The Red Dress

Recently a cousin sent a beautiful red dress for N. It was shoulder-less and pleated with a tight waistband opening out to a large swirling skirt. It had a dainty sash that went over one shoulder. It looked so pretty on N except, she didn’t look like my baby daughter anymore – she looked like someone shrunk a model on a ramp.

Image: www.studentshow.com

All babies are darlings and baby girls, even more so, because you can dress them up in the prettiest of clothes. We are spoilt for choice when it comes to fluffy frocks and hair bands and skirts and shoes and whatnot. While it is a pleasure to dress up a child, I don’t indulge myself usually and keep it simple for N. I also try not to excessively cue gender in her clothes. She wears a mix of basic frocks/ shirts/ t-shirts teamed with shorts/ pants. It’s the same for any special occasion – except the clothes are then a little brighter and newer.  So it’s quite perplexing for me to see the new trends in children’s clothes.

At a birthday party a couple of months ago, the girls were all in “dresses” and wore impeccable makeup. They were self-conscious but carried themselves like coquettish young women – perching delicately on tables, flicking their hair in practised abandon, flirting with the (clueless) boys.   It would have been sweet if they were seventeen year olds. But they were all seven. And their mothers watched from the sidelines, faces shining with pride, that their daughters looked so good, that they had arrived in life, attending such posh parties.

Yesterday, there was this little angel at the mall, wanting to sit near my daughter. She wore a noodle strap floor-length dress and heels. Her hair was pulled up fashionably in a high knot with curls falling all over her face which was fully ‘made-up’ with winged eye lashes, mascara, lipstick – the works. The child walked gently on her heels, picking up her dress daintily, while her proud mother looked on. I was fascinated by her delicate beauty and heartbroken at the same time. She couldn’t have been more than three years old. What was even more horrifying was that the family was so trusting. I was trying to take a picture when the child sat near N but hesitated a moment wondering if they’ll mind if I took a picture then, with their child in the frame. But her grandmother called out to the child, pointing to me, “See see! Picture! Look at the camera!” 

These are not just one-off incidents but increasingly, the norm. On the one hand, there is rising pedophilia and other sick crimes against children that attempt to destroy their childhood. On the other hand, there are well-meaning people who inadvertently destroy their children’s childhood with their personal aspirations.

What is happening here?

Yes, we struggled hard, competed against the odds and made it in life. We have a house, car, money in the bank, a career that’s going up and up and a social circle to share all this with. We ‘subtly’ flaunt our material possessions that signal our social status. We flaunt our latest gadget – an expensive smartphone, gaming system. We flaunt our tastefully done homes – new décor, antique furniture. We flaunt our clothes – designer labels, chic outfits. We flaunt our investments – blue chip stock, smart buys. We flaunt our prize deals and fat bonuses. All OK so far, in fact pretty standard for the forever-aspiring, forever-middle-class. But then, we flaunt our children – dressed to perfection, groomed to perfection, extension of our perfect lives.  Guess what, it’s NOT OK!

Your kids are not a miniature version of you. They are not your possessions. They are not your identity. They are not proxy for your accomplishments in life. They are not display stands of your social success.  They are not showpieces to be discussed over drinks and dinner. They are not tools for one-upmanship. Your kids’ clothes do not have to reflect your own sense of style and your social aspirations. They’re not part of your competitions with your peers in your advertising-conditioned mind – “how come her clothes are cooler than mine” and automatically “how come her kids look smarter than mine do.”

I rant because I see kids dressed wrong all the time. They are dressed like miniature ramp-walkers, sometimes street-walkers. It breaks my heart to see a beautiful, innocent young child totally unaware that she is dressed to look way beyond her years. Why would you want a 4-year old in stilettos? Why would you want a 6-year old in blood-red lips and tights? Mind you, I am not against stilettos or lipstick – if worn by those who can carry everything else that is associated with them including the male gaze. But please don’t objectify little children and make them clotheshorses at an age when they are vulnerable and impressionable. Don’t confuse them with mixed signals of baby-girl-woman at an age when their identities are being formed. Don’t make them carry social baggage beyond their years.

Fueling this madness, are the retailers of children’s clothing. I get emails from several of them, exhorting me to ‘dress your daughter in style’ and not miss the ‘latest fashion in dresses for 2-3 year olds.’ Thanks, but no thanks, I mutter.

In my view, makeup and clothes are social masks and defence mechanisms that get more complex as we grow and help us “face” society – that need to be minimal and nonintrusive for children so they can engage with the world naturally, fearlessly, unselfconsciously. I am sure there is some scientific evidence somewhere that would say that excessive focus on clothes would lead to a reduced sense of self. There goes, one hundred years of feminist struggle, expended by credit card on adult dresses in baby size. 

I know this is a sensitive topic. ‘What’s the harm, it’s just some fun,’ one might say. But there’s a thin line between fun and fashion. Keep it fun. Don’t aim for fashion. Let your kids be messy, let them wear age-appropriate clothes – meaning, kid stuff and not adult dresses in miniature.

Please let them be kids.

PS: The red dress? I thanked my cousin sincerely and explained to her why N couldn’t wear it.


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Do you agree? Do tell me what you think in comments. Thank you for reading.

Sharing the love...

When I started this blog, what I actually wanted to start was a community for moms like me. Where we could all hang out and talk about these things. But at the time, it seemed like a herculean task involving resources I didn't have. The easiest thing was to just start writing. Then I stumbled on yowoto and was delighted - it seemed like ideas do have a life of their own. If you aren't doing it, someone else is. A wonderful, young and inspired team runs yowoto and they are building just such a wonderful community of parents coming together to raise the world of tomorrow.

So I am doubly delighted to share my thoughts on yowoto. Some time ago, I published a post there on how free time with nothing to do is important for child development (Read: Why I make sure my daughter has plenty of time to stare at the ceiling). In this new post, I share my tips on how to make the decision to work or not to work post baby.

Do read and tell me what you think!

Am I a good girl, Ma?

When I was quite young, I read Swami Vivekananda as having said (I paraphrase) “Good and bad are both chains… one is golden and the other is iron. Even if it be of gold, would you want a chain around your foot?” No sir! I don’t want a chain around my foot, thank you very much.

  

Since then I have always regarded the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ tags with the suspicion and relativity they deserve. Nothing is absolute. Of course I know one has to do good acts and avoid bad acts as a member of society. But I don’t want to “label” myself or anyone else good or bad. Good or bad is as good or bad does. They are merely markers for acceptable behavior. Swami Vivekananda recounts his master Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa’s analogy of a thorn – just as you use a thorn to take out a thorn, use good tendencies to clear up negative tendencies. But then go beyond all tendencies.

Image: www.balltrotter.com

Also, there is just too much baggage around “being a good girl” because of society’s stifling and convenient definitions of what a “good girl” is and the inordinate psychological pressure on women to be “good girls” all the time. But that would be another post altogether.

What has all this to do with learning to be a mom, you ask?

With all my complex thoughts around good and bad, I was careful to avoid the “good girl” tag with N. I usually give praise by saying “Good job!” or “Very good!” and censure by saying “That is bad behaviour, that is not good behaviour.” But years of conditioning can sometimes get the better of you, so I have often checked myself saying “If you’re a good girl, eat this up!” or “Don’t hit your cousin, aren’t you a good girl?” But for the most part, she didn’t really care about good and bad.

However, the moment she went to playschool (starting this July), she caught on to “good girl.” The very first day she came back with three stars on her hand. I asked her what it was for. She said proudly “N good girl!” I don’t know what her mental image of a good girl is. But I don’t want my daughter to give up her natural impulses for the sake of a cheap label. I was worried but didn’t say anything to the school. After all, I can’t always control how society treats my daughter. I can only give her a foundation with which she is hopefully able to hold her own in any situation without mommy having to back her up.

So I said nothing and just let her be. Her happiness with being a good girl also led to other people around the house using that to banter with her. Someone would say, “You are not good N., you are an aye N.” (because she keeps saying aye) and she would run to me and ask for affirmation, “Am I good N. amma?” No matter what the situation, I would always affirm her and say, “Yes you are always ‘good N.’ But I don’t think you should shout aye, that is not very nice, isn’t it?” If her cousins wanted a reaction from her, they would rile her with “You are bad N.” and she would again come running for an affirmation from me that she is indeed “good N.”   

This obsession with being “good N.” went on for a while. I continued to worry silently if my daughter would succumb to pressure and tailor herself to win society’s ‘good girl’ tag.

And then it happened.

N. loves playing hide and seek with her cousins. She is always the seeker and goes wild searching for them in exotic and magical places like ‘behind the cupboard’ and ‘under the table.’ The other day I overheard a conversation between my daughter and the boys. The boys (aged 11 and 8) were trying to get her to play hide and seek as usual but she wanted to do something else. They tried every trick and she stubbornly refused to yield. Then they used the most powerful salvo they had. The elder one asked her belligerently, “Look at me, aren’t you good N.?” At which my daughter, all of two and a quarter, looked up at her two towering brothers and coolly said, “No. I am bad N.”

In that moment, a mother’s heart lifted and sang. I laughed aloud, drawing strange looks from my nephews. But I only laughed some more. You see, my daughter is “bad N.!”

Of Monsters and Evil Men...

Being a learning and growing child is definitely one of the single, most bravest things to be on this planet. In a chaotic world of random shapes and textures and tastes, a world of towering adults and their inconsistent language and behavior, a world of tough obstacle courses to master each day, a world of complex relationships to navigate, this pair of bright eyes and bundle of baby fat starts to flex its tiny muscles of will and independence.  If that doesn’t require courage, I don’t know what does.

So, on top of all this, why exactly do we scare our children? 

Eat your food, else the goblin will get you. Drink your milk, else the monster will gobble you up. And the worst is the open-ended, Do this (or Don’t do this) or else, the ghost (or any XYZ) is coming!

Most of my struggles with N are about eating. Either she is an angel with everything else, or I just don’t care so much about the rest. But however much I struggle, for the longest time, I’ve tried to protect N from fear-talk. I give her real consequences for her behavior. My reasonable, happy self starts off like this:

If you don’t eat, you won’t have shakti, you can’t run like Milkha Singh (her favourite). If you throw your pens, how will you find them when you need them next? If you run on the road, you might fall, didn’t that hurt so much last time? If you stamp on your books, Saraswati Devi won’t like it at all, how will she give you knowledge and wisdom?

It doesn’t work all the time of course, N loves testing her limits and I let her test her limits when it wouldn’t hurt her too much, so that she can see the consequences are real. She understands this with some repetition and internalizes this. So when she falls, she tells me she fell because she was running. I am glad she is making logical connections and that she knows she needs to behave a certain way, not out of fear but because it makes sense that way.

My clever shortcut for when I am running out time is to use praise/ competition. Sanju can’t eat with a spoon like you can, you know that?! Or: If you aren’t eating, I am just going to give all this Harshita. Or: I am going to feed Tommy (our neighbour’s dog) all your awesome pongal. The problem with this one is she loves feeding Tommy. Sometimes I make extra portions just so we can feed Tommy for every bite she takes. Sigh.

However, ermmmm, life isn’t perfect (yeah, like we need reminding!). Many times, when logic and reason fly out the window, I use emotional consequences in various intense voice modulations. I am really angry now. Amma is very upset. Paatti is very upset you aren’t eating. See uncle is watching, have a bite and he’ll say you’re a good girl.

My final level is to threaten her with physical consequences. That’s it, you’re going to get a whack. I’m really going to give you two whacks. This never works. It only helps me let off steam. And feel guilty and calm down. Or she makes me laugh by saying, “Ammaakku rendu adi” (two whacks for amma). In any case, we all get back to baseline and start from logic and reason again.

So this has been our tango.

And then one day, I slipped up.

N loves her “Aladdin and the Magic Lamp” picture book. She loves the huge genie appearing in smoke out of the magic lamp, bearing a tray of food. At first, she just said, ‘genie, mammam’ (mammam meaning food). Then she noticed this genie was huge and Aladdin and his mom, sitting near the lamp, were tiny compared to him, and in another picture, the strong genie flew to safety with Aladdin and the Princess on his back. Her reaction to the genie till this point was positive, if filled with amazement. Then I sang to her a song, from an ancient Tamil movie on Aladdin, which goes “Allah-ud-din-in adimai naan, arpuda vilakkin pillai naan, jeeboomba jeeboomba jeeboombaaaaa!” where the name of the genie is Jeeboomba. She loved the name and promptly appropriated it. She kept saying that word both in and out of context, with eyes wide open to indicate wonderment at the genie’s size and magic.

Image courtesy: www.disney.wikia.com

I don’t know how or when but I must have said in a moment of frustration, “Eat or else, Jeeboomba is coming!” I honestly don’t remember. Either I said it, or someone else in the house said it. Since then, my brave little explorer refuses to be left alone in a room, sobbing that Jeeboomba is coming, especially at night. Every now and then, she looks behind her shoulder. She points to any dark background and says “Jeeboomba!”  

The worst kind of fear is that which has no reason. It is terrifying, simply because you don’t know what to expect. It fills you with nameless dread, starting at the base of your stomach. And this is the fear that we put into a child every time we scare her with the bogeyman. For what? Because we are running late? Because we think she should eat a little bit more?

Nourishing her heart and soul trumps nourishing her body any day! We can make up for a partial meal later but no amount of explaining can really erase a scary vision or ease a queasy stomach. It is so easy to feed images to a child’s brain, we have no sure way of changing them at will.

Also, there’s another angle. If a child has to be scared into doing something every time, fear becomes her call-to-action. Growing up, she might respond to fear by acquiescing to whoever is causing that fear. That would be a dangerous trait to foster.

Children don’t explore because they are fearless. They do so in spite of their deepest fears. As adults, we need to be their pillar of strength, and not deliberately add to this fear. We should celebrate their strength and not hit them where they are the weakest.

I’ve of course done all the damage control I could. So what If Jeeboomba is coming? Jeeboomba is your friend, isn’t he? Or, Oh Jeeboomba is coming, that’s nice! Let’s give him some tea and biscuits. She is slowly getting used to the idea. “Jeeboomba friend!,” she’d suddenly declare out of the blue, showing me that her mind is working it. But I know she is still afraid of him. And I feel so sad that my daughter’s once-loved genie has now become her nightmare, all because I wanted her to eat a bit more.

Now, my resolve against fear is further strengthened. The idli can remain half-eaten and the chapati be fed to the crows if need be. But I promise I will not scare my child with the bogeyman again (So help me God!).

Birthday Bash, Literally!

When we were kids, having a birthday party in itself was a fairly big deal. The richest girls in class had ‘parties’ where we sang ‘happy birthday’ nicely and played memory games. We were served cake and potato chips with small cups of orange or lemon crush. I once asked for a second helping of rasgulla (uncharacteristically, if I may add) and my friends looked at me in horror, as if that were the greediest thing they had ever seen.

Now, with a 2-year old daughter, I am yet to join the birthday party circuit full-time. However, I live in a joint family with a large extended family close by, with many nephews, nieces and their friends popping in and out at regular intervals. So I go to a fair number of birthday parties. And the trend I see is disturbing.

So what is this new birthday party all about? Let me break it down.



Image: www.karlaakins.com

The Invite: It has to be quirky. Think graphics. Colour. Digital. You’re a pro-mom if you have an animated invite.  


The Cake: Every year, the search for the most unique cake with the kid’s favourite cartoon character. Parents feel pressured to outdo each other and themselves in going one level higher than the previous year and also to account for the growing ‘taste’ and attitudes of their young one.

The Dress: For both the birthday kid and the guests, this is an important issue. There has never been a better time for the kids fashion industry. Girls as young as seven dress like models straight from the ramp.



Image: www.kcparent.com

The Birthday Gifts: The more the merrier. The brighter the better. The larger the lovelier. The kid is never satisfied. One is inevitably reminded of Dudley, Harry’s cousin in the muggleworld. Parents can’t control this, so they do the next possible thing and promise to make up for any lack.

The Menu: Cake and chips are for the nineties definitely. You’d make a bad birthday mom if you don’t think on the lines of pizza or pasta, pulao at the least.

The Return Gifts: You cannot be cheap and give pencils or pens. You’ve got to think out of the box. Your child’s prestige is at stake.



Image: www.finewallpaperss.com

Don’t get me wrong – I am not against cake and fun. I can’t resist cake myself. It is just that everything is so loud it is getting to be meaningless. Parents try harder each year and each year the kids grow harder to please. We aren’t doing a service to our kids by setting them up on this vicious cycle of feeling entitled and then feeling bored, thereby raising the level of expectation the next time round. This in itself is quite bad and worse when it is purely over material objects without a richer emotional experience.

A birthday is a time for reflection, evaluation and planning for the next year. The best birthdays are when you look back with satisfaction on a productive year, make strong plans for the next and then celebrate another year of your existence on this planet. Is that too serious for kids? No! It’s never too early to start living meaningfully and it doesn’t have to be serious!

Also, here’s the thing about fun: parents cannot manufacture fun with money. They need to get their kids to create their own magic.

 

So what did I do for N's birthday? That will have to wait for another post!

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Has it happened to you that you see something all your life and then one day you see it as if for the first time, for what it is, the essential, the real? It happened to me. In the bathtub. Thanks to N.

N. loves music. Which kid doesn’t, eh? I’m very wary of modern media, or rather what passes for kids’ content these days, so for the longest time, she had to make do with my singing. Then I gave in just a little bit and explored ‘kid-friendly’ videos on YouTube. I’ll explain my definition of kid-friendly in a future post. For now, let’s just say it doesn’t include most of what goes on kids TV. On YouTube, just when I was getting tired of looking at monotonously chirpy kids and flashy animations and noisy videos, I heard this laidback guitar strumming. Two kids and a dog in a boat, simply gazing, totally relaxed, gently floating down the stream. A soothing voice crooned, “Row, row, row your boat…” I was hooked.

Now, we’ve all heard the rhyme. It goes:

Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream…
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream…

I remember singing it in school, vigorously rhyming ‘stream’ and ‘dream.’ I also remember N. got a dancing doll gift (Made in China) that blared ‘ROAROAROAYERBOAT” (worse when the battery ran low, then it went “RoooaaaRooaaaRoaaaaa”). I remember watching the same song on other YouTube channels with bright, happy children waving their hands and thought bubbles coming out of their heads. But somehow, these two little children and their dog floating down the stream, stuck with me.  N. loved them too, she is forever asking me to sing “YoYo,” the one with the “anna” and the “akka” and “Jimmy” (brother, sister and dog). So we sing it all the time, while dressing, while eating, while walking, while sleeping (yes) and then, in the tub, while bathing.

One day, I was making slow waves in the tub around N., singing “Row, row, row your boat” as usual when the epiphany hit me. This wasn’t really a children’s rhyme! This was the most profound life lesson anyone could get! It condensed all the wisdom through the ages in four simple, perfect lines. Short like the sutras, deceptively simple like zen. I’ll go so far as to say this rhyme is but the essence of the Bhagavad Gita and the upanishads. At this point, I totally understand how you might think I’m a wee bit off, but nevertheless, let me explain.

The first line says, row, row, row! Make the effort. Get ahead. Do what you have to do. You’re in a boat, so you’ve got to row. And keep at it. Go see things. Have experiences. Live your life. That’s standard advice. But the second line turns it on its head: gently down the stream. It has two messages. First, gently. Yes, make progress, get ahead, do things, live your life, but go about it gently. No clawing, no shoving, no pulling other people down. No hard punches. No ill-will. No haste. No grabbing. No spite. No clutching. No ugly marks on the sands of time. Be gentle.
 

The next message complements this: down the stream. Not against the current. With the current. Down the stream. Go with the flow. Row your boat all you can but go where life takes you. Don’t fight what you can’t fight. Let go. Let the stream of life guide you.  

Then the third line: merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. Merry is such a merry word! It is more infectious than happy, more childlike than joyous, more soulful than cheerful. It is festive and celebratory. And ‘merrily,’ not once, but four times! Whatever happens in life, make merry. Live in the moment, enjoy it while it lasts. Celebrate life.

And the best for last: life is but a dream. And that’s why you should make merry. For all that you do and care and laugh and cry, know that this world and everything that you hold as real, is an illusion. A bubble. A speck in the eternity of space-time. A little wave that thought it was something else but went back to being the stream. If this isn’t sheer Vedanta, what is?

Ladies and gentlemen, here for your viewing pleasure, my new guide to Life, the Universe and Everything:

 

A bit of magic

Many moons ago, when I was a kid of about 7 or 8, we lived in the middle of the city in a one-bedroom, tin-roofed shack on the terrace of an old house. Summer nights under a tin roof in seaside Chennai can be unimaginably hot. So we usually poured buckets of water on the red-tiled terrace (which tended to disappear quickly), spread grass mats and slept in the open. My dad in the middle with me and my 4-year old sister on each side. All of us looking up at the blue sky with its interminable array of puffy clouds moving slowly. We were busy picking out shapes of course. “Look, there’s an elephant!” “That’s a dragon!” “Here’s a little girl!” “That’s a king!” Shapeless stories were cooking in our heads as we watched those shapes form and re-form in those vast expanses. One day I asked, “Where are the clouds going?”  My wise dad replied, “These clouds have had a big drink from the sea. They’re really full-up and can’t move too fast. They drift slowly on to land and pour out all the water as rain.” Pretty standard, maybe. But for a 7-year old? Magical! (also, my dad shares his poetics with Kālidāsa! The great poet uses the same allegory in his Ṛtusaṁhāra or Meghadūta?) I think my love-affair with the sky started one of those hot summer nights. More on my sky-obsession one of these days.

The story now is that, one of the first things I wanted to show N. was the sky. For a baby, the bright day sky is a bit much but still, she quickly caught my “Hello Sūrya Bhagvān!” and learned to look for the sun. The night sky was trickier. Try as I might I couldn’t get her to look at the moon because every time she looked up, she was distracted by street lights and other light pollution. I would say, “Look, baby, look, there’s the moon!” And she’d blink at the neon lights and not follow my finger! Till one night. She looked past the lights and saw the yellow disc against the dark sky. And oh what a wonderful expression on her face! She was transfixed for a few seconds. And then her eyes lit up. She beamed as if in recognition. And laughed. And stretched out her hands as if to call out... She was so enthralled. No amount of electricity and shining lights can match that spontaneous wonder! I was thrilled to see her thrilled. And I felt somehow that I had served my purpose as mother that day. To have shown your child the moon, what more can a mom ask for? :)

Happy birthday little one!

Today, my daughter turns 2 years old. She was born under the Krittika star (Plaeides constellation), in the month of Vaikasi, a couple years ago. Life of course hasn't been the same since. She took a long time deciding to come to me. They always say, the wait has definitely been worth it. That's true. But more importantly, waiting for her has changed me as a person. The best part of having had to wait is knowing, what I would otherwise have lost precious years figuring out, what she means to me, what she really is.

I hear you ask, so what is she really? Apart from being a lovable little minx who chatters nineteen-to-the-dozen, gets her way around most people, makes friends with cats and dogs and pigeons and caterpillars, feeds crows and houseflies (yes), blows kisses to strangers (sigh), who calls me by name, with a twinkle in her eyes  and who's forever setting up danger zones with water she's generously pouring all over the house... I think about this little bundle of energy and wisdom and happiness. You know what she really is? She is my pole star, my conscience. The daughter who made a mother out of a woman.

Which brings me to this blog. This has been in my head ever since my first few days with N. I envision this as a space that will keep me honest as a mom. Make me stick to first principles through shaky roads. That will help clear my head. Will be my support system as I always put my baby first. Also, there's this thing. There's a clear BeforeBaby/AfterBaby to my life. One moment, I was chugging along just fine. Before I knew it, I was seeing children as never before, seeing situations as never before, painfully aware without even trying as to how that thing would affect them in the years to come. And I want to share this new understanding. Well, if nothing else, just a little love, a little wisdom, a little rant - something that will document the adventures of my not-so-shiny (stained-with-curd-rice-most-of-the-time) new avatar. 

PS: For you, baby.  Happy birthday. Life and love.