Bikini Body (A Poem)

A bikini body? Well not quite

More like a body in a bikini

With curves and folds

Sometimes more folds than curves

Folding soccer jerseys

While driving a teeny bit fast on curvy bends

Timing is everything

After all little league matches don't happen everyday

Neither do ballet performances

Daily happenings are morning bus rush

Evening homework hell

And weekend extra curriculars

So what is that one additional curve?

Or those innocuously looking folds?

Sometimes accompanied with a stretch mark or two

Or that ominous C-section scar

That voice that says "yes baby I will be with you in a minute"

But the tone that whispers "just another few minutes of peace please"

The hand that grasps the little fingers

The hug that is always a little tighter than expected

The fold in the laugh lines

The curve in the tired smile

Every fold has a story

Every curve a history

But few would care to listen

After all it's only a body in a bikini

Not a bikini body

A child's plea

Give me the gift of stories
Present me the power of dreams
Grant me the blessing of imagination 
Mother then you'll see me succeed

Don't tell me what to fear
Stop me from fleeing away
Don't wrap me up in cotton wool
And mother see me play

Forget about tomorrow
The present is so much more
Let's live in the here and now
Then mother watch me soar

Let us begin to be confidantes
The ones who comfort and care
Let us share our secrets
Tell me one mother, can you dare?

Watch me blossom
Watch me bloom
Join me in my triumphs
Hold me in my doom

I am no longer frail
I am small no more
Treat me like you would a friend
And mother watch me grow

What it means to be a mom. Happy Mother's Day all!

I live in movies
I live in songs
I live in memories
I don't live very long

I die thousand deaths
I cry uncountable tears 
I laugh million laughs
I throttle many a fears

I sing a long sonnet
I dance a tiny jig
I climb a high mountain
I take part in a gig

I explore the horizons
I swim the oceans 
I rustle up banquets
I create magic potions

Is there anything I can't do?
Is there anything I don't do?
Probably I don't take credit
Where credit is due

I take on stress
I build on worries
I add to the tensions
I am always in a hurry

I should laugh at the frivolous
I must enjoy the trivial
I need remember this
Motherhood is not merely about survival

It's a journey like none other
It's a lifetime of treasures
It's an excitement unsurpassed
Its sheer happiness unmeasured 

Of Mothers and Daughters. Happy Mother's Day

Of Mothers and Daughters

When you become a mom yourself, it makes you aware of everything you have put your mum through. And you finally understand what unconditional love is all about. But you also get a little lost in your own motherhood trials and joys that the time you had in your life for your own mum, goes down. Though her value goes up exponentially. 

My post yesterday spoke about the beautiful bond between mums and sons. Mothers and daughters have an equally beautiful though a different type of bond. 

Mothers and daughters are naturally tied together in love. But this bond also has a friendship. It has a kinship. Its based on shared experiences and common likes.  It has its ground in similar desires and subsequently similar scarifies. It's a relationship of equal footing, pretty much from the onset. There is a tinge of competitiveness. And there is bulk of appreciation. 

Its about routine conversations tempered with family gossip.

About having mum recipes yet always feeling that it never turns out like hers.

About shared experiences and hidden secrets.

About hand-me-down saris and jhumkas that are still your favourite ones.

About eye contacts that pass messages oblivious to everyone else in the room.

My mum has always been my voice of reason. She never minced her words and held up the mirror no matter how the ugly the reflection was. I am forever grateful for that. She showed me my true self, while constantly encouraging me to better myself.

There were as many pats on the back for job well done as there pushes to trudge me along. There were as many encouraging words as there were rule books. As much laughter as there were tears. And memories to last a lifetime.

The mother-daughter bond grows stronger over the years. When I was a a toddler, I was such a daddy's girl- to some extent still am. I used to lie to my dad that my mum scolded me, just so that he would take me in his lap and console me. It drove my mum mad, as I can so imagine now. 

As I grew older I confided in her more and more. I used to come back from school and sit on the kitchen counter and tell her everything that happened in the day while she made my favourite bread pakoras. 

In my teen years she took me shopping even though it exasperated her that I was not a careful shopper. I did not bother looking at ten shops before buying one item. I bought the first one I liked. She still can't fathom my shopping ways. 

As I grew older she became my friend and was always around to listen. The endless stories and the unending sagas. They grew more complicated and intense with time, but she listened patiently. Like she does till date. 

All mums make sacrifices. My mum made many too. She did not buy a new sari for her niece's wedding so I could buy contact lenses instead of wearing my glasses. She gave up eating meat years ago, but made the best koftas and fried fish for us. She walked to the market instead of taking the rickshaw so she could save money for that extra chocolate bar. She went to school to copy pages and pages of notes when I was bed ridden at home with a fracture. She stayed up nights when I was studying for my board exams and made me coffee in the wee hours of the morning. 

I can't possibly  list everything she has done for me. Even a million pages won't be sufficient.

Mama I love you. I may not say it as often now. But I love you so much. 

Yes mothers and daughters share a special bond. It's the bond above all else. It's the bond of motherhood. 

Of Mothers and Sons

I cried. In the doctors clinic and then sitting on a bench on Orchard Road. In the middle of Singapore's bustling shopping street. I cried. Actually I bawled. Reason was that the gynae had just informed me that I was going to have a boy.

A boy?! What was I supposed to do with a BOY? I could hear my dreams being smashed like glass that cracks when a rock is thrown at it. Dreams of ribbons and laces. Or reading Enid Blyton novels under the afternoon sun in a park. Of playing dress up. Of having a room full of Barbie dolls. Or sharing secrets over the kitchen counter. And watching old episodes of 'Gilmore Girls' together. Of doll houses and tutus. It was all over now!

I know. All one should ever hope for is a healthy baby. I was VERY grateful that I was going to be a mum. I wanted to be one since I was 18. This was happening 10 years too late. So I was extremely thrilled and immensely excited. But I would be lying if I don't say that I was disappointed too.

However nothing could have prepared me for what would happen when I held Sanil in my arms for the first time. There is a gush of love that you never knew you could feel for any one individual. There was feeling of intense protectiveness. I will never ever let anything happen to my little baby. I will shield him from every pain, every hurt. And in a few days I had to take him for his first vaccination and I cried. He didn't. But I did. The doctor looked at me and sympathetically said 'If you cry every time, he cries, you won't last very long'. I though b%^&% in my head but smiled politely.

Now am sure every mum feels like that about their newborn. However as time progressed I realized that a bond that a mother shares with her son, is totally something else. I once read somewhere 'Being a mother to a son is like being the only star in your very own Hollywood production'. You are the be-all-and-end-all of his existence. At least till the girlfriends start circling like vultures. Ok. I know I am being nasty, but I can't imagine myself actually liking any of his girlfriends. And I digress...

There is still time for that...for now I want to only think of him as my baby.

When he was 3 months old I started work again. I came home in the evenings and held him in my arms to feed him, he would hold my finger so tightly. Like he would never let go of me.

He used to sleep in his cot in our room. He never cried when he woke up. But I knew his routine. So I used to wake up at 7 am and look over his cot. And there was the most beaming smile I could ever receive from anyone. He would raise his arms and I scooped him up and gave him a tight hug.

Since he could talk, he told me everything. And I mean everything. Every small minute detail that happened in the day. When he started with 'Mama you know what' or 'Mama I have to tell you something', I knew long stories with dramatic expressions would fill the next 10 minutes. I listened patiently. I never wanted to story to end.

Boys are boys. They are boisterous, loud and sometimes obnoxious. They prefer soccer to books and 'Iron Man' to 'Little Women'. They don't see anything wrong in being dirty or muddy. And can't fathom what's the big fuss about clean floors.

They look up to their dads , their uncles, their grand-dads and want to be the 'man'. However they become little babies with the mamas. Mamas who cuddle them, wipe their tears and nurse the bruised knees. Also the same mamas who push them to their potential. Who steer them when they seem to lose their way. Who know commanding won't get you anywhere. But minor cajoling will. Who encourage their passions. And help them overcome their shortcomings. Who are honest yet loving. Truthful yet caring. I am so not one of the mum who believes her son can do no wrong. In fact sometimes I feel I am harsher than necessary. I can't raise a delusional child who thinks he's always right. I can only encourage him constantly to be the best he can be.

Mums are the only ones who boys are truly vulnerable with. They open their hearts and share their souls.

When they are rude, you know they are actually scared

When they are grinning, you know they have done something naughty

When they are concentrating, you know it's really important

When they are angry, you know they are actually sad

When they are annoyed, you know they are actually disappointed

And you learn this very quickly. So you adapt your reaction to the real emotion behind the mask.

It's an unending bond. That becomes looser when they approach their tweens. They become more sullen, more uncommunicative and sometimes aloof. Their eyes are glued to cricket and fingers are busy with the iPad. Their friends become the centre of their existence.

And just when you worry that you have lost them, they give you a tight hug out of nowhere and beg you to play UNO with them.

You just have to be there. Sometimes be content to watch from the sidelines. And wait. Patiently. Because they will come back to you. May be not as often as when they were 5. But they will. And get interested in what interests them. Even if it means watching reruns of IPL and hearing stories about soccer goals till your head hurts. Or even learning the ridiculous Gangnam Style...and enjoying it

It is an eternal bond. It never breaks. And when it gets loose, let go, instead of holding on.

I don't know if I am successfully doing it, but am sure hell trying.

Happy Mothers Day!

'All I needed to do to find the perfect man, was to give birth to one' Miranda Hobbes Sex and the City

My newborn baby! At the naming ceremony

At B-Ita's Wedding. All of 11 months

Awwwww

Big Brother to Little Myrah

I AM A MOTHER

I live to give, I breathe to love

I rule with a smile, I cast fear by silence

I care with the heart, I teach with the mind

I AM A MOTHER

My instincts are razor sharp, my intentions as pure as the rivers

My speeches are long, my voice louder than thunder

My hugs are tight, my kisses much too frequent

I AM A MOTHER

I find short cuts, while still walking the extra mile

I play, I get played

I am a sounding board, I am the voice of reason

I AM A MOTHER

I question, I probe, I demand, I insist

I relent, I agree, I accede, I succumb

I fight, I persevere, I succeed and yes...I fail

I AM A MOTHER

I laugh aloud, I cry quietly, alone

I give wholeheartedly, I seldom take

I feed the body, I nourish the soul

I AM A MOTHER

I desire to be noticed, I enjoy the gratitude

I love spontaneous hugs and big grins

I do have a life beyond you, but you are still at the centre of it all

I AM A MOTHER

I grow old and take on new roles

You grow older and vigorously seek new ones

I see you thrive, I watch you flourish

Even if it’s not in front of my eyes

I AM A MOTHER

Yes I grow old, but I never age.

I AM ALWAYS A MOTHER

The pain is the same

At a lunch party this week, once again the ‘tiger mother’ topic came up. One of my friends referenced a blog where a mum wrote that the kind of mother one is can be largely dependent on the social strata you are in. Take yourself a few rungs down in income, career and education, and perhaps you will be more of a tiger mother than you are now. As much as I would like to think that I would never be anything like a tiger mother, I am a more of a ‘follow your heart and do your thing as long as you are not harming anyone’ kind of person. But that point stayed with me.

Yesterday I watched this absolutely fabulous film- Do Dooni Char- a beautiful touching, yet humorous, portrayal of middle class Delhi teacher (played brilliantly and so realistically by Rishi Kapoor- my second fav movie of his now after Kabhie Kabhie) and his middle class family. It will tickle your funny bone and pull your heart strings, both at the same time. It showcases the daily grind and issues faced by middle class families in India as they fail to make ends meet with increasing consumerism demands. Side-bar- It was an absolute delight to watch Neetu Singh back on screen. She is the best! And am so glad she did not make a comeback with a glam-sham Karan Johar movie, but instead chose this one.

And this evening I finally managed to watch Dhobighat. I will need to dedicate a whole post to talking about that movie. It was simply divine! The reason it makes its way to this post (while still retaining a whole post of its own too) is that Dhobighat also bought into limelight a similar issue of class ideologies and what happens when the 2 worlds converge.



All this made me wonder...how different are we from each other? And I came to the conclusion that people’s emotions are exactly the same. You cannot classify love, hurt, pain, passion, longing, homesickness into working, middle and upper class.

When ‘Duggal sir’ in Do Dooni Char finds out that his son has been betting on cricket and making money, he makes him distribute all his winnings to street children. There is no shouting, yelling or any sort of punishment. Yes there is hurt, and there is a realization on how parenting teen kids can be a daunting task. It’s no different from how you or I would feel. We may react in different ways- depending on our temperaments and means-but the feelings don’t change.

A teacher living in a one bedroom apartment in Delhi suburbs and we living in high rise condos in district 9 and 15 in Singapore- are both helpless to protect our children from societies growing vices.

When in Dhobighat ‘Yasmin’ was making a video diary of her new life in Bombay to send back to her brother in UP, the pain in her voice when she missed her family was just what I used to feel when I first came to Singapore. She was in Bombay trying to get used to the big city life while enjoying all it has to offer, but she pined for her home. It took me back 13 years...I too had a made an audio diary of my life in Singapore for my family and friends- I told them of my new experiences here and I reminded them how much I missed them and longed to be back to my Bombay, back to them.

There is a big social divide between Yasmin and me. I have the means to fulfil my desires of being closer to my family. She did not. That was the only point of difference. The pain we both went through, the longing of wanting to be back home was exactly the same.

We forget this. We forget that all that all that separates us from them is that we have the means to change our situation. These means are usually monetary and sometimes social leverage. We forget that with kind of incomes we earn and careers we keep, we are a very small percentage of the society at large.

When it rained continously last weekend, we all cribbed how it prevented us from going out. Going out to spend more money and buy more thing we don't need. For most others it means that they will have to find innovative ways to prevent their make shift roof from leaking, or spend hours trying to get the rain water out of their houses.

When there is a power cut in urban India, we can barely survive those few hours without our TV and air con. And we forget that millions of people still don't have the luxury of electricity.

Quoting a dialogue from Kal ho na ho- “Apni nazar se dekho toh tumharein paas bahut kum hai, kisi aur ki nazar se dekho toh bahut jyada”.

Let’s try not to take these privileges for granted- because that's exactly what they are- privileges. Given to us by God Almighty and can be taken away anytime...Let’s remember that the pain is same.

Tiger mother needs Tiger balm to soothe her senses

Amy Chua came up in conversation few weeks ago and that was the first I heard of this “tiger mother”. She is an America “author” (I believe the term is used very loosely nowadays. One book does not an author make. Well ‘technically’ it does, but author is such a commanding and awe inspiring profession-to me at least- I find it misused tremendously). Anyway, so back to Madam Amy Chua, a Chinese-American who has recently come out with a book called “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother”. Here she states the golden parenting rules accordingly to her and it all basically boils down to “Push your kids to stretch their potential. As they are kids, and mum knows best. And yes, did I mentioned push them?”


Push to get A+ in school- Obviously Amy is not familiar with Singapore’s international schools where ‘we believe in developing the child’s personality and inner strength’ is a the mantra. Took me awhile to get used to that principle and not keep asking “Yes, sure. But when will he learn to read and spell?”

She even notes (and rightly so) that if a western child gets a B grade, his parents will probably be happy and congratulate him and may be a perfunctory “try harder next time but good job”. But in a Chinese household, hell would break loose and the mother would gasp in horror and demand to know “what happened?”

Pursue a hobby aggressively and competitively- Amy (who is a Yale lawyer by the way- guess being an over achiever paid off for her!) states in her book that a Western mum would get her child to practice the piano may be for 15 to 20 mins a day. But a Chinese mum knows that that’s the easy bit. Its next 2 hours that are critical ones. JEEZ!

And the Nazi ones- like no sleepovers, no play dates, no TV, no computer games…SERIOUSLY!

I have been hearing and reading a lot about Amy Chua and her book since then. On the web, in conversations and today Sunday Times has covered a whole section on her book. Many Singaporean-American mums have cried hoarse that Amy’s style does not reflect the general parenting patterns of Chinese mums.

Melvin Tan an opera pianist commented that Amy’s book brings focus on the white elephant which is-why Asian kids outperform Western kids at school. Errrr isn’t this like racial profiling? It may have an element of truth in it, but still a gross generalization!

Another columnist whose name escapes me (Colin Goh?) said that Amy’s style is closer to Genghis Khan than Chinese mums :)

And one other very rightly pointed out that ,what if a tiger mother gives birth to a kitten instead of a cub? Then would you not need to change your parenting style?

So now that so many people have so many reactions, I had to put in my 2 cents worth too. Like I always do. But only on subjects I am familiar with. You will never catch me talking about stock markets, tech gadgets, investments or anything remotely important like that. Because I do not like to talk about things I don’t know much about (don’t ask how I survive in advertising!). My views are restricted to the mundane and the frivolous.

So my first reaction was- FREAK! Who treats their kids like that? And which desi mum have you been hanging out with? Ok. THAT WAS A JOKE! But admit it! We all know such ‘First kyon nahin aaya’ Indian 'sherni' mums too.

And then my reaction was that she is either a publicity hound, or super brilliant. She is writing a book about parenting and criticizing Western mums parental techniques. And this is in America! Where they have an Oprah hangover and love discussing touchy-feely emotional issues on end. She would surely know that there would be massive public opinion and backlash.

So publicity hound. Or sheer brilliant way to increase book sales! People all over are talking about her and high chance they buy the book just coz of the hype.(Please dont! If you have massive urge borrow it from the library or a prison near you where the jailor is reading it to learn new tips)

For all you know, she is actually a pretty chilled mum who just had a fabulous business idea! ;) For such entrepreneurial skills, she should thank here Chinese upbringing.

On a serious note…if she really has raised her kids like that (and by the way, they are super smart and have turned out to be brilliant pianist and stuff like that), then good for her. She has raised the go getter kids she always wanted.


Now only if the kids also wanted to turn out this way…then it would be perfect. But something tells me, it may not be case. And that just makes me sad...Wish Amy knew that life trumps grades...

p.s. for all those interested in my super parenting skills, watch out this space!