How Did You Know?

It was a Rush of Red.

The bottle looked the same, it was positioned right there the way it should be on the dresser. Not an angle misplaced. Yet the whiff was there.

I asked if she'd been tinkering with it.

"No," she said, "see nothing has moved."

I could see that, I told her.

She moved away, forgetting she'd soon have to walk back again. There it was, another Rush.

Then she told me, she'd a little spray.

How did you know, she wondered more than a little amazed.

Facts would have worked, yet fact-ion sounds better.

Mothers, I reminded her have eyes. When you don't eat, they know it. When you haven't finished your homework, they know it. When you've been naughty, they know it. When your grades are slipping, they know it. When you are hungry, they know exactly what you want. They can read your mind all the time. They are like your second skin. Often you don't even notice them till they are gone.

"Really?" she asked her eyes opening in wondrous excitement.

"Mothers are like skin. Do they get hurt when we do?"

Yes, they can feel those stitches bringing your lashes closer, they feel that graze on your knee, they hurt when you bleed.

"Then why do mothers like to scold children all the time?"

Not all the time. Mothers are strict, they have to be, they only want the best for you.

"Did your mother scold you?"

Scolding was nothing. Caning it was for us.

"But you don't cane us."

Never will, never can for a moment. It was years ago, yet I can still feel the pain. I'd much rather spare the rod and hopefully not scar my child.

Water Baby

When she is not standing in the middle of a fountain, she takes to water like a fish.
30 laps in a row, she packs twice as much energy as I do. She can beat me stroking hollow. After a bout with her weak lungs, she has survived swimming. A bronze down the road, she's at work on her silver.

Yes, when she started it was endless visits to the paediatrician. Once the breathing was sorted out, her lungs emerged stronger as did her spirit.

For that and for many other non-competitive facets of her life, Aneesha does us proud.

Question Time

"Can I ask you a question?" my fireball of energy shoots off the minute he's past the door.
"Sure..."
"Dhruv, what's the question?" I say after the initial excitement about being interrogated ends in a pregnant pause.
"I don't know. Teacher says must ask question."

Life is about Make-Up

As kids we'd done it.

No sooner did Mum and Dad get dressed for their evening party, of which there were plenty in the Indian Army, my sis and I would get cracking on our plans for the evening.

We loved that feel of chiffon, that sophistication of the pearl string, the whiff of the eau de cologne, the puckered pink lips.

Each time they stepped out my Dad was handsomeness all round, Mum perfection personified.

We wanted that look oh so badly. The minute they put their feet firmly into their two-door Black Standard, reminding us to be good and get to bed early we'd be happily saying goodbye.

Those were the days without television. Even when it arrived, the only entertainment was Krishi Darshan.

Yes, reading books was an option, though not as attractive as making a go of Mom's dresser.

We'd perch ourselves on the stool, staring lovingly into the mirror before starting off with the pressed powder compact, followed by the Kajal. Though the look would be incomplete without the lipstick. We'd pull out one Lakme after the other, paint our cheeks pink, followed by our lips. We'd then pull out one of Mum's many gorgeous dupattas from her wardrobe and make some real efforts to drape it like a saree. Then we'd strike some poses before scrubbing the paint off our faces.

It was all going perfectly according to plan, till one day, Mum and Day decided to head back a good 20 minutes after they'd left. Mum had forgotten her purse. As she unlocked the door of the 63/1 Bharuwala barrack and almost tip toed her way into her room - what does she see?

Two faces, definitely not pretty in pink. Not an amusing sight when you've been guarding your make-up as a national treasure.

Mum was livid and as the shouting began, we nervously tried closing the lipsticks, smudging four beyond repair in the process. We just didn't have time to roll it back before putting the lid on.

That effectively marked the end of our brush with make-up. For the next two weeks, we had our punishment meted out army style. It was being locked in the back seat of the Standard Herald, while our parents went to their dinner dos. Not that we minded that even. We loved the car which called for pulling of seats to step into it. We loved curling up in the back seat with our favourite razais.

Now, our kids do just that. Their pillows, comforters, stuffed toys, cars, Peter Rabbit take up half of the Nissan Latio, effectively robbing it of its sporty touch. That's not all.... each time I as much as attempt to step out of the door for a night out, there are broad grins "Bye Mamma, have a good time."

I thought it was all for TV, till I went to use my lipstick the other day.

A brand new Body Shop buy, it had been squashed in the case. It was beyond repair.

I should have been livid. But all I could do was laugh when Aneesha told me about not hers, but Dhruv's creative brush with my make up.

"He took that stool and painted his whole face brown."
"You did that, Dhruv?"
"Yes, can I show you again?" he beamed, brown with pride.

Argumentative Adults

They do this every time, Bala is away. Though the lines have become finer now:

Dhruv: "I will tell Daddy, he will scold you. Don't want to do homework."
Aneesha: "Adults don't scold, they only argue, Dhruv."

Trust in an age of....

This was written when Aneesha was about three and it was published in the papers. This was the picture that went with it. Since there's a bona fide kids blog, this seemed worth repeating.

Among the zillions of other things that I'm getting wrong as a first time mother - like not sending kid for music class, dance class, ballet class, swimming class, phonics class..... let me add another one - I've wittingly or unwittingly - taught her to be nice to strangers.

So people look at me rather strangely when she says hi to the person who steps into the lift.

And the bus drivers, I never forget their expressions when she goes 'bye, see ya now...'

One of them was so impressed he just had to shake hands with the little dame for actually saying thanks for the ride.

I know from the looks I beget that I am this crazed mother who isn't teaching her kid to be afraid of strangers. Maybe I am - slightly crazed - I mean.

But I never quite recall my Mum telling my sister and I to be paranoid of strangers. We just grew up with this general camaraderie towards folks around us, and somehow this instinct thing made me sense danger - if it ever did lurk in the distance.

Like Mum always told us to wish everyone but never take anything from a stranger. So there was this subtle conditioning about folks you came to know as acquaintances and others who were our friends.

Today, we seem to be bringing up kids who are taught to fear strangers. Though statistically speaking that isn't quite the biggest fear - but that's quite another story.

Yes, there are reasons for fear - kidnapping, abuse, rape - to name just a few horrible few.

But then there are also the other very real dangers - like I could walk out today and get hit by an oncoming vehicle and that could well spell the end of me or have the cab skid in a flash flood and be gone in a jiffy.

As a mother, I well share the fierce protectiveness of parents, the better safe than sorry sentiment.

What I regret in the midst of all this is the innocence lost, the way we allow fret free childhoods to slip away with our subtle conditioning, the way in which we teach them not to trust, not to reach out to folks in need unless they've been certified fit and appropriate by us knowing adults.

And that's a habit, once picked up through subtle or not so subtle conditioning can last through adulthood, where it's bound to manifest itself in even more dangerous ways.

In our suspicion of those who look different from us, and our quick willingness to blame them for our ills; or in our tendency to hide behind the walls of our secure homes that we believe will keep us safe from the world of strangers.

So what are we really teaching our kids?

Among other things - Don't take risks. Keep to yourself. Look away when someone asks for help. Hide behind something that will keep you eternally safe from strangers.

Now that's something I guess none of us wants as a parent.

PS: 4 years have passed since I penned this and I'm pleased to report that while I don't have a perfect twosome, they are always around to help. If you were to watch them closely, they will open the lift door for people waiting to get in, they will be the last ones out, they will open our secure condo doors for you. The other day, Aneesha first opened the lift door, then entrance door for a lady who was pregnant. I was so impressed and imagined that she will pause to say thank you, if not a chat. So imagine my shock, when the woman stuck her nose in the air and walked off like this was her birth-right.

I know, I was as shocked as Aneesha. We were crest-fallen and I'll never forget how glumly she said: "You always taught me to say thank you."