back home from school

hair askance, pigtails gone awry, sweaty faces, dusty clothes, dusty shoes, shoelaces undone, school bags hanging lopsided from shoulders, waterbottles that have emptied their contents out and are now hanging upside down-- never knew these could make for such a heartwarming sight.

nothing like going to pick up your child at the bus stop when she returns from school. even as the bus grinds to a halt, you can hear all the chatter and laughter from within its bowels come rushing out. "devansh, don't forget the maths assignment submission tomorrow," or "adel, give me back my flip book," or even, " bus uncle (the driver), karan mmere kaan khinch raha hai. main meri mummy se keh doonga" sometimes, several discordant voices in unison, "dil mein mere hai darde disco" accompanied with several thumps, claps and banging pencil boxes on the bars of the bus windows.

they tumble out of the bus or drop down tired, almost darkened by the day's sojourn, dragging their school bags, dragging their blazers. your bachha emerges too. and gives you a wide grin. three front upper teeth and two alternate lower teeth missing. the lenses of her glasses so dirty it's a marvel she can see. her shoes are a mess. a button's undone again. her schoolbag looks like a straycow mistook it for dinner.

she chatters endlessly as you walk home together. swati mam this and swati mam that. how she loves her english textbook (bell rings in her mother's head), and enjoys dance class. how her 'best friend' riya shroff made her a 'best friend' card. how dipayan eats up everyone's sandwiches in the break. and saminder mam is really the best teacher in the whole world, etc. if 3 x 5 is 15, how can 5 x 3 also be 15? her favourite table is the table of 1. close on its heels is the table of 10.

you relive your childhood again. a proxy childhood. recall how you used to come home, sit atop the kitchen counter and rattle off the day's happenings to your mum in a bygone era.

mithi goes on. you keep listening. you prize the few occasions you pick her up because her naani picks her up daily. you cherish what she is saying even if you cannot remember it all a half hour later. you know these years will fly past in the blink of a lifetime. one day she will not take the school bus or return by it. she will finish school. have her own kids. pick them up. you come full circle.

you remove her shoes. and realise soon you will not be needed to do that. there's a lump in your throat. "what's for lunch mama?" she asks. her favourite rajma you answer. "yay!" she rejoices. usual remarks. questions. changing into fresh clothes. having lunch together. an ordinary day. extraordinary moments. how do you retain them?

happy birthday

mithi: mama, hurray for 2008. my happy birthday will come again.
me: but mithi, your birthday is in september. that is 9 months from now.
mithi: mama, you need to polish up your english. very bad. how can an english teacher make mistakes? what if your students were to know hmm? very bad.
me: huh? what did i do?
mithi: don't you know that you should always say happy birthday? you should have said, "but mithi, your happy birthday is in september. " be precise mama, be precise.

******
talking of happy birthday parties of our kids nowadays, the thought of organising one more or sending mithi to one more in macdarlings (that is mithispeak for mac donalds) gives me the heebiejeebies. let me clarify that further. organising one more or sending her to one more in
macdarlingspizzahutunclesam'spizzaUSpizzaspinozapizzaarspoeticapizzapizzapizza gives me the heebiejeebies.

history repeats itself everytime at all these outlets. the same boring pattern follows each time. 25-45 kids assemble, run amock, make a lot of noise, burst the few miniscule wobbly balloons pasted on the walls like poor cousins, scream all over the place, guzzle chilled, near frozen coke (of the cola variety, dahling!), chomp away on pizzas, touch everything around with cheesy sticky fingers, fight over nearly everything--from sitting with one's best friend, to wanting that slice of cake with three orange gems on it just like Riya's got.

the guys at the pizza place make them play the same passing the parcel and musical chairs as though these have high brand value and came with Marco Polo to town. sometimes if the "package" is good enough, they throw in ice cream for good measure. wonderful really. because i am sure most kids are croaking painfully hoarsely at home just as mine is. if you're luckier, your kid will also come down with fever, and whoop like a baboon for the next ten days.

impersonal. commercial. commoditising birthday parties. clinical. monotonous.

yet, people prefer it this way. for three-four big currency notes, they think they can hover around like graceful and composed flamingoes instead of going beserk like plucked hens. (how do they do it? the best i can do to avoid being a wailing banshee is a mick jagger).

whatever happened to homegrown birthday parties where 7-10 children got together at home, ate chole puri or pav bhaji or bhelpuri (made at home) and played indigenous ingenuous games such as hotch potch or treasure trove, etc. [hell! i never had a birthday party till i turned 21 and diane threw a party at Alliance for me much to my "embracement" (as she put it)].

i want to do this each year, and scream myself hoarse trying to advocate such personalised, "motherlyised" parties each year. and lose the battle. fort.troops. cavalry. infantry, everything demolished. the thought of having about 35 boisterous kids at home and some portly mothers drives hubby nuts 2 months in advance. so we are back to square one.

of santa claus and stockings

christmas eve. the mother- with -a strong -motherhood conscience once again decorates the christmas tree at home. not one but two. A real tree of medium height in a garden pot, and another faux paper one. meticulously hangs the decorations--plenty of balls, and stars, and chocolate look alikes, and snowmen, and their little sticks, and plenty of giftwrapped boxes (with nothing inside them). stands back and surveys the scene. tree looks quite bare still. brings out plenty of cotton wool and pulling it over the children's eyes, says, " Ahem! here's the snow. plenty of it. yay yay." children repeat ( the yay yipee yay bit). tree still looks bare. takes out some birthday buntings left over from last to last year and lays it all over the tree. good. tree looks like a hara bhara kebab. hang a big paper star with lamp inside that makes the drawing room look like a million bucks when lit up. hmm...

that is the easy part. both mithi and my neice hitankshi are shreiking like banshees about hanging their socks (not stockings, mind you). till last year i only decorated the tree. now rinki and hitankshi have introduced mithi to the idea of santa claus and his presents for kids. so now, i am stuck for life with magical santa gifts too. mithi dances about with glee like a baby hannibal.

hey, there's a good thing here after all. lovely way to be rid of the noisy twosome for a change and pack them off to bed. announce that santa comes on his sleigh around 8 pm and only visits those homes where the children are fast asleep. he positively frowns upon late nights for children.

the two hannibals hover around. blue blooded doubting thomases. mother praying desperately as never before in life that her ruse works. gambit pays off. but not before hitankshi calls up her dad long distance to tell him to hang another huge "socks" for her at home. double whammy for her indeed.

mithi has a brainwave. why not hang papa's socks to accomodate more things? when one tidal wave recedes, another occurs with precise timing.

mithi throws open the main door. runs out at top speed. muffled voices....approaching footsteps.

am done with my work. look forward to peaceful night with my favourite novel. there's mithi. back.

with five of her neighbourhood friends, each holding out their dad's socks.

annual day function at mithi's school

for parents their children's annual day fuction can be a very moving event. Mithi's school had its annual day function, "Orukalli" on Tuesday evening. The overarching theme was seasons, with a staggering 365 children participating in all the sundry dances and the skit.

it is so difficult to explain how one feels at the sight of all the little ones confidently performing on stage. it is not just the sight of one's own child on stage, but all the children put together. i couldn't but marvel how these little ones performed with such panache. even when they made mistakes they just moved on quickly, smoothly, without being ruffled at all. parents were cheering and clapping for all the kids i am sure, just as i was. there's always a lump in the throat when some child, any child does exceptionally well. one cannot but be misty-eyed, even the die-hard cynical adults.

as usual, i missed out looking at mithi's performance, forget soaking it in, because i was fumbling with the camera in trying to record the skit. in all the fluster, forgot to press the darned button to start the recording. the net result? i do not even have photographs. thank goodness the school's taken care of such things.

mithi's character was that of a stylishly dressed patient at a doctor's clinic who speaks English with a put on accent. everything went smoothly except that the leather purse she was to clutch kept slipping and she was holding on to it as one would an umbrella in the rain!

of parents and kids

( 2003 : 4 years back)

me (to hubby): listen, mithi's getting to be too difficult to handle...doesn't listen to me....stubborn...tantrums....DO SOMETHING! [ i am a loser mom, (full sobbing works)]

***
anshuman (to 3 year old mithi): storytime! settle down! (plumps up the pillow)...once upon a time there was a lion, and he was a really really naughty lion. all the animals in the jungle were fed up with his antics, and they decided to teach him a big lesson.... they threw him into a deep dark well and told him that if he did not behave they would not take him out of the well, but let him remain there forever.... lion starts crying and says sorry...yada yada yada...so, mithi what is the moral of the story?

mithi turns around, fixes her father with a piercing gaze for a moment, and says, " you know papa, you should always listen to mama."

toothfairy travails

mithi in april this year: why aren't my teeth falling? three of hitankshi's teeth have already fallen! how long will i have to wait for toothfairy to visit me? (sob...sob...muffle, sniff)
mithi mid-june: MAMA!!! LOOK, BOTH MY FRONT TEETH ARE SHAKERING!
me: shakering? (mithi's already out of the door, calling her father to deliver the happy news)
mithi 10 days later: mama, megha tells me that if i throw my tooth on a tin roof, tooth fairy will give me a baby brother, and if i bury it in the ground, she'll give me a baby sister.
me: (croaking) huh?
mithi: yes, can you believe it? listen mama, we really should plan this to the last detail.
me: how? (still dazed)
mithi: let's decide what we want, when we want and how we want, and leave an application for tooth fairy. actually, i want a brother, then he can teach me how to pee standing up.

***

mithi: MA!!! MY TOOTH HAS FALLEN. AT LAST GOD HAS ANSWERED MY PRAYERS!
when do you think tooth fairy will come with my gift?
me: you've to sleep first darling because tooth fairy only visits at night.

thankfully, mithi's forgotten about roof top and ground and keeps the tooth under her pillow very carefully, intending to display its best side and colour.

(morning)

mithi: mama, guess what tooth fairy has given me? a box of colour pencils, some stickers and a book. lowely, lowely. but, why didn't she gimme a choice?

****
mithi: what will tooth fairy give me now that my sixth tooth has fallen? i want a barbie doll and a dress. also, a dvd of the little mermaid.
me: mithu, tooth fairy comes only five times--when you lose your first five teeth. after that she stops coming and goes to other children.