A little more

A  little more time,

A little gaze,

Doesn’t seem mine,

But I like the daze,

A little escape again,

A little more self-deception,

A little more free rein,

A few more distorted perceptions,

Ah the rain to wash the little more,

Just one more daydream like before,

Yes it will be just one more daydream like before,

Then I turn to my thoughts no more.

Letter to Shreya on your sixth birthday

 My heartbeat,

These letters have started to feel like those icky letters from ‘kuch kuch hota hai’ but neither am I the saree clad ghostly Rani Mukherjee and nor is there a Kajol waiting for your dad (or is there). And never will you play cupid.

And this analogy should be enough to tell you the craziness threshold your mom has reached.

I was all prepared to be the goo goo gaa gaa mommy, but never did I prepare for this six-year-old authoritarian. You may look like a diva but you’re a tiny dictator who always has answers to leave me dazed. Like when I told you to mind your business, you looked back and told me you don’t have a business. And Shivansh must walk, breathe, and move as you please.

My little one, as we continue to be stuck at home in these crazy times, I wish I can give you a normal world soon. While our childhood was all about outdoors, exploring and failing, I’m concerned that you both are deprived of all this in the most fun years of your childhood. Let’s hope for normalcy soon.

And Shreya to be likeable, stop being a bully. It's alright if people around won't do as you please.

I wish you have the most magical birthday and hope that you stay away from all the structured learning that is destroying your imagination.

Love beyond all the love in the world,

Your hugie pugie mom.

 

 

 

Letter to Shivansh on your sixth birthday

My Punjabi puttar,

You’re a foodie, and whenever we want to indulge, you’re our go-to person. I love how you’re clear about what you want to eat and what you want to do and get done with it. No drama, no qualms. As hyper restless as you might be, it’s hard for you to focus (always has been).

I understand when it’s only natural to punch Shreya as the bully shrieks at you or irritates you through the day. But I’m deeply disturbed at how serious these fights are getting each day.

On the chilly morning of 2016, when this 2.5 kgs baby came squealing into our lives, little was I prepared for his growing addiction to gadgets a few years later. I wish normalcy returns so that I can let you explore the world beyond the screens.

You might feel ignored when there’s someone boisterous always around getting all the attention with her charm and tact. But remember that you have our undivided attention, understanding and love, whether we say it or we don’t. I just wish you grow out of your shell to become more self-assured, ready to be seen and heard in the pandemonium.

As you grow in an environment obsessed with perfection, I hope you can confidently embrace your imperfections because that is what makes us human. I am immensely proud of who you are and what you will be if you work sincerely to be.

Love that knows no limits,

No longer your helicopter mommy (but still a crazy one)  

I love to hate that Piggie

"Mom, it's a bit funny" 

My daughter told me followed with a funny snort. Most of the parents who have toddlers or a little more than that will understand what my daughter has been watching. 

In case you don't know, Peppa Pig is an adorable, chatty, cute and energetic 4 year old pig with her charming family. She has a little brother George, mommy pig and daddy pig with a big belly. 

But the more I watch Peppa Pig, I hate the little piggie. Why?

• Peppa Pig doesn't grow up. She has been a preschooler for years.
• That brit accent.
• When it rains, there are no muck-filled potholes and traffic jams. There are muddy puddles! The family jumps in them without worrying about messing the house.
• Peppa and her family have the best house, garden and neighborhood.
• The family goes to hills for picnics and hops on a camper van anytime for a holiday.
• She has so many friends who are so different from her.
• They make pizzas and cakes so effortlessly.
• Grandpa pig has the best kitchen garden and makes it look all so easy.
• School projects - ah! piece of cake
• Birthday parties - smooth
• The family can eat as much as they like! 
• They see wiggly worms, fireflies, parrots and the best of nature. They are experiencing childhood as it should be experienced.

Sorry for being this nasty whiny human. I love the show but hate it when I know I can't have even a teeny bit of peppa life. 

The emotional baggage of the second wave

The infamous second covid wave has been ruthless. Not too long ago, we (the urban Indians) believed that we were covid proof. We had achieved herd immunity and were above any variants. 

Everything that happened in the past two months has been a rude shock. Each day, as I heard of people struggling for oxygen, hospitals, life, I felt more paralysed. Some of us lost loved ones, some of us lost health but all of us lost hope. 

This variant defied everything that we had supposedly understood about the virus till now. 

During the first wave, each day we were flooded with messages from people (each posing to be a pandemic expert) on WhatsApp university and YouTube. Our days were filled with different concoctions, home workouts and healthier meals. The Instagram stories boasted of pilates at home, low carb recipes and ginger, black pepper and raw turmeric kadha.

We did all that and yet the second wave couldn’t save many of us. It stripped us of trust, self confidence and mainly the illusion that money can buy anything in India. We had to witness our disappointed doctors plead and lose their own lives.

The second wave will soon end and hopefully we will be better prepared for the third, if there’s any. But the emotional baggage of the second wave is so deeply embedded now that it will take the longest time for us to trust the entrusted. We aren’t sure of the right ways to manage our health. Not anymore. 

The disillusioned Indian

This post is predictable. It’s about venting out my anger, fear and uncried tears. 

Questions in my heart, I’m not sure who can possibly answer. This is the lowest low time for most of us. The events of this year have radically mutated my sense of belonging. I’m no longer the person who had tears swell up while singing the national anthem. This doesn’t feel like home anymore. Doesn’t home make you feel protected?

How did we come to this? 

Why are we grappling for basics?

COVID has been around for sometime. Why aren’t we prepared yet?

Where is the assurance that it will be over soon?

Where is the action plan?

How are the leaders allowing this to happen?

How can we be reactive to an extent of mercilessly leaving people to fend for themselves?

Why aren’t we lighting candles anymore? At least it gave hope.

I don’t indulge in political bickering, and I don’t take any sides. I don’t want this post to serve as fodder for a political debate. I want to be able to feel safe again. 

On Republic Day, each year, we put up a show of our armed forces. I want to see our preparedness for pandemics and other medical emergencies. 

Once this is all over (I’m not even sure if it will be and if I will be there to witness it being over), I hope we are still seeking answers. We are still angry and unforgiving for making so many suffer. We are still invested in human life and so is everyone around us.

Letter to my future son-in-law

I turned into an emotional dynamite with a wedding in the family recently. It was fun, glum, exciting, bittersweet – basically it felt like emotions were on a wild rollercoaster ride. While I have a lot of respect for our rituals, there are some, I feel, are no longer relevant. Therefore, I am compelled to write to my future son-in-law. I might write to my future daughter-in-law someday but basically (if you are reading this)  do whatever you feel is right (and if I turn into the evil grumpy mom-in-law someday then just make me read this).

Dear future son-in-law,

Congratulations on getting married to the most beautiful girl in the world. I love her so much that I could have gotten married to her myself and made her sleep over me till my last breath, but I think she needs a break from me.

You need not call me something you do not feel so you can refrain from calling me ‘mom’. It will be a big deal if we can have a friendly chat over coffee. As you wed the best person, I hope we can celebrate together, perform rituals that are meaningful and not regressive and patriarchal. 

There shall be no ‘kanyadaan’ (and I have been thinking about it before Dia Mirza). We do not possess our daughter and cannot pass on someone we do not own. Redemption of our sins will not come from donating our daughter, but with good deeds. Back in the days, father would handover the responsibility of their daughters to the groom. I am sure that my daughter, like most daughters, will turn into someone who takes her own responsibility and manages a relationship of equals with a lot of maturity.

She will not throw rice on her ‘vidaai’ as there is no need for her to thank us. We bring children to this world for our own gratification and then expect gratitude. How unfair. She is, and always will be our extension, and there is nothing in the world we would not do for her.

This letter might sound feminist today, but I hope by the time you read it, it’s pertinent. It will take a long time for me to accept you since you are taking my heart away. I will, however, start to like you if you indulge her like we do, and be the reason that she smiles every day. Do not compartmentalize her into your or someone else’s expectations but let her be. One of the perils of having kids late in life is that you are not sure how long will you be around. But I am glad that you know how I feel and will honor it lest you want to be haunted.

From a MIL who can hopefully be your friend someday,

Shilpa