Celebrations!

I realise I’ve really neglected this blog over the last year or two, so time to try and play catch up! First off, the Bean’s 6th birthday. She had just attended a dozen mermaid parties with fake curls, tiaras and mer-tails so she had that playing on her mind when she asked me for a party with mermaids. We chatted about it for a while and I broadened the scope to make it an underwater theme. Not being too committed to mermaids that suited her fine and we soon had a whole underwater theme going.

As luck would have it, I’d just ordered a box from Kukucrate (they make up theme based kits and you can subscribe to them for a funfilled month) for a trial and the theme for the month was Underwater! Such a stroke of luck. The night before the party was spent with the Bean, Brat, and a friend and her son helping me make decorations, wrap return gifts and generally organise things. One of the items in the Kukucrate box was thermocol half-globes that we painted and inserted pipe cleaners into, to make jellyfish. This we hung from a lampshade in the living room and it looked lovely.

Surprisingly I had a lot of blue cushions, blue curtains, blue table cloths and fish shaped tableware so the house was dressed up to suit the theme. We hung green and blue crepe paper cut into strips to look like seaweed and hung up strings of blue and green balloons which burst the moment we hung them in the garden. The children have outgrown their swimming tubes- a turtle and a something-or-the-other that I hung up in the garden. A basket of soft balls was given and the kids had to aim through the centre of the tube. Many of them got it and Cousin K and the OA who suddenly realised they were running out of gifts, began to up the ante. Began to shake the tube so that it was harder to aim at, the kids still got it. Then put the trampoline at the start line and began to make the kids jump on the trampoline while aiming, while Cousin K kept shaking the tube around.

It was hilarious fun and by the end the OA, Cousin K and one other mother who had stayed with her daughter and I, had collapsed in a heap, laughing. The kids of course loved the way the game got tougher and tougher and surprised us with their ability to keep up with it. I picked up some face painting crayons and made tattoos for the kids  - sea themed. I have to say the kids were rather gentle in the way they looked at my handiwork pityingly and said, ‘It’s not too bad, Aunty. You could be a great tattoo artist someday if you keep practising.’ Err, thank you. The OA manned a third corner where the kids were fishing for paper fish on paper clips, with magnets. This too was from the Kuku crate box and very popular with the kids. The fourth corner was a rug with crayons and sheets of sea themed animals for the kids to colour.

The cake was a two tier fresh strawberry cake with crabs and other sea creatures crawling all over it. Fantastic. A lot of the food fit the theme too. I opened up strawberry cream oreos and placed small white marshmallows in them to look like oysters, bought a small fish bowl and filled it with goldfish biscuits, cut a yellow capsicum and studded it with olives to look like an octopus and stuck it in a bowl of hung curd dip. Also had bowls of grapes and pomegranates. And one huge dish of sausages and another of popcorn that was a huge hit. The Bean had begged me with the world in her eyes for Maggi and so for the first time the banned item made it to my dining table in a huge fishy dish. I can’t tell you how funny it was to see the adults dig into it when they came to pick up their kids. I’d honestly imagined I’d be struck off their X’mas card lists.

For the first time this year I politely requested all parents to drop kids and pick them up. We usually like our parties full of kids, parents, a few cold beers and lots of fun. But increasingly I realise kids misbehave when their own parents are around. Left to our tender mercies they play according to rules, don’t push or fight and generally end up being far better behaved. The party ended with a few friends staying back for a drink, the kids sliding into a pile on the carpet and watching some TV and all of us polishing off the simply fantastic cake. Burp. 

Pictures now.

The octopus taking a dip

A huge dish of Maggi with veggies, the oyster oreos, sausages, popcorn and goldfish in a bowl

The jellyfish from the Kukucrate kit hanging from a lampshade

Green and blue balloons and a turtle shaped swimming tube to aim balls through.

The kids spent a pleasant few hours cutting out these sea creatures and colouring them. Then we stuck them on a ribbon. It is currently being used as a banner in the nursery.

Some portions of the house that were in keeping with the blue/sea theme.

The Kukucreate items that worked with our theme – jellyfish made of thermocol and pipecleaners, and the paper cutouts with clips to fish for with magnets.

Was most thrilled to find a fishy cushion I’d picked up at Fabindia on a whim.

For those who wanted to sit by the pool and chill.

I have more fishy bowls than I realise!

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The tenth anniversary was supposed to be in Bora Bora. But then we had kids and I stayed home and we were wondering if we’d even be in a position to make it to Baroda. Anyhow, the plan is a convoluted one. A quick short trip with my parents to Orchha, on the weekend pre-anniversary, the day off for the OA and I to spend together in our pajamas and then go for a fancy dinner, on the anniversary. And a slightly delayed big holiday with the kids to Bangkok, again, to celebrate 10 years of being US. People did suggest we leave the kids and go, but as I’ve said often, my kids might be good for nothing else, but they’re fantastic travelers. And what are we celebrating at the end of these ten years if not our love and the product of that love.

It was not the best time on earth to go to Orchha but we’ve been wanting to do it for ages and as luck would have it, the weather was great – grey and a slight drizzle. The OA got me books, flowers, jewelry. I thought and thought and thought and finally thunked. I knew what to get a man who didn’t want anything else for his anniversary – a wife who would drive. Yep, I’ve begun to drive and it was quite useful because I’d barely done ten days when I found myself being shoved behind the Scorpio’s wheel while the OA went off to clear up a traffic jam on the highway. I was terrified as I took the wheel, but I guess there is something to being forged by fire. The kids were majorly tickled by seeing me drive and I guess the only thing left now is to not give up as I have before. It’s killing my knees, but I’m going to hang in there.

My parents joined us for the weekend and it was particularly significant for me because if they hadn’t supported us, it would have been just another quick court registry before we got on with life. They’re still quick to support us in our times of need, tell us off if we’re behaving idiotically and basically be the best support system anyone could have.

So, back to Orchha, we stayed in some lovely tents, visited the Orchha fort, went for the light and sound show, drove to Shivpuri and spent a day at the Madhav National Park  - sighted crocs, blue bull, deer, a variety of birds (all mostly spotted by the Brat even before the guide could open his mouth) and much more. Is it just me or are guides mostly picked for their ability to annoy and patronise? Even a lovely boat ride where we spotted more crocs and birds. Back at the hotel the kids spent a lot of time in the pool while I read a book in peace after a long time.

On the last day we drove into Jhansi and visited the Fort and also Rani Lakshmi Bai’s palace. An old lady sat at the door charging us Rs 2 for entry and taking the tickets back as we left, no doubt to charge someone else. A guide wandered around trying to educate us, mixing up fact with fiction and telling us that Aurangzeb died because Ma Kali appeared before him and scared him to death.

These were the greats of our country. For Rani Lakshmi Bai to do what she did, when she did, was commendable. And now her personal palace lies in ruins, the gardens overrun, a smelly toilet left open, paan stains in the corners and the rooms empty, covered in cobwebs, the building falling apart. So little is left of a life as magnificent as hers, what do you think will be left once we pass on? We don’t even have a legacy such as hers. No poems, no stories, nothing.

Subhadra Kumari Chauhan’s rousing poem (she happens to be from my part of the world!) on the warrior queen came rushing back to mind and even as I wandered around the decrepit building I felt the tears rush to my eyes. Khoob ladi mardaani woh toh Jhansi waali rani thi. I began to recite from memory to the kids, the OA joined in and my voice broke – we both looked away, embarrassed at how overwhelming it was.

It was a rushed trip, all this covered in a mere three days, including the drive. So much of this beautiful country left to see, so little time. And now, photos of the trip.

Different views of the Orchha Fort. Simply stunning.

Because I couldn’t take anymore stairs.

The light and sound show at Orchha.

Can you spot me and the babies?

The Bean admires the view from a jharokha.

You can almost hear the sound of payals down this corridor.

Our hotel was built around ruins. The gardens were stunning.

A ruin right in the middle of the Madhav National Park.

The Bean falls asleep with my hat on her face, as we settle the hotel bill.

The OA tries to make up for me not being able to take the stairs by describing everything to me. This is why I married him.

Loved this train track running through Gwalior, people hopping on and off as though it were a bus.

The aangan in Rani Lakshmi Bai’s palace. I’d love to sit here with a book. I wonder if she ever got to enjoy it in peace.

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The Brat’s 8th birthday was one of the most rushed plans ever. I was supposed to be travelling on a shoot and back in time for his big day, but I was only coming back late night on the 4th and didn’t think I could get everything ready for the next day. So we planned for the next weekend. And then the shoot got cancelled and we decided to let him have the pleasure of his party on his birthday and everything had to be rushed forward by a week – crazy! We hadn’t thought of anything other than the cake and the rest were quickly thrown into place.

Now that the kids are old enough for organised games, we picked a version of Pin the tail, in this case, on a dino. The OA decided to draw a T-rex for his son and I was as usual, shocked by how good an artist he is. He is my favourite example of eldest son primed to become CEO and nothing less. Free of social pressures and patriarchy, this man who never picks up a pencil other than to teach his kids, would have been a good artist. If nothing else, the peace on his face when he sketches, says something. If I could give my husband one thing, it would be a fresh start. One where studies took a back seat to the many talents he has, be it art or cooking or sports. Anyhow, lest you think I’m a fond wife gushing, check this picture out. He drew it without erasing anything and then let the kids colour it.

The T-rex being sketched by the OA. The Brat coloured it after his father was done.

I have become the official tattoo artist after the Bean’s party and have been painting themed tattoos for the kids. Most of them take one look at the tattoo I’ve made, shake their heads sadly at me as though – You poor deluded woman, you call yourself an artist? And then walk away without a word so as to not hurt my feelings. They all came back for seconds, thirds and face painting after a while.

The food was deviled eggs, pancakes, fruit, popcorn, sausages and Maggi – again, since the Bean had asked for it, the Brat had to, too. We made little signs and stuck them on ice cream sticks that were dug into lumps of Plasticine – saying Carnivorous and Herbivorous to mark out veg and non-veg food. We also made up funny names for the rest like Primordial Slime, for the Maggi and Oviraptor Eggs for the devilled eggs. The kids had a lovely time and the OA and I actually finished cleaning, sweeping and swabbing the floor by 9 pm and got into bed in time to watch a few episodes of our latest obsession – Homeland. The Brat got an insane number of books, most of them on animals; clearly his friends know him well.

The OA working on his masterpiece.

We moved pots around to create a jungle entrance to our place.

The OA’s T-rex fruit salad is almost ready. We added some pineapple and mango to the watermelon.

‘Oviraptor’ eggs!

Pancakes shaped like dinos, with marshmallow eyes. These were a hit. 

The cake was fresh mango and sprinkled with cocoa powder. The fossil was fondant.

Some need a little help with conquering the ferocious T-rex.

G’pa gets in on the action while a bunch of pint sized contestants distract him!

The Brat turns eight

Yep. Would you believe it? Eight years of the Brat, seven years of this blog.

When he was born, they called him the Prince of Peace. Blasphemous, I know, but true. There were factions of our families, both the OA’s as well as mine, that didn’t get along with each other, with us, various combinations and permutations. They all came together to hold this child in their arms and they smiled over him at each other. It’s been 8 years and those relationships prosper. Even as I rejected my son, the world, my world, embraced him and each other. If I could turn back time I’d embrace him with all my heart from the moment I laid eyes on him. As it stands, he earned it.

It’s ironic because now the Bean tells me, ‘You’re not my choice of mama’ (she comes running with a little sorry card a while later), but she says it. My son on the other hand, comes home from school, wraps his arms around my waist, buries his face in me and breathes in the smell of me, rests. We don’t speak – he doesn’t like too much talk. And then he leaves me and goes off for a little quiet time. It’s usually in the backyard, under the pomegranate trees. They shade him from the hot summer sun and he sits there for a while until he’s ready to talk, mix, join the living.

We call him lovey-dovey and sometimes dove, for short. And he reminds me of a dove. Gentle, peaceful. The Bean’s feisty, vivaciousness grab one’s attention. The Brat, on the other hand, observes our guests and waits for the one who isn’t all over them. He then gently befriends that person. I realised later, this is his way of drawing out people as quiet as himself, his way of being a good host.

Over the last year I’ve grown closer to him. To the extent where it feels at times, like I wanted him, not the Bean, with all my heart and soul. And this just comes around to show you that you don’t always know what you need, but you get it. The Bean and I feed off each other’s hyperactivity and go nuts. This one, my son, he calms me down. He makes me see what is important and what is merely a frill. In his childlike way, with his ancient wisdom, he makes me a better person. And isn’t that what it usually boils down to? What the other person makes you feel? Well, the Brat makes me want to be a better person. Create a better world for him.

The other day he came home without his homework worksheet. He’d given it to his friend. When I asked him why, he said it’s because you sacrifice for friends. The word was discordant, coming from a child’s mouth. What does a child understand of sacrifice? And yet, he’d just given the sheet to his friend and was ready to go to school and get into trouble.

I don’t pretend to understand the Brat. He is his own person. At some level he is beyond innocent. The kids on the bus are talking about their boyfriends and girlfriends and I know the Bean will be there soon. But the Brat, he looks up and blinks, and then asks you if you know what the Great White Shark weighs.

Over the last year he’s begun to play football and shows a serious amount of talent but very little interest. His Hindi sucks, his English HW is done minutes and Math needs to be made into a game for him to take interest and speed through it. But science, science engages him in the way literature engaged me. I sit with this asinine look on my face and listen to him rattle off facts. I’m absorbing nothing. I’m just watching him light up and I’m feeling my heart tumble over and over again. I fall in love with him and he knows it.

When he does something he knows I disapprove of, he walks up to me and pulls me down for a kiss. Every morning he leaves for school without his bag. Every morning I scream like a banshee. Every morning he walks back, kisses me on the forehead to shut me up, and walks off. Again, without his bag. I groan in frustration. He takes after his father.

He can live without me. He’s very strong and that core of calm makes him strong. He takes his rights and wrongs very seriously. He picks a side. And for that quality alone, I am so proud of him.

Happy Birthday my little Brat (a misnomer if ever) – I love you more than life itself.

Hanging out…

…. ‘ just like a bat family would,’ says the animal obsessed 7-year old.

This is what happens when the father comes home from work early and the family decides to have a conference. They have it upside down.

Separate

Some of you wanted a Brat and Bean post and I know it’s been a while since you heard about them, mainly because their lives are slowly growing more private. They might not mind a potty training post when they grow up, but as they negotiate the real world, make friends and learn to deal with conflict I want more and more for that to be away from the public eye. That and the fact that milestones no longer fly thick and fast. Sitting up, standing, walking, talking, self feeding, first tooth falling, cycling without support…. I look back and it seems like their babyhood passed in a flash while I laboured physically to take them through each milestone.

But what has begun to fall by the wayside are the little leaps of mental evolution. The understanding, that I am a person separate from them. I realise that comes earlier to kids whose parents are working full time – they realise that mummy and daddy have a life apart from them. On the other hand, I’ve always been around to scratch an itchy back, soothe a fevered brow and rock a tired child to sleep while singing a lullaby so it is hard for kids like mine to accept that their mother has a life of her own and has indeed, even a separate body. I won’t comment on whether that is positive or not, but that is how it is.

The frustration that comes when they want something and Mama is *gasp* actually daring to take a shit (did I just say that on my blog?). The despair when they are upset over a fight in the school bus and Mama’s inability to make it better. These are little things that no one tells you about. Oh you read about them in books and now in blogs, but they don’t seem to amount to much. Unless you tend to feel everything 200% the way I do, and now I realise, my kids do too. I’ve passed my hypersensitivity on to them, through either nurture or genes and now we’re just going to have to deal with it.

I think it’s nice for kids to know that there is someone on earth who will always drop what they’re doing and be there for you – that is why you have parents, right? Someone who will always answer your calls. Someone who puts you first. And I don’t for a moment believe, that it gives them the impression that the world will do the same. They are, after all dealing with the real world on a real basis and seeing that it doesn’t cut it.

So yes, my biggest challenge has been to give them that limitless time and buckets of attention while still trying to maintain some semblance of a life of my own. Plentiful time and attention rarely spoil kids in my humble opinion. Trying to make up for the lack of either of those two with money or laxity on the other hand is what leads to terribly spoilt kids. I believe that all mothers must live their own lives and not let it revolve around their kids – technically. But I also know that it is a tough line to walk. Read this great piece from a son to a feminist mother.

Having said all of that I should admit rather shamefacedly that the intention isn’t always followed up by action. I work from home on a million and one projects at a time, and end up rather disorganised and flustered. So a cry for ‘Mamaaaaa!’ is usually answered with a snappy, ‘Okay, which one killed the other?’

But yes, should there be bloodshed, I’m there. If they come back from school and someone bullied them on the bus, they can talk about it over lunch. If they’re tired, I see it and sneak in an unscheduled nap. If they’re hungry and I’m not dying under the burden of a deadline, I can whip up something special for them. I don’t blame them for finding it hard to know where to draw the line.

Which is why I was pleasantly surprised a few days ago. The doorbell rang and the Brat helpfully ran to answer it, climbed up on a stool to open the latch, and knocked over a plant I had in the windowsill. I heard the crash and took a deep breath. It was okay, it was just a plant (and broken glass and dirt and a mess and more work for me!). And then he came running to me and said, “Mama, I’m sorry I knocked over a plant. I know you work hard to keep the house looking nice and we don’t have any didis to help you with the work. I’ll clean it up. And then I’ll help you plant another one.”

To say I was shocked would be an understatement.

1. He’d rushed to confess and apologise.

2. He noticed and appreciated that I liked to keep a good home.

3. He acknowledged that I had no help and did everything alone.

4. He wanted to help me and make up for the loss.

It was more than I expected from a 7 year old whose mother ran circles around him. And at some level I guess it is not so surprising. He might be quiet but he visits other homes, observes how they are kept, sees how much help is available and oh dear God – he might just be a sensitive human being!

I hugged him, told him he might hurt himself on the broken pieces and sent him off to get me the broom and pan. That was all I really wanted from him.

A few days later I was in the toilet (Yes, I know this is the TMI moment) and the Bean yelled out to me. Now I am sick and tired of people wanting to have long, complicated conversations with me, the moment I ascend the throne. I’m good for a quick yes or no, after which I get distinctly cranky and hostile. It’s the last refuge of the tired wife and mother and you have no idea how frustrating it is to find no sanctuary there either. But no amount of sarcasm or downright nastiness seems to shoo them away. I’ve come to the conclusion that actually dealing with the issue and solving the problem (unless it’s something like – Mamma! He’s pushing pencils up my nose) is the only way to get rid of them.

So when the Bean yelled Mamaaaaa a couple of days ago, I resignedly yelled back, What?

Oh, said she, ‘You’re in the bathroom? I’m sorry. I’ll ask you later.”

I have to admit I almost fell off the pot in shock.

A realisation that I was in the toilet and an appreciation of the fact that I might want to go about my business in peace and oh dear God – an apology!

I know these little markers whiz by in the dailyness of life but both made me stop and smile. I might have missed them if I’d got too upset over the smashed plant or just as usual yelled something rude from the bathroom. Yes, I might have!

Missed real, honest to God milestones where they slowly evolve from parasites into human beings. Aware, sensitive and willing, once in a while, to give their mother a break. I know I’ve written very often about the gradual physical separation of a child from the mother. The weaning, the self feeding… and now this, the final and hardest break of all. Becoming an individual. Ego, choice, concern, love…

I went to bed smiling. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be home with them. It could be a year, it could be ten. But watching this, knowing this as I do, I can’t possibly look back in regret.

And while I’m here, let me share with you my current favourite song. The lyrics are awesome (check them out on the Coke Studio Pakistan site) and I love the way their voices blend. I’ve always loved Sanam Marvi’s voice and I don’t know if I can possibly love her more. And the Western influence towards the end is bang on. I can’t say enough, so I shall stop right here.

 

The little green bus

Yes, I’ve been madly busy and that’s always a good thing, right? Oh go on, say yes even if you don’t mean it! Make my day.

But something happened that made me want to stop and record it. Do old readers remember the green wooden bus Chhota Nana made for the Brat? For those who came in late, the Brat’s first word was ‘bus’ and living above the busy road that we did, that came as no surprise. I’d blogged about the bus because Chhota Nana sat with a carpenter and worked on that bus. If his first grandchild/nephew liked buses, he would have the biggest and best possible, no matter what it took.

It was made with love and care and thoughtfulness (Chhota Nana is well known for his thoughtful gifts) and it was personalised. Bicycle support wheels made its wheels, little plastic dolls sat as passengers and the number plate was the Brat’s date of birth – 555. It obviously went from Allahabad to Delhi and had Abada-Delhi painted on it, because that is how the Brat pronounced it in those days.

The bus did its duty and took them on my flights of fantasy. The years went by and they outgrew it but I couldn’t bear to give it away. And then we moved homes and I could no longer even find a suitable spot in the nursery in my new home. Buried under a bunch of stuff to give away it lay languishing and I still couldn’t let go. How could I ? It wasn’t just a store bought toy.

And then a few days ago I heard of a school for the underprivileged and I knew the bus had found its new home. I am sorry to say I didn’t let the kids know that I was giving it away. I didn’t want to risk them objecting because I had just about mustered up my own courage. They imagine it is still buried under the winter storage stuff. I’m not sure when they will ask for it – they have a couple of times and I’ve had to refuse them because I just didn’t have the strength to pull it out.

Lying around the house as it did, I’d forgotten how many memories I had of it. It took them on a space odyssey, some days it was a horse to their cowboy antics and on others it was a train taking them to Madras. Sturdy and built the perfect size to be ridden on, it was a ride-on toy like no other and had even once been pushed down the stairs ‘to see what happens’.

As the old bus settled into the back seat and  took off on its last long journey I knew I’d done the right thing. I hope it brings as much joy to those little children as it brought to mine.

This might not seem like much to most. But for those who’ve taken this journey with me from the start, you’ll know why this has been emotional. It’s a coming of age. That bus truly was one of the last few things I had from the Brat’s baby days and as I watch childhood slip away and my 7 year old frown over homework… I (wo)manfully hold back tears.