Tag Archives: life

December 5, 2011 · 7:24 pm

A confused mind.

I think it’s mid life (no, not going to say crisis, yet). It must be something to do with mid life, because I am confused, stressed, angry, frustrated, and yet, quite happy with life, in general I mean. It’s possible. Didn’t think these mix of emotions can go together, but, apparently, they can!

I think about getting back to work, or to some sort of work. The twins will start school this spring and my older one will have a full day at school. So, I probably can do something, not a whole lot (what between picking, dropping, tennis, homework and the doctor visits thrown in for good measure) But, I can, if I try hard (and I do want to) have some sort of a work, freelance life.

The trouble is, what do I do? One day I wake up, ready to write that book that I’ve been writing in my head for the last ten years, or longer. My thoughts are lucid and I get a high thinking about it. This usually happens when I’ve had little sleep and returned from the gym, all charged up. By mid-day I run out of steam and my who-am-I-kidding mood drapes itself over me like a wet blanket. By the evening, I’ve given up that plan altogether.

Till, another day arrives with optimism, and I think about a neat business idea that I would love to work on and in my mind it all gets worked out – do-able I feel. I think about all the women who took the off beaten path and then made it somehow, against all odds, et all. Again, I get all excited about it, but, after the initial giddy excitement of having found what I want to do wanes a little, I start to see the holes in my so-called great idea and before long, poof! that’s abandoned too.

This happens over and over again. One day I am all set to go be a teacher at my daughter’s school. The other day I want to write, then I want to start a small business. Gosh. This is mid life, it better to be. Either that, or I am losing it, finally.

Between all these spasms I manage, and don’t ask me how, to actually do some freelance work. Some writing here, some design there, etc etc. A friend wants something done, I oblige; like that.

What I , however, do regularly, and this I am proud of, is go to the gym. Yup, started it earlier this year. Not crazy about it, but I do it and it’s shown results. A good feeling.

More on this in my next post..

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December 1, 2011 · 6:07 pm

Been busy. And still not doing all that I want to do..

Is it me? Is it me who has no (real) answer to the question “what’s up?” or “What’ve you been up to?”. I seem to not have a moment in the day (my sister is livid with me that I don’t answer my phone, ever). And I am not working, yet. And still when I think about what it is I’ve been doing, I have to wonder. I know I am busy with the kids, (the plumber, the electrician, et all) but that’s pretty much it. So how do I answer that question? “Been good, busy, you know with the kids”. I get a nod, mostly a I-hear-ya kind of one. One (almost) six year old and two two year olds. That’s enough to take up my day.

Then, I talk to my mom. Now she had three kids too, and not half the help that I have, and of course she achieved much more than I have! Humph. She still works. And I spend my day in pajamas (ok, tracks) running after the kids. Double humph.

I am not organized enough, I don’t manage my time well, it seems (mother says). True, maybe, but does one like to hear that? Not really. So I tell my mum, come help me with my kids and I’ll get back to work, be the super mom et all. Right, she says.

So my point is, how will I ever have the time to do all that I think I will – I mean I do believe that one day I will work, that I’ll organize all the photographs that’ve ever been clicked and put them chronologically in custom made albums, that I will sort out all my papers and have everything filed away in impressive formats, that I will organize my drawers, that I will read to my kids and play games with them that add inches to their grey matter, that I will take time and visit my parents (and not lose patience with them), that I will read the books I buy, or the one’s sitting on my bookshelf bleating at me, that I will have a perfect garden with seasonal plants planted well in time, that I will watch all the films I want, that I will go for the occasional play or book reading . And yes, one more thing, that I will bake (well).

When will I do this all? I don’t know. But I know I will . Oh, one more thing, that book I want to write (now it’s a script, btw) that’s got to squeeze its way into my life too.

Someone give me more hours in the day. I could use them.

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July 5, 2011 · 5:59 pm

Five Things Motherhood Has Taught Me.

Thanks Forever Mother for tagging me in this and making me think.

What has motherhood taught me? Agh. So much. But, here’s the thing. When I respond to a question like this on my blog, there is, almost immediately, a conflict in my mind – between what I think motherhood has taught me and what it really has. You know, we have a perception about ourselves, which is not always accurate, but we like to believe facts about ourselves anyway! And a question like this makes me stop and think about perception and reality. Agh. The truth is not always good!

Anyway, here’s a sincere attempt:

1. Children are born selfish. The first instinct is of survival and self fulfillment. It is for the parents to teach them about sharing and giving. Ever tried to take a toy away from a two year old? What did that result in? You know what I mean..

2. Having kids has taught me something about my own parents – that people are not perfect and we expect our parents to be. It’s only when you become one you realize that your parents are human too.

3. Children do lie, though they do it without malice. So don’t always believe yours, listen to the other kid too..

4. Every child is different, so comparison is really not a positive thing.

5. And now for some emotion! Above all, motherhood has taught me to thank God for my happy life. No matter how much I rant and rave, I am fortunate. Very fortunate. And I don’t mean only economically. I mean it in every sense of the word…

Has motherhood changed me?

Like hell it has. Some for the better and some for the worse. Honestly.

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June 2, 2011 · 11:22 am

Perfect Honesty Is Not Always Good For Childen.

Childhood, I believe is about happiness. Children need not know the truth about everything. I think we as parent sometime get too caught up in doing the right thing. What’s the right thing anyway? How do we know that is not better to bend the truth than to tell something to a child that he or she can’t digest?

I’ll tell you why I say this.

A few days after the earthquake in Japan my five year old daughter came to me and asked me what an earthquake was. It was a mama-what-does-this-word-mean kind of question. Now, whenever my daughter asks me a question,  I try and give her a detailed answer. In fact, we play a little game around it,  with the aim that she remembers the answer. It mostly works. So,  when she asked me about the earthquake,  I drew a little diagram, got out the globe, cut an orange to tell her about the earth’s crust and layers etc etc. She loved it.  That was that.

About three days later when I was putting my daughter to bed at night, she sobbed and sobbed and refused to sleep in her bed. She said that an earthquake might come at night. I told her that it won’t. She asked me how I could be so sure. After all, if the tectonic plates could bang into each other under Japan, the same could happen under India! I winced. Great,  I thought,  in my enthusiasm to teach her I’d given her too much information!  I’d gone and scared her.

Damage control, I thought. So, I launched into logic. And zones. India is in a zone that is not really prone to earthquakes, I told her (true) and that there are some countries that are more prone to them and we are not one of them. She seemed a little mollified, though not entirely. Phew!  (Still refused to go back to her bed). I had dodged a tricky question.

Unfortunately, there was more to come.  A few days later she asked me (and this is some sort of a recurrent theme, we’ve talked about this before, in snatches) about death. Agh. Not again, I thought. I was not in the mood for this.  But she was, and her questions were not general, they were specific. “Can babies die?” she queried. I decided to lie. “What about dad?”. I told her that only very old people die (One day, sometime ago, when I’d told her, on one of these bedtime question and answer moments, that mamas can die, she’d wept uncontrollably and clung to me for days) . So I decided to let her believe happy things. Why cloud her little five year old mind with unpalatable truth? Dad will be with you till you are as old as mama, and even after that, I said. “And you?”. Ditto, I said with a straight face. She thought, then she smiled. Not sure if she believed me entirely, but she liked the reassurance.

Like I said, and many may not agree, childhood is about happy things. Truth is for grown ups.

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August 26, 2010 · 5:17 pm

Call me a cranky old crone..

Recently went for a birthday party of a five year old girl, Hawaiian theme. Mini wedding, really, that’s what it was and it irritated me. Actually, it did more than that, it made me sick. No, not the scale of things, or the fact that it was a theme party (I gave in to my four year old and had a princess theme earlier this year, so no, that was not an issue; lots of other things were), but the fact that the mother felt the need to have this tawdry, lavish affair that looked good but lacked substance. For one, there was a lucky draw where all the kids were given numbers and then some of those got prizes. Can you imagine a bunch of four year old’s waving their numbers to get a gift and then the disappointment after that?  As I was walking towards the bouncy, I heard one mother console a little girl about not getting a gift. I know that we must be able to train our kids to handle disappointments and tell them that it’s ok if they don’t win and all that good stuff, I do tell my daughter that, but, still I don’t think it’s a really good idea to have a lucky draw at a birthday party, which, for me, is more about the kids having a good time and going home happy.

But more than anything else, what I absolutely despised, was the pinata, or, what we in India call the “khoi bag” – absolutely despicable stuff, I hate it, hate it, hate it.  At least the way it’s done at birthday parties here in India. In theory it may have been a good idea – have a bag full of goodies, burst it and have the kids collect them all, happy happy. Except, not really. It’s just one of those things that do not translate well in reality. At all. Basically the way it’s done here is that the bag is filled with goodies, elevated and then burst, leading to absolute chaos and mayhem as kids scramble, push, trample over each other to collect the booty. It brings out the worst in human behaviour, and with this all-is-fair-in-looting-khoi-bag kind of culture there is such jostling that my daughter gets extremely disturbed, and yet wants to reap the goodies. As a result, she begs me to help, as do many other kids and there is much gnashing of teeth and maids, mothers, kids (ranging from ages four to fifteen), compete for Ben Ten pencils, Hannah Montana stickers, candies, assorted Disney nic-nacks, bubble bottles etc etc.  And the funny thing is that once we get the stuff, my daughter, much like the rest of the kids, does not truly care about it and it all gets lost in the brimming-with-toys Ikea baskets in her play room. Yet, at that moment, she wants it and wants to reap as much as possible. Like I said, it brings out the distasteful side of human behaviour and can be well avoided.

Then, there was the Shakiraesque Hawaiin dress that this five year old was wearing, or rather not wearing. Come on mother, take a look at your kid when you dress her. There is a fine line between cute and cheap, very fine at times, but you have to watch it. You make a five year old wear a bra like pink satin halter top and a skirt under the navel for a birthday? Jesus, is that your idea of cute? Then when she’ll be sixteen and want to wear the same stuff, you’d have a problem with it.

It was a boring party where a lot of money had been spent (upwards of $1500) , a LOT of money in India, and the result was that kids didn’t have much to do, with no games to engage them.  I miss the good old days when birthday parties meant treasure hunts and home made sandwiches. I didn’t do that for my four year old but did do it for my twins this year, as they turned one. And I can tell you, (at the risk of  blowing my own trumpet) it was a great party, the kids had a blast and the mommies (daddies are exempt from these affairs!) sat around chatting and picking on finger food..yes, that is what birthday parties are meant to be like and if my older daughter didn’t want to invite half the world and more for her birthday, I’d do hers at home too..

I know I am in the minority here, because most parties I attend are lavish, over-the-top affairs. It’s amazing how much money a certain segment of people have in India and how they are willing to spend it. Another birthday bash (four year old again) I went for was eerily similar to the Hawaiin theme one, where the birthday girl (all of four) was dressed top-to-toe, much like her mother, aunt and assorted clone-like female relatives, in designer stuff. When her grandmother commented on her dress she chirped “it’s Burberry” and ran off, while the granny went weak in the knees recounting the retort to anyone who was patient enough to listen, like she was some child prodigy who had  recited a line from ‘The Merchant of Venice!’.

I could  go on, but I think I’ll stop. I’ve vented enough and I feel better. I do. Plus, babies are asleep and I’d better turn in too..

Blogging helps and I should do it more often. Sooooo therapeutic!

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September 7, 2008 · 11:41 am

Thinking Is All I Do.

I have been wondering, lately, if I should come to terms with the fact that I am not going to do anything else, or anything worthy of any mention should I say, except bring up my daughter. If I were to accept this fact, and stop believing that I will live any other dream, then I may find more peace than I do now. Once hope is dead, in a strange way (and this sounds more depressing than I intend it to), one can come to terms with reality and not have to live through daily turmoil. It’s only a thought, not that I am saying it’s what I’ll do.

Right now, my mind leaps into the future and imagines all sorts of merry scenarios where I’ve managed to strike that perfect balance between work and life, when, the truth is that I am doing damn all to achieve that. Yes, I am looking after my daughter and that’s commendable and all that good stuff, but I am fully aware of what lies before me – she will grow up and move on, and I will be left twiddling my thumb, or, to imagine the worst, lose my mind because that is precisely when I’d have the time to ponder over life and realize that time had passed me by, and all the rest of that. And the fact that such revelations will probably come coupled with the hot flashes of menopause (a cruel cruel double whammy), they may well ensure my quick and smooth transition into the loony bin, give me that final nudge, so to speak.

So if I am so aware of what lies in the future, what am I doing about it? Like I said, damn all, if you don’t count the blogging that is. Right now I have two hours while my daughter sleeps and I could try and get some work done, but venting some steam is what I am doing instead. In about twenty minutes she’ll be up and that’s it for the rest of the day for me. She’s two and super clingy so every thing I do has to include her or, well, or I hear her shrill, though utterly fake, cries that have the capability of piercing through the ear drum like a pointed needle. That, of course, is accompanied with flailing arms and legs, rolling on the floor and the like, which, I have now come to ignore in the hope that if they don’t get the desired reactions, like anger, from me, then they’d somehow cease to happen. Well, not yet.

So at the end of the day when I lie in bed I say to myself – another day gone and I know that the next day will be the same, because the ingredients are the same, so what will change? What am I waiting for?  I don’t know.

What I do know, is that I am not giving up hope yet.

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September 4, 2008 · 5:05 am

Down The Leafy Path..

I have a friend, who I met in college, the brightest student in class by miles. And when I say bright, I mean someone who could discuss Marxism with Marx himself, or tell you intricacies of Freud’s work that most people would not be able to comprehend. But, she never rubbed her immense wealth of knowledge in anyone’s nose;  you could walk past and not even notice her- reserved and simple, yet gifted with a brain so sharp that one word out of her and you knew this was someone who had spent years curled up with them books, from Robert Frost to Dostoyevsky. Not that she’d tell you that. But you knew. Also, she was the one you went to when the exams loomed dangerously on your head!

I lost touch with her, as I did with a lot of my friends, after college. We all went our own ways into the big bad world, our bosoms full of idealism and dreams. But, in all the years that I was not in touch with her, I would think of her off and on, and when I did I always imagined her deeply lost and involved in the world of academia, which is the only thing she seemed to be meant for and enjoyed.

But, when I did finally reconnect, I found that she had abandoned all that seemed so dear to her and gotten married soon after college. Nothing wrong with that, but she seemed the last person in the world to be doing that.

Anyway, it was what she did and I never asked her why. She married someone in the army, had a son, nine now and immersed herself in her domestic world. She seemed happy when we talked, but I always detected a twinge of regret in her voice, something I didn’t explore further.

But it made me think. Why did she make that decision? It was not for love, that much I know, since I vaguely know the man she married and I know it was not an impulsive must-marry-him decision.  But, it was not for me to question a friend’s decision, even if I wondered about it often, and she largely seemed happy, so, I let it be.

A few days ago she wrote to me and herself addressed the matter, if only indirectly. Her words are here, and I am sharing this without her knowledge, but they are so beautiful that I feel I should share them. Also, they encapsulate wonderfully what I feel about my own decisions in life:

“Introspection is a dangerous activity. It makes you look back and take stock, not a pleasant thing to do. In life, you walk down a road… then, a path opens up on the side and for some reason you leave the road and start down that path. It’s a beautiful path, tree lined, shady, and edged with dainty blossoms. The fellow travelers that you encounter are polite, friendly and nice. The path does get bumpy occasionally, but, there are no steep gradients, neither up nor down. The path is more of a dirt track and you walk in a slow unhurried pace. The scenery is pleasant though, it seldom changes. Slowly and imperceptibly, you stop taking in the scenery or feel the cool shade or even notice the fellow travelers. Even as your feet carry you along the path, your mind wanders back to that road that you got off. What all did that road have to offer after you quit it? Once in a while, through the gap in the trees, you catch a glimpse of that road. You dimly make out people walking in confident purposeful and fast paced strides. This sets you wondering. How is the journey on that road? What happened to the friends you parted from when you wandered off down this shady green path? You try and imagine their glitzy, high – octane life, full of accomplishments targets, achievements and hefty pay cheques. You feel a twinge of envy as you envision their confidence and their self-assertiveness, their ability to say no when they wish to. You gradually endow them with all those qualities that you seem to lack. The exciting journey of the busy roadsters creates a tiny black hole inside you. Soon you spend all your time peering down this hole even as your brain is slowly sucked into its lightless oblivion. How close you are now to becoming Flaubert’s Emma Bovary, even if by nature you are neither hedonistic nor adulterous. The wooded path palls on you, the cool shade suffocates you and the pleasantries of the sweet folk, you find tiresome. The timid flowers by the wayside seem so tiny, so pathetic…

Sooner or later in life we reach this stage. Bewildered, you ask yourself,” where am I? How did I get here? Would I have been better off on that other road?”

I still don’t know why she look the leafy path and I don’t want to. But my point to her was this; that no matter what path you take, you’ll always peer through the trees to look at the other one and wonder if that had been better. Someone who took the fast paced one would wonder if being with the kids on the shady path had been a better one to opt for…it’s the ultimate quandary and I can safely say it is one that most women face.

Women, not men. Men believe that there is only one path for them, and they take it. They don’t feel the angst of wondering “what if?”, of agonizong over life changing decisions, of watching their friends stride along a path that they would have liked to be a part of. It should not be this way, but it is. And it’s a shame.

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