradoodle or a superhero party. Eventually, you gave up the idea of a party cos you were afraid you wouldn't get enough gifts.

I hope you  keep this thirst and spirit for life, however material and self-absorbed, alive.

Cos kid, you're worth so much more to me.

The Introverted Parent Trap

Image Source: Presspack

Scenes From An Early Morning School Drop-Off:

[Dark, greyed elevator...something of a quiet place to shut your eyes in for a few seconds.]

I hop—wait, I am merely sliding in —with my four-year old daughter gleefully jumping into it first with her eight-watts smile, disturbing the whole atmosphere without even saying anything. Morning person much? A man and two other women join us, hounding and blocking what I consider my free breathing space. Each of us moves to light up our destination digits, makes brief eye contact and zones out in our individual fortresses.

I pick the dark corner that also lets out a secret vent for my benefit. Saanvi continues to intrusively study everyone, keeping her wide-eyed smile. Of course, she can't stand still even for ten seconds. She notices something and yells at me from another corner, pointing crudely at the only man in the elevator.

 "Mom! Mom! Look at him. He is wearing dad's t-shirt."

Of course, that remark is open to wide interpretations and I'm mortified. But I've learned the hard way that whatever I do in a desperate attempt to salvage is only going to backfire. So I just give her a half-smile and avoid eye-contact in general. I'm counting in my head to get the fuck out of everyone's hair when comes another uninvited remark.

"Uncle, can you give it back? Papa really likes that t-shirt."

Obviously, now I have to dive in head first with apologetic giggles that only get drowned in the roaring laughter coming from the seemingly-polite ladies in the elevator.

Kids say the ballsiest things, don't they? That's cool.

Mostly, they say things that overwhelm you and outnumber you in rapid sentences. And that's OK too I guess.

But if you're an introvert like me, it can get exhausting.

Last year, we went on a holiday to Bintan. Saanvi had just turned three that year. It was her birthday. We had a quiet dinner at an Indian restaurant so she could have her lunch staples—roti and bhindi—as opposed to Ramen and pizza. She picked the table next to a sweet Indian couple. The entire time we were there, our tables were shuffled incredibly close together with her chair facing the Indian couple. I felt sorry for them 'cos they seemed to be newly married. My husband took a picture of us from that day. The couple was downright jubilant to be in our company. Saanvi was in mid-sentence. And me - well, I had this sheepish, awkward smile.

Like I wanted to get out of there as fast I possibly can.

And that is definitive of how I feel when we're out as an introverted mom and extroverted daughter duo. 'Cos here's the thing about being an introvert. You want to be able to control the volume of conversations. So, when I'm talking to people, one-on-ones with people I know are ideal.  Group-conversations are next best cos you get to catch your breaths a lot. Of course, I love my friends! I'd meet them with their kids too, sometimes craving for a cup of coffee with them in the middle of the night, imagining the kids all tucked in with a nice classic, say Wizard of Oz, while we sit outside and indulge in some petty, slanderous gossip about everyone we know.

But the perennial introverted parent trap arises in one form or the other. Like in the following situations:

• When you're amidst strangers in a long journey and you're forced to engage in conversations 'cos your chatty daughter won't have it any other way. And she won't even nap cos that'll get in the way of discovering new people. (New people are over-hyped.)
• When you're in the company of society park moms who're engaging in long conversations with your daughter asking her interesting open-ended questions. And you kind of feel obligated to do the same with their kids.
• When you've had a long, tiring day of relentless conversations with your little jabberer and you're ready to call it a night. And your daughter asks you to cook up a fairy tale from your imagination and narrate it to her. One that does not end with, "And she was tired, miserable and sleepy ever after."

I know what you may be thinking. Am I even remotely implying that my energetic daughter is making me miserable? So what if she talks a lot?

Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful each day for having a little ray of happy, bouncing sunshine in my life. And she's a good conversationalist. Not kidding. She talks like a grown-up. She'll talk about anything from fun science facts to philosophy, sometimes she'll just make up her own trivia for the sake of conversation fillers.

But for me, in order to be a functional mother, who listens to her and  nurtures her with the same sort of love and energy every day, I have some alone-time mandates. Maybe, it is a little selfish. But my me-time refuels me, sometimes more than a good night's sleep, more than my other basic necessities in life.

And that's when I knew what I need to do in order to survive motherhood. So that I can over-indulge myself in uninvited conversations. So that I can make it through birthday parties without feeling like a deflated party balloon. So that I don't go looking for a spiritual connect before letting another person into my space. So that I can flit from one group to another without having to feel like an alien. Which is the hardest part for an introvert by the way. When we find a comfortable space, we cling to it with all our might. So chances are, even when I'm out on a social spree, you'll always find me with the one person I started my first cocktail with. That is if said-person hasn't abandoned me. (I do have social abandonment issues.)

So here are some everyday guidelines I've laid down for myself:

1. Tuning out from the world completely: Alone-time is not hard to come by since we're a nuclear family. So, I put my phone on silent, sit with a book/writing pad /mindless television, whatever the need of the hour and stay put for as long as it takes to feel rejuvenated.

2. Starting my day ten minutes earlier than everyone: Sometimes, all it takes is five deep breaths,  a dose of morning fresh air and quiet to get me up and about.  The realization that the world hasn't started needing you yet  is divine energy.

3. Having a job that doesn't necessitate face-time: Because honestly, what good can come of a room full of people trying to fill up air with their own stuck-up ideas and making themselves look important? Fine, maybe greater good that can potentially change governments. But fortunately for me, I'm still trying to get all the way back to jump-starting my career and I realize that with my skills, I could potentially even work from a remote island. As long as it has WI-Fi.

4. Music: Big part of my survival kit. I can absolutely not do any sort of physical activity without my playlist. It is therapeutic. Irrespective of whether you're an introvert or extrovert, it's important to have at least one thing in your life that is meant just for your personal pleasure. My playlist is one of them.

5. Letting it go: You may try to mingle more and be more receptive to others and put yourself out there more often. But you can't change who you are. I try to accept that and not beat myself about it. I fail miserably but I try again.

Of course, it fills me with an inexplicable envy when I see bright, cheerful moms who can fill the room with their positive vibes and radiant energy. But I've come to healthy terms with the fact that I'm just not one of them. I'm happy to spend my alone-time refuelling for random play-dates and spontaneous social events that tend to drain the life out of me.

As long as I'm there in body and spirit, I'm enough.

Welcome To The Sorority of Mothers!

Image Source: Pinterest

I ring the bell. A young-ish, attractive lady with dark rings under her eyes, which I think is a trademark feature of nearly all moms including me, answers the door. I greet her with the sort of enthusiasm that deep down I know is kinda fake but on the surface, it seems only natural. She greets me back with a little less enthusiasm. I enter the room and the conversations gradually die down. It's a bit stifling to stand there, when four pairs of eyes that instantly flocked to me in warm welcome earlier, are now holding me at the door, sizing me up. OK, fine. I haven't seen them in a while and things are bound to change one way or another.

But wait. Is it me or do I sense a bit of hostility?

Me [sheepishly]: What's up guys? Am I late?
Mommy 1: No. Class is just about to end. Where were you?
Me: Oh! It's just that I come to the park a little late now. Household errands to finish. You know how it is.
Mommy 2 [looking straight out of a soap-opera ending]: We mean where were you at the beginning of class? We came in and saw Saanvi all by herself!
Me [quizzical face]: What do you mean all by herself? Mommy 3 told me class is going to start in ten minutes. And she asked me whether I wanted to stay to meet the teacher or leave. I thought I'll meet the teacher after class. And since, Kid 3 and Saanvi had settled down to play, there was no reason to stay.
Mommy 2 [catty smile]: WE wait for the teacher to come. Even though we'd love to take off for a run just like that.
Me [cattier smile]: Oh, do you? Join me tomorrow won't you? You need it.
Mommy 1: Stop it guys! Accha tell me. Is Saanvi going to a big school yet? Have you at least thought about which school you're enrolling her in....

I don't know how picking up my kid from a class quickly spiralled down to being an audition of "Who's the Crappiest Mom?"

But I know what was happening there. The sorority was beckoning me. They were punishing me for being lax with my kid. And taking them for granted. In the world of moms, UNACCEPTABLE!

Umm...have I lost you? Let me explain.

Maybe I should start by saying something about myself. You see, I have never been the kind of person who like to belong to a sorority or a club or any group of like-minded people. For that reason, I never was a part of any. I didn't join Rotaract or AISEC in college, even though most of the people I'd have liked to get to know better were a part of it. It's cos I'm just so much better at one-one conversations than group discussions. I also think that when you are a part of a big group, you act and behave differently — groups have a tendency of bringing out the ugly side of people. Fine, I'm just being weird about it. Well, the truth is I'm an introvert so that's got a lot to do with what I feel about large groups and gatherings. Sure, I'd love to belong to a sorority where everyone's got my back. But I've got my family and friends for that. That's just redundant then, isn't it?

So, it only came as a surprise to me, that after I became a mum, I was unknowingly pulled into the biggest sorority ever - the sorority of mums.

Initially, I didn't understand. I was enjoying the whole new independence of taking my baby out to the mall by myself but on an unfortunate day, she'd start wailing, producing unfamiliar, high-voltage sounds that could bring down the whole mall. I'd look around helplessly, pretending she wasn't my baby. And just out of nowhere, an empathetic mom would emerge and hold my baby for me while I got her feeding bottle out. We'd be sitting at a restaurant — well, I'd be sitting and my husband would be taking our baby sight-seeing around the restaurant while I continued to wolf down my delicious, steaming-hot sizzler. A mom from another table would look at me, smile and say, "I've been there." I'd be in the ladies room, in one of the booths with my three-year old daughter expounding at length the sacred ritual of my private business for the benefit of everyone. And I'd hear a giggle from the other booth and while washing hands, another lady, smiling ear-to-ear, would tell me how I'm never going to pee alone. EVER.

It took me a while to accept my unannounced, lifetime membership into the Universal Mommy club. But now that I am a somewhat-known member, I'd like to say Thank You! Thank you stranger moms for having my back when I needed it the most. Thank you society park moms for listening to my rants, even though most of them featured DIY jellyfish costumes, Peppa Pig anecdotes and the very popular "What are you paying your kid's nanny?"(Not that I have one.) Thank you mommy groups for teaching me how to say "Hang in there." or "I know what you mean" to other moms before sucker-punching them with "You should have known better."

Mostly, I'm happy to be in this beautiful, all-inclusive club that comes with  free playdates, Ellen Degeneres type heart-to-hearts and party favours. Although, I still don't know if I whole-heartedly BELONG to this wonderful tribe of women raising children. There are times when, I won't deny, I feel like I'm above just being a mom and I want to have a life of my own. A life that includes uninterrupted Game of Thrones marathons, writing guest columns for Vogue, Sangria nights with single women-friends and talking at length of vague, cotton-candy dreams and high-flying vacation itineraries. It is in those moments that I find myself withdrawing from this club. I find myself taking other moms for granted and judging them. I cringe away from moms who speak their mind a little too blatantly and tell me how to raise my kid. I feel both inspired and intimidated by moms who go a little over-the-top to add magic to their children's lives (while all I can do is add Maggi Magic Masala to my everyday aloo-gobhi).

But even in those weak moments, my sorority comes forth to the rescue and pulls me back. Sometimes, my tribe wants me to tag along and do everything with them, exactly the way they're doing it, including talking about the baby's bowel movements and romantic  in the same sentence. But mostly, they just plain understand me. And when, in my confused identity, I started relating more to my single friends or married friends without babies, my tribe stood there by me and guided me back. They make you appreciate how much fun it can be to raise a family and yea, the fact that they're also pretty much like me. Juggling their personal dreams with familial reality and going a wee bit crazy on the way.

And it occurred to me, that no matter what they'd say to me, no matter how much we'd annoyingly ramble on about baby fat, no matter what I'd feel about them, no matter how much I'd run and hide from them, we're sisters of the same sorority. For life.

And I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that.

Are you a happy mom? But do you also sometimes feel the need to pretend to be, you know, NOT a super-mom and just an ordinary girl wanting your ME-time? Mommies, I'd love to hear from you!

Well Barbie, We Meet Again

Photo Credits: Her Uncle, Surya Chaturvedi

Is there a girl on this planet who hasn't been moved by the appeal of Barbie? Either it tugged at all your heartstrings until you broke into a Barbie ballad or it vexed you to the point of chewing off her head. And her beautiful shoes.

Or like me, you were somewhere in between. I was sorta a doll person but I was an easily distractible child. My interests kept moving from skinny, poker-faced dolls to congenial-looking, fuller puppet dolls and robust superhero figures; basically whatever lent to the tone of my tea party, life-saving quests, tree-climbing escapades and other pastime lures. I didn't really idolize Barbie too much, but I gotta say her glimmering mermaid gowns and lulu skirts were too haute couture to resist. Add to that an unattainable hourglass figure, a smashing boyfriend, a dream shoe closet and knees that bend both ways and you know you want to grow up to be just like her!

Obviously, for those very reasons and her annoying 'come hither' expression, there comes a time in your life when you loathe her with all your might. And poor Barbie still struggles to prove her worth to the world at large, including feminists - that she's not just a pretty face living in a fancy bubble. She took her exact same measurements and doll face across diverse, smart professions. She was a photographer, an astronaut, an US presidential candidate, a rock diva, a doctor and thanks to recent commercials, a professor, a soccer coach, a vet, well everything that you could possibly want her to be. And if parents like me are getting peeved with her empty stares, Hola new Barbie! The Hello Barbie series is programmed to have intelligent, politically-correct conversations with children belonging to various ethnicities, recording their responses and leading with new questions. Of course, the immediate concern with that one is won't her engagement come in the way of her role-playing ability in child neverland?

When I look back at the journey of Barbie, I feel a bit sad for her. I wouldn't say she's necessarily a bad role model. In fact, I'm even tempted to go ahead and say that the reason Barbie is trying so hard to please everyone is because of her to-die-for figure and her beautiful face. Had she been a little hard on the eyes, or carrying a bit of holiday weight every now and then, or sporting some occasional acne like us lesser mortals, she wouldn't have to try this hard to prove her worth. She wouldn't go on to fight against phrases such "You're such a Barbie" to imply insipidity, narcissism, an all-hair-but-no-brain existence and above all, a woman who's perennially a damsel in distress. Maybe it's her trademark commitment to flawlessness and anorexic waistline that make us feel threatened. We fear that our little girls would in some way internalize that perfect, skinny ideal and not appreciate any other shape as acceptable. Barbie, frozen in her utopian bliss, could potentially be tipping little girls over to the real world of body shaming, low self-esteem and food abuse.

Nevertheless, I feel for her, for as far as I can recall as a little girl, she was super-fun. And yet, when I see my three-year old girl slowly edging towards the 'Barbie world', only to linger on with her for hours, I am a bit wary. Cos now I'm an over-analytical, paranoid parent who believes that little children draw lessons from everything around them. So if I watch her play with a tad too many pink princesses, I fight back temptation to throw in a scientist doll. I try to bring in a bit of diversity in the hairstyles and dresses she sports and when Peaches fusses over her hair, I emphasize that she doesn't mind frizzed-out hair once in a while.

And then I think to myself, "What the f*** is wrong with me? She's a plastic doll. Peaches plays with her the same way I did. She's mesmerized by her tiny bags and shoes and little pets. Her body proportions and appearance make for a cute playmate but they don't really matter to her that much. Barbie in an emerald mermaid gown is dragged into a diaper-change situation or a hill-climbing adventure in much the same way as she's cordially invited to a tea party with bunnies in tuxedos. Sometimes, Peaches insists she wears her baby tees cos she thinks her dress is not too comfy. Sometimes, little Barbie falls sick, even though she couldn't look less airbrushed to perfection, and she's administered orange juice in a dropper. And while trying to slide on a pair of jeans on her that Peaches has washed for her benefit , I realize that even poor Barbie has 'real' moments when her jeans are too tight to go over her hips.

And it occurs to me that all the Barbie-bashing and stereotyping actually happens in my mind as an adult. The real problem is not Barbie's fake eyelashes and unrealistic body image. The problem is that I read too much into it. Cos as parents, we either probe something too much to the point of irrationality or we just stare at it blank-faced in incomprehension; right before falling into an awkward slumber, exhausted from thinking, manipulating and pointing cautionary fingers.

The truth for now is that my little girl is discovering a world of her own, alongside Barbie - a world where everything goes. Where a head-turner doll in high heels and short skirts could very well be a palaeontologist if she wants to. And a world where Barbie doesn't get her way just 'cos she's pretty and she'll still have to wait for her turn to go on the slide next to pudgy piggies and slow turtles.

So, quite contrary to my beliefs earlier about not wanting Peaches to get swayed by dolls and runway dresses, I've decided I'm gonna let her keep her Barbies and dollhouses. I'm going to let her pretend-wear my lipstick once in a while and watch herself in the mirror, etching her grown-up diva self in her reflection. I'm gonna let her get caught up in designing her own wardrobe (well in her case, it's going to be the shoes that come first) and every candyfloss reality that she cares for. For, as long as I can remember, girls have had a vision of an enchanted life in which all eyes are on them. I read the classics as a little girl and imagined myself in one of those lacey, lilac, tight-corsetted Victorian gowns, even if it meant getting nebulized in them later. I imagined how it would have been to go to one of those ball dances and be the center of everyone's attention and then sneak out to have my own after-party with a select fraternity later. Girls need their excuses to dress up and have everyone swooning after them and their magical existence.

However, I am going to keep a watchful eye on the saturation level. And maybe direct her penchant for fantasy and attention-seeking to dance, music and theatre. And if she gets a little too involved in her appearance, so beat it. It doesn't mean she can't have other interests, such as animals, food and the world around her. Maybe, there'll come a time when she'll echo the beauty and popularity ideal dictated by the instagram of the fashion brigade. As being the turf of those who fit the Barbie image of being slender and tall and goddess-like. She'll probably even paint their reality as idyllic with their days filled with rosy escapades of shopping, fine dining, fitness routines and high-flying parties with tiny, vibrant-looking canapes and selfie props. Of course then, I'll have to try harder to ensure that this obsession of superficial gloss of it doesn't stay with her for long and she can move on to more constructive things in life.

But aside from this grim, adult vantage point of her fake charmed life, let's not forget that Barbie, to a little girl, remains a dedicated playmate who is true to her self and is venturing out on her own into a world of possibilities. So she does it with extra sparkle but that couldn't hurt anyone.

Thus I vow to not give Barbie any more flack for her itsy-bitsy waistline and bunion-giving shoes. Sure her choice of make-up and footwear seem a bit impractical, especially in a lab coat. But she wasn't really meant to mimic real life and I'll let Peaches call her bluff by herself. Whenever she's ready.

But sure as hell, I'm going to be a total grinch and say no to Barbie-themed parties, oreo cookies for Barbie, Barbie bathroom sets and pink furry pencils with lil Barbie mascots.

That's where I draw the line on the Barbie infiltration...

Her First Steps Out Of The Safe Place Called Home

As a mom, and I know most moms would relate to this, it is a bit unnerving to let your child explore the world on his/her own. Remember the first time they stepped out of their cushy home to find their own independent ground in the real world out there? Peaches started school last year. Initially, I had trouble letting her go but she was so sure of herself and thrilled about everything related to school. About talking to teachers, making new friends and introducing Sofia, her doll, to her new world. (Yea, that's all that was tucked inside her lil bag on the first day). She was giddy with excitement and it rubbed on to me too.

But then, somewhere deep down, I couldn't help but recall my first day in a new school as a fifth-grader.

I was in a new country, in an all-girls convent (with a small boy population). I wasn't quite looking forward to my first day of school; only natural that I should miss my old friends and life back in Pune. But then new school supplies and crisp uniforms have a way of elevating your spirits with that brand new, shiny hopefulness, right?

I thought of how I'd present myself to the class. I also coached myself to talk to everybody and put myself out there, which is always an uphill task for me. The school campus was magnificent and the quaint, red-brick buildings sorta cheered me. The first day, like all first days, reeked of trepidation so when the teacher was escorting me to the classroom, I was trying my best to keep myself at ease by chanting to myself that I'll make it through the day just fine. But I also had a sinking feeling inside, one that told me to run back home. I could come back with another kid from the school, who could maybe introduce me to everyone as a 'potential cool kid' from beyond the borders. I entered the classroom with a weak smile. There were some sixty-odd, alien faces staring back at me, sizing me up and weighing me down. Among them, I spotted a boy from my own land and I was instantly determined to go sit next to him. The teacher gave me a hearty welcome and asked me to introduce myself. I cleared my throat and I had barely spoken one sentence when I was greeted by a roar of laughter and strange voices that echoed my supposedly "sing-song" accent. Amidst the noise of their jeers and hoots, the teacher struggled to understand my name and I struggled to make sense of their strange culture.

The more I fumbled, the more they laughed. And that was just the first class. I had to make it through the whole day without falling apart so I decided to make friends with the boy instead. I mean surely, he knew what it was like to be the odd one out. Yea, that was my strategy. To focus my attention on someone seemingly more miserable than me. I mean he was a boy in a girls' school. An Indian in an Ugandan school. Life wasn't fair to him. I sort of pitied him. I went and sat next to him and initiated a conversation. But to my surprise, he didn't seem all that interested in talking to me. I thought that was weird. Why wouldn't he want to make friends with his own kind? But pretty soon, it became clear to me exactly why. I was far from being his kind. I was a girl and he a boy. The girls from my class cat-called their lungs out every time we spoke. They brewed up a pretty sleazy love saga, thanks to the vast imagination supplied by all the Sweet Valley Highs they were devouring already.

That's the earliest, most vivid memory that I have of being bulled. I remember dreading school every night when I went to bed only to come up with a creative excuse to not go to school the next day. Thankfully, it was only a rite of passage and it all died down as time passed and I had my own group of friends to look forward to each day. I have a strange suspicion that my mum's homemade laddoos had something to do with their change of hearts.

Haven't we all been bullied in school one way or another? I could say, for me, the most traumatic bullying experiences were when I was deliberately frozen out from a group of friends or nagged by my besties. I think those are the most heart-wrenching ones.

But why am I discussing this now? Surely, Saanvi is too young to encounter bullies yet. And that's what I thought. She loves school and she's made a lot of friends, some of whom she's even gone ahead and elevated to the bestie status. (Well, one of the girls is her bestie cos her name's also Saanvi and it's as simple as that.) Sure, once in a while, she has these wobbly moments when she tells me about a kid who teased her or pushed her or was being mean to her. But that's the best part of childhood, ain't it? It's that blissful temporal state when nothing matters after ten minutes. Her memory is fleeting right now. The next day she'll wake up with the same undeterred energy and devotion to school.

But a funny thing happened the other day. You see Saanvi loves her play-time just as much as school. I mean if you were to plot her excitement levels on a graph, it would peak at school and play-time. (And trough at meal hours and shower time.) So I am sipping on my cup of chai and as usual, begging her to give me five minutes to take obnoxiously loud sips at leisure when she tells me that she doesn't want to go to the playground after all. I did a double take but I was also dead sure it would be followed up by something sassy like, "Aapko jitna chai peena hai aaram se peeyo." [Yea, drink all the tea you want at leisure.] But she looked at me gravely and she told me she doesn't want to go to the playground ever. I tried to persuade her to go but she started crying hysterically. So we played indoors that day. And the next.

And I knew exactly what had happened.

One of her friends in the playground with whom she got along fairly well had recently begun throwing his weight around. You know the type. They're always jumpy and they want what they want right then. So, he saw Saanvi sitting on what he claimed was his swing and pushed her off it instead of asking her to give him a go. And for the next two days, Saanvi kinda became his personal issue. He pushed and shoved her any chance that he got...for absolutely no reason. I tried intervening and telling him that I'll take the matter to his parents. But he just gave me a weird hollow laugh, which, for his age, was disturbing. It was terrifying to see him around other kids. He was always pushing his way past others and one time, he almost led to a fatal accident on the slide.

What did Saanvi feel? She was hurt. Not physically. (Thank God.) But emotionally yes. Hurt and confused.

She asked me why he was pushing her away. She was repeatedly saying it wasn't her fault. She eventually said the words that would break every mom's heart. "I don't want to play. I don't have any friends."

I tried a series of uptempo tropes to alleviate her fear. I told her there are other kids that she can play with. She can ride her cycle instead. But nothing seemed to work. And since I happen to be a giant marshmallow when it comes to 'my peachy pie', I had to bring Sumit in, who's somewhat of a pro in counselling people. I could see her fear dissipate when she was talking to Sumit. He held her in his arms and he told her, "Next time he tries to push you, look at him in the eye and tell him, "Don't do it!" And he won't. I thought to myself, "Well, bullies don't work like that but sure we'll give it a shot." The next day she went to the playground with me. She sat on the swing while I watched from a distance. He came back. He asked her to get off the swing. I hurried towards her just in time to hear her say, authoritatively, "Abhi meri turn hai na. Aur mujhe push mat karna!" (It's my turn. And don't you push me!) And that day, he decided to let her through.

I don't know how she got here so soon. It's such a helpless feeling when you have to see your child deal with the cruelty of other kids, to have to grow up and experience fear and anxiety. As a parent, my first reaction was to take the boy by his arms, march him back to his house and tell his parents about what a mean lil monster they were raising. To tell them that my daughter sat at home for two days in fear for no fault of hers when it was their kid who really deserved to be grounded.

But then I didn't do any of those things. It wasn't because I empathized with that kid. And it wasn't because I empathized with his parents who'd probably tell me that they do the best that they can. That he's just bursting with a lot of energy that fails to get channelized in the right direction. Or because he's dealing with some crisis of his own.

But because I want Saanvi to know that life is not all happy jingles, teddy bears and rainbows.

That life can be a b****sometimes. That there will be kids who will be cruel to you for no fault of yours. That you could be equally targeted for standing out and for being invisible.  And I want her to know how to survive through that. She might probably one day encounter something like this in a classroom, at the football field or backstage right before she sets foot onto her first-ever big theatrical performance. Of course, I hope that never happens but what if it does? I don't want her to turn her head to look for her mum and dad in utter confusion and think, "What should I do?" I want her to stay there and make it past that hardship.

I want her to believe that she's right and not even for a minute, get swayed into thinking that she brought it on to herself.

I also want her to know that she can always come home and pour her heart out to her family and that she'll get unconditional hugs and kisses and all our love. That when she walks in to home everyday, it's her safe place and nothing can ever go wrong to her here. And I want her to know that when she can't handle it on her own, she has to be able to tell us and we will be there to protect her and we will do everything that we can as parents to release her from the evil spell of being tormented.

I wonder though if it would be as important to teach her how to cope with bullies if we could teach bullies not to bully. What if in this incident, Saanvi were the bully? Would I still be writing about this? Would I be able to stop her? Unfortunately, I don't have the answers to these questions. I cannot relate with the bully. All I can say is I will not have my daughter bully anyone. I don't care if it's deemed as a rite of passage or a chain of junior-senior bonding or a mock-drill aimed at personality development. I'd much rather have her get bullied than bully anyone. Cos there is no damn excuse that justifies deliberately inflicting pain to another being.

But for now, all I want her to know is that she can count on us. And it doesn't matter how nasty things get in the world beyond us, home is her safe place. Always.

Mon Enfant Terrible

A lot of mommies, especially mommies to little boys, have come up to me and told me that I have it easy and that I have such a darling of a child. Like just the other day, I was talking to another mum, my chest swelling with pride, as she told me how I'm doing such a great job raising my little angel.

This is what I recollect of the conversation. Let's just call the other mom the house-favorite variable, X for the sake of the story.
Me: Hey X! How's it going?
X: Oh hey you! Just the usual, going nuts chasing my boy here and there. I need a break!
Me: Yea, I hear ya. So do I!
X: No, you don't. I mean I've seen you. You're so calm and collected around Saanvi. She's such a darling.
Me: Oh, come on. I lose my temper too, you know.
X: No, you don't know the half of it. Saanvi's such an angel. You know, you're very lucky. I wish I could also be as laidback and cheerful as you are.
[I'm drinking in the appreciation. At the same time, from the corner of my eye, I see my sweet little angel climb on the slide, shoving and pushing other kids aside. She gets up there, removes her dirty sneakers and bam! They go trickling down the slide onto the kid happily lounging on the edge of the slide, busy showing off his brand new watch to another kid.]
Me [gritting my teeth but managing a smile]: X, you know that's not true. Saanvi's been giving me a hard time too. I can totally relate to what you're going through.
X: Oh yea? She gives you a hard time? Like by doing what? Pulling out her ponytail and messing up her hair? Please! Baby girls are the sweetest damn thing on earth.
[Saanvi, meanwhile, who has clearly crossed that kid, is now jetting down the slide. She's kicking the boy, testing his patience a little more. She lands and directly moves on to her business of coaxing her arch-rival off the swing. That goddamn swing, which when is empty, has no takers. Of course, one thing leads to another; they're wrestling each other and screaming on top of their lungs!]
X [totally oblivious]: And then you have such a sweet temperament too. You know that helps. Hey, are you ok?
Me [ losing all my "sweet temperament", flashing my teeth bare]: "SAANVI! Stop that nonsense right now! I'm coming for you!

What happened next wasn't pretty.

And now I know what they mean when they say I have it easy.

Correction. I've had it easy. I think the terrible twos have finally caught up to me. My voice is usually croaky from yelling. My hair's frizzed out when I come back from the park. No, not from the cool breeze in my hair. But from scratching my head so hard in contemplation of the darndest messes that kids can find themselves in - everything from walking straight into a swing rocking high and hitting that sweet spot of a chin to petting dead birds lying in isolated corners.

As a new mum, and I know most new mums are prone to getting frazzled and overcautious, I never took any extra precautions. My house was never that baby-proof. I have a glass-top centre table. With wheels. I have a glass top many things. I have a water filter on top of a bookshelf. When other first-time mums visit me, I can say that they're thinking I'm like a crazy woman. One even told me that I still live like a teen. I smiled and told her that Saanvi knows her limits. To which she laughed. Really hard.
But that was pre-November. Before she turned two and half. We had the most adorable, happy exchanges in my mild tones and her sweet munchkinny voice. She responded positively to all my instructions. She took her own precautions. To watch her climb down the stairs was like being in a really slow time warp, where you could literally see all her cute pink toes make contact with the floor. She made the cutest, most hospitable host. I let her help me serve and she knew she was not supposed to go near a piping hot bowl of dal or rice. One time she felt so bad that everyone was eating and her Uncle Vicky wasn't, she went into the kitchen and got him two chapatis on a plate. And everybody gasped. It was pretty awww-y.

And people continued to look at me like I'm a weirdass mom. That something isn't right. All this while, I was wondering why're they so uptight. (Lame attempts at poetry continue.)
The onset of a wintry November must've probably brought in a rebellious wave with it. Maybe, my sweet daughter woke up one day, and said to herself, "Hey, ofcourse I'll continue to be told what to do, probably till I'm 18 and beyond. But wait a minute. What if I choose to ignore that once in a while?"
"What's the absolute worst that can happen if I choose to ignore mommy and daddy's explicit instructions?"

And so she test-ran that idea. She scanned the house for inaccessible objects. She chanced upon a beautiful glass bowl. Her eyes zoomed into a polka, stringy headband peeping out of it. She'd built up towers of anticipation about reaching out for the bowl herself. Maybe a dim warning danced briefly across her mind, "Do not touch that bowl on your own! Ask mummy." But then she had to assert her new-found independence. She disregarded the warning bell and tugged at the string ever so hard, consumed by a sense of adventure untameable. The bowl came shattering down with a screeching sound crossing every acceptable decibel level in a crammed apartment space. I almost had a stroke but I managed to come to her rescue. What? Why? How? I looked at her puzzled. She was inconsolable. But luckily, she was scratch-free.

After some therapeutic cleaning-up and calming the f*** down, I realized maybe I'd been making too many assumptions and I had better get started with some child-proofing. So off went the glass-top possessions and out came the wheels on the glass table. But Saanvi, ingeniously, found new games on her own that created bigger mysteries to unravel. Like playing an elf and scrubbing every corner of the house clean....each time with a new tissue, TP-ing the entire house. Or using the stool to get her tiny hands on every forbidden item in the house, including knives. Or even poking her hand into the elevator door when it's closing.

And then the crayons. There are crayon marks everywhere! Everywhere but her coloring books. And it doesn't matter how many times I show her how to color. She finds her inspiration in real forms. Like real expensive forms! If it's not art and craft projects, it's DIY make-up tricks. Did you know you could conceal under eye circles with scarlet lip color? I saw this video and thought wow, who'd have discovered that?  I mean who in their right mind would put some bright coral lipstick under the eyes?  Until make-up artist Saanvi thought that neon, traffic-stopping orange kohl art will bring out the color of my eyes. (By the way, the concealing trick - it really works.)

The past few months have been like scientific experiments and there are a lot of things that I've witnessed and gone, "Now, what in God's name is that? Oh, sure that could happen...Hmm...."
These things include:
1. Abandoned cream biscuits on the corners of my futon - after months of people rubbing their ample bottoms all over them.
2. Knitting yarns entangled into spider webs. (OK, I may have been responsible for that.)
3. A suspicious looking bowl with a pasty white powder. And a crocodile next to it with paste smeared all over its mouth. (Thankfully, it was only talc.)
4. Pieces of ripe tomatoes in my lower wardrobe shelf fermented into ketchup. (Experienced moms, explain that.)
5. Missing idols of ganesha and bal krishna mysteriously found days later resting on the arms of her plushy teddy bear.
6. Shrikhand icicles - it's what you get when you have undiscovered swabs of shrikhand under the table.

I get it. She's changing. She's discovering the world on her own. Maybe I'm not changing fast enough. I'm only growing old and weary and irritable.

And thank God for pre-school! I'm so happy to get my little demolition woman out of the house for two hours - that time of the day where my cleaning efforts are not futile and the house actually looks livable.
I couldn't agree with Oscar Wilde more when he observes life imitates art far more than the other way around.
Mine resembles a freakin' video-game right now (an educational one at that.)

But then I speak to other mums and I'd have to agree; it's still set to a moderately easy level.

The Doggie Ate My Year

"You're late!" If I had a penny for every time I've heard that, well, you know... (Popular idioms are clearly not my thing.)

Let me try again. If life were a school bus, I'd be the girl sprinting after it, gasping and breathless, but somehow,  hmph-ing and tutting my way and catching up to it. (OK, that definitely sounds cooler than the idiom.)

So it's New Year's. Time to chug that can of beer and simper with pride upon the highlights of it. But I got Facebook to do that for me already, like everybody else. Besides, I'm not a great person at recaps. I'd probably not even be able to tell you what I did last week. I'll merely zone out J.D. style for an uncomfortable amount of time and come up with a sad rhetoric like, "What do you think a full-time mom would be doing?"

I mean yes, there was travel, there were celebrations, there were large amounts of calories created and consumed, there were extended periods of boredom...And then there were pictures...Oh thank God for pictures!

So I thought, instead, I'll go down the other, traditional, look-ahead, "forget about yesterday" route. Resolutions. (Excuse my slow-flowing creative juices I guess.) But allow me to explain. You see, as I had mentioned in one of my early posts, I'm all about unfinished projects....well, until I found that one project that constantly nags me, follows me around like a pup, yells at me and goes to the extent of shaking me violently from time to time, so that I'm aware of her indomitable presence in my life. I should add that I've sweetly surrendered to her too.

But then there are some departments in my life that just have to try harder. For those, I need resolutions. Or let's call them goals while we're at being constructive. I mean we all know resolutions are meant to be broken.

So here are some of my 2015 goals that have been lurking somewhere in my insane, self-inflicted, super-mom cum super-wife ideal.

Then again, some are your everyday, face-your-irrational-fear sorts, so let's start with that one:

1. Visit the Dentist:
Say what? Yes, believe it or not, I've managed to dodge that commitment to a flawless smile for a pretty prett-ay, prett-ay long time. Sure, I'm as committed to brushing and flossing as a vicar's committed to church but I'm happy keeping the mouth exploration to a minimum. Unless of course, it can't be avoided.
Anyway, I was going through my recent pictures and I realize that I'm choking all  my crooked smiles to death, almost on the verge of coming across as stiff-lipped. So, I guess for the sake of flashing picture-perfect smiles on social media and for the greater good of coming across as an amiable person, the dentist'll have to come to my rescue.

The almost smile

2. Buy wardrobe basics:

• Vintage floral gown with obi belt: Check
• Poufed-up 50s inspired Parisian striped skirt: Check
• Metallic pants: Check
• Military green jumpsuit with gold embellished shoulders: Check
• Crisp white shirt: ?
• Black formal trousers: ?
• OK, how about a basic grey tee: ?

You get the drift. I can't stop myself from getting lured into chasing that soppy, Vogue fashion files worthy wardrobe. Unfortunately, normal people clothes just look too blah in comparison. And that's why, ladies, I'm always short of clothes. But this year's going to be about getting the basics right.

3. Learn how to bake (like chef-quality stuff):
I've sort of been following (and stalking) this amazing bake maestro and I happen to have put to test two of her delectable recipes (Corn pancakes and Peach tartines) that are now a family favorite. And now, she is holding classes. Here in Mumbai! I missed her previous sessions but it's time to unmask my inner Nigella and step up my game, especially for holiday food.

4. Commit to finishing stories:
Not to brag, but I've been getting epiphanies of these gripping, nail-biting story ideas. And I may have started them all at the same time to follow the trail to their deeply dark conclusions. And now, they're lying abandoned in a secluded well of drafts, like a bunch of frogs. So, starting this January, I'm going to see them through their fated ending and who knows, I may actually have a book some day? (Writer Beware: Long Daydream Sequence ahead.)

For those of you who like reading random, unfinished stories, here's a small excerpt from one of them:

"You know that feeling when you look at something and you just know it's going to be the hallmark event of your life, one that blurs everything that happened before it? When I first saw her face, she was in her bare-naked skin - every line, every scar, every pool of darkness, all the little details that women flutter to conceal, was mine to take stock of. She seemed to me a little broken, rather strange and somewhat lost. And I was transfixed by her.

That was then...But now, she was towering above me in all her glory and magnificence, with her skin radiating like a goddess in the mellow tint of the pink sun falling down on her , its light dispersing from her angular frame into a million luminescent crystals. It was near twilight and the window behind her, which let the sun in for a brief stop before it sank into oblivion, appeared to me now like the light at the end of a tunnel."

5. Start a fun, mommy-daughter, girls-only activity:
Kids are such vessels of learning. And one thing that I want to be able to learn from mine is her ability to dance her tutus off! Alone. On any f-ing song!

As it happens, I'm a total Elaine as far as dancing's concerned and it looks almost pointless for me to even step on the dance floor. So I thought, wouldn't it be fun if I could shed my inhibitions (and that not-so-cute, post-baby fat) and learn how to laugh at myself while swinging away those tightly-wound hips. I don't care if we have to follow one of those embarrassing dance-cardio workout videos with exotic names but time to shake that biscuit baby.
Eww...

6. Cook up a mouth-watering storm  every week:
2014 had me going experimental with flavours. I wanted to bring the aroma of cuisines from around the world to my kitchen. I can only thank my better half for inspiring me to go on. Some of the efforts made it successfully on Instagram, while others were sneakily shoved away into trash, all evidence leading up to them destroyed. But I realized I love experimental cooking and I want to continue finding my muse in other herbs, and not just parsley and basil. Maybe I'll do a food diary on Instagram this year to keep me going. (Oh, the things we do for public approval.)

7. Fix the laundry when it arrives:
Well, if you read this post, you know how freshly laundered clothes and I meet just once every week to tackle the overwhelming jigsaw puzzle of what goes where. But my heightened image of super-wife and the mountains of laundry to be sorted just don't add up. I mean would Samantha Stevens have to hike up a mound of clothes to get to her delicious husband? I think not. (Where can I learn magic?)

8. Buy more shoes (Sorry Sumit): I never gave shoes much of a thought, nothing beyond sneakers and thongs. But my two-year old, blossoming fashionista's shoe fetish got me caved in to the undying lust for shoes of all shapes and sizes - strange, bunion-rendering, impractical shoes. All we need is a bigger closet now.

9. Exercise: Every time, I open the wardrobe, this is the first thing I see.

Naturally, it stops me short in my tracks, to suck my doughy midriff in.
But then, I say to myself, who am I kidding? I'll just give it away. I happen to have won this dress from MissMalini. and I really want to able to wear this some day.
So, this year is about fitting my boot-ay into this dress and every bodycon dress that I have...And rocking it! Guess I just have to take my lumpy ass back to the gym. Sour-faced, of course.

So this is me bidding adieu to 2014, all the incredible things that it was about, and getting started on my goals for 2015. And there will be a mid-year review and everything. (And I wager, some blame-games to follow.)

Happy 2015 folks!

Encounters with the Mirror

I like to think of a girl,
As she tumbled and crawled through her bed chamber,
With wobbly little feet, she fell onto the cold wall of her long passage mirror.

In the pale glass, she stared into her wondrous brown eyes,
That wandered farther and rested upon a strange tuft of curly hair,
How odd it looked, standing tall and wobbly upon her forehead with a bit of flair.

She blew a sweet draught of air in the mirror and watched its frenzied sway,
Right then, a flighty smile danced across her little mouth.
It sweeps her away onto other conquests, and so she continued her scramble south.

I like to think of a girl,
As she hopped and skipped across the patio with birds.
She chanced upon her animated reflection, while jumping high, on an antique mirror resting on a ledge perched.

With every leap, she beheld a different expression;
Sometimes sticking out her tongue in playful zest, sometimes narrowing her eyes in a cunning slant,
And sometimes drawing up a rueful expression, impersonating her aunt.

She soon grew weary of her ingenious game,
Arrested her motion momentarily to catch her breath, only to leap one last time,
And this time, she blew into the mirror a pretty, pouty kiss, like one she had seen on “Partners in Crime”.

I like to think of a girl,
As she strolled down a shopping alley alongside her mother,
Amidst all the splashy dresses luring her gaze, she caught her own display in a tinted mirror.

She considered grudgingly the huge zit lounging on her pink cheek,
Then sneakily averted her eyes to admire the entire beauty of her mum.
She secretly longed for that crimson pout and her decisively plump bosom.

That night, she stole some lip lacquer from her mum’s vanity trove and tiptoed back into her turf,
To stuff socks into her sprouting chest and paint her lips in forbidden red, unloading her young lips’ gloom.
She smiled to herself, for she couldn’t wait to be a woman in all her glory and bloom.

I like to think of a girl,
As she came home late evening from a midsummer day in a fairytale,
Her heart bolstering with emotions, she races to the powder room, leaving behind a furious mud trail.

She catches herself anew in her reflection.
She can see her glimmering eyes, her hair unruly caught in the tangles of desire, her lips flaming with a crimson speck.
“The kiss sealed it all…To know of love in its fullness, to feel his warm breath on my neck…”

Through the lightness of her fingers, she traced his gentle touch clung to her skin;
She let herself be swept to a foreign shore,
And to the mirror, she said, “I'm beautiful, I'm unravelled but I'm whole no more.”

I like to think of a girl,
As she dragged herself to embrace a new dawn, wearied with a hollow feeling, somewhere in the depths unknown.
She stands still, taking stock of a stranger in her bedside mirror, with smudged purple beneath her eyes and an odd palor of cheekbone.

She attempts to scrape away the despondent haze with her hands tremulous, when they hit her — the shards.
They were the remains of a misty night broken into a million pieces with the brutality of words.

She looked at her reflection that now bared her anguished soul.
She muffled a scream as the world caved in beneath her feet.
What began as a dewy midsummer day is now a faded grey leaf, veiled with the mystery of a love saga frozen incomplete.

I like to think of a girl,
On the brink of becoming a woman, as she delicately floated and sparkled down the stairway of the biggest day of her life.
She caught her angelic reflection in the passageway mirror with the restraint of a to-be wife.

And she continued to look on, oblivious of arresting her onlookers with mouths agape with admiration.
They were in awe of her divinity rustling in silk and dazzling in golden glitter.
But all she saw was her veiled innocence and her anxiety to entwine with another.

In the fields of corn, amidst the mist of rainbows, they’d dance to rapturous violins.
With arms wide open, they’d usher in a new tomorrow when she and her other half would be set free,
To paint the pallid sky the colour of their dreams in sweet surrender of a whirlwind promise underneath a peach tree.

I like to think of a woman,
As she strolled down a shopping alley alongside her daughter,
She didn't see her magnificent, full-bodied frame that mesmerized her adolescent girl; oh how she dodged her display in the tinted mirror.

She was busy living a deception of ‘perfect body image’ that discarded her from the ‘Desirable Woman’ sorority,
She loathed her body and tortured her flesh in corsets.
She walked tirelessly on treadmills and for her hard-earned guilty pleasure, she ate a small square of chocolate;

Oh dear woman, she knows what she’s missing,
Farewell to the joy of ice-cream sundaes and hot, steaming bowls of rice.
If only she saw her reflection through the eyes of her daughter, she’d see a woman surpassed in real beauty, her beautiful curves and unblemished heart clothed in an ethereal guise.

The Initiation

Me: Hey, what's up?
Sumit: Same ol', same ol'. So how was it?
Me: Oh very good! I loved the homey atmosphere, the bright and colorful classrooms and the teachers are extremely friendly...Peaches had a ball!
Sumit: That's awesome!
Me: Yea... and she was also saying that by the end of playschool, kids can not only identify animals but they can also tell you what kind of animal they are, like monkey's a wild animal,  dog's a pet,  cow's a...
Sumit: Wait a minute. What are they going to be tellin' my kid? Monkey's a wild animal???
Me: Uhh, yeah.
Sumit: Ridiculous! That's exactly how they instil fear in children. I don't want my daughter going to a school where she's taught monkeys are wild animals!
Me:  Moving on, they've got this kickass pool where...
Sumit: I want Peaches to be able to hug a monkey if she wants to...I mean that's how I grew up. We didn't have any fear.
Me: Uhhh...is that why you were bitten by a monkey?
Sumit: That's not the point. You just don't teach kids monkeys are wild animals. It's outrageous! You remember Gir? Lions and men cohabit peacefully...The perception that we create of wild animals......And kids absorb.... we're responsible for bringing up this generation the right way!

And that went on for a while....

As it goes, we've been window-shopping  for schools for almost a year now. Talking to other parents, visiting schools, consulting our family...When we started looking out for schools, it felt almost like a ridiculous exercise to look through so many options...I mean when we were growing up, our parents picked the school closest to our house...hygiene, a bit of sunlight, bright classroom walls, and amicability of teachers were probably the only considerations for a pre-school. But now, you need to back up your school choice with a solid pedagogical direction, right from pre-school. Do you want a focus on academics or well-rounded development? Do you want to have her follow an IGCSE board curriculum or ICSE or IB? (Whatever happened to state board, I wonder.) And adding to the complexity of it all are the new age international pre-schools with real-life contexts ranging from food appreciation and table manners to junior couture dress-ups and art exploration and on to the other finer things in life.

Peachy Pie - All Grown Up

The more we explored, the more frazzled I got. You see, I have very few expectations from Saanvi's pre-school experience. They are:
1. She won't wake the entire neighbourhood with her tormented screeches while going to school. (I lived next to that when I was young and I often wondered which concentration camp the wailing kid was enrolled in.)
2. She'll get to keep her internal world and the freedom to learn and explore on her own, and do all sorts of things that make kids kids, including getting mud and paint all over her face. (So table manners, you're gonna have to take a back seat right now.)
3. She'll get to be in a comfortable mixed-bag atmosphere with a bit of sun and sand and water and large picture books and songbooks and easels and what the hell, some cartoons too.

Of course, I do feel the pressure of this decision mounting every day, and not just in the financial sense. That said, I have chosen a pre-school close to my house that meets all of the above criteria and am feeling pretty kicked about Saanvi starting school soon! It's this pretty little space of over-the-top color explosions, kidsy art, backyard pools, and cute, shiny-yellow classrooms. I even sat through a demo class where the kids sat and identified fruits and veggies. And I found myself struggling, for the oranges looked like cantaloupes and apples looked like tomatoes. And I think I made a pretty lousy audience cos  I laughed out pretty loud at this one shy kid who sat tight-lipped through the whole class but the moment the teacher got out papaya, he yelped out horrified, "Paa-paa-yaaa!" (Clearly some force-feeding going on there.) And while I was observing and also controlling Saanvi as she could not keep her hands off the teacher's big basket of fruits and veggies, I was also discovering for myself how Saanvi's penchant for socializing and her natural curiosity for learning new things was getting her all glee-eyed. So I tuned off from the rest of the world and watched her.

And she was happy....She was in her element here. I could picture her jetting down the slides with her friends, giving very specific instructions to everyone on what order needs to be followed. I could hear her singing on top of her voice all sorts of uptempo rhymes and songs, hopefully not the ones that I am wary about. (You've heard them too, I'm sure. See the list here.) I could see her play with glitter and abstract-paint her canvas while also trying to paint her nails with them. I could see her splashing in water with her friends...and throwing a tantrum when asked to get out.

Peaches- the waterbaby :)

This is going to be her new play zone - with a theme. And I get it. Learning needs to have a structure but it also needs to be fun. Maybe not in an obviously boisterous, chaotic fashion but just some good old loud cackles and bursts of energy directed at creating a new world for kids, a new language of their own- one that they're just beginning to grasp.

And Peaches is ready. More than ready for a stab at the world outside her cocoon. And I know her entire existence now is going to revolve around her school - her daily routine, her conversations, her moods, her choice of wardrobe, her social life...Her school's going to be a shifting source of pride, joy and anguish for her in the next couple of years. Pride when she discovers her natural proclivity for things and uses them to excel in something...Joy when she knows that as soon as she gets to school, her friends will be waiting for her to share the highs and lows of the rest of the day with her. Anguish when she gets bullied by a bunch of quacks for being different or for being smarter than them. Pride again when she asserts her will and outsmarts them to emerge as a role model for other kids. Anguish when she has a monumental fight with her besties and spends the rest of the day sour-faced, writhing in her ego. Joy when she makes up with them and realizes how inseparable they are and how ridiculous their squabbles are.

OK....I know I'm getting ahead of myself. You see, I've had months of preparing myself for this day and I've got my imagination and school-time memories playing havoc on me. I do have that undying faith that Peaches is going to be brilliant. She has a photographic memory, she's somewhat of a word-smith and her untouched curiosity and sensitivity to others all whizzed together create a pretty smart kid, one who'll hopefully build a fat wall of achievements and awards, as annoying as that could be to her other siblings...

Peaches - The Selfie Queen

And yes, I'm puffing with pride with such inspiring thoughts. But what if she lags behind? What if she's not challenged enough to learn new things or her motivation and zeal to learn are put to test by unfortunate circumstances? I don't know the answer to that question. As long as Sumit and I, as parents, can see her potential and mould it in a way that's just right for her and not overbearing, and we find an environment that brings out joy in learning something new everyday, we're good. As long as we don't impose our own insecurities and let her follow her own proclivities instead of wanting her to seek our validation, in the mad rush of branding her as an achiever, we're doing fine.

Peaches - The Shoeista

And so I enrolled her in a school with an integrated learning approach, packaged in a fun theme every month, be it pets, food or even fashion. It may not be the best in the locality but I think it'll bring out the best in her. And I can feel the colossal weight of that decision. I mean, sure I want the best for my child but I'm also pretty clueless. I don't have ten-year plans for her and I don't know what curriculum I want her to follow.

All I have then is now.. And for now, I think this is going to be worth it. Every penny of it.