A VERY SPECIAL LETTER

My dearest Zoo-zoobi,

Hi! As I sit here waiting for the clock to strike the midnight hour and usher in the teens for you, I am in flashback mode. The moment I first set eyes on you, is still a fresh memory despite the blurry vision (minus my spectacles). Despite being a new born, you made a strong claim to your space in the world and to your independence. I was reminded of Kahlil Gibran's poem on children and of the Constitution of India, even though I was groggy from the anaesthesia. 

It has not been an easy ride for you, in many ways, more so the last couple of years. I cannot promise that it will be smooth sailing here onwards, but it will surely be as wondrous a journey as it has been heretofore. Just make sure you deal with the crests and the troughs that you will ride, without being affected by either. It's all mind over matter in the end baby. 

Happy Birthday my darling...here's to the teens and to our battles! Just know this, I have been there and done that so I possess the unfair advantage! Loving Mommy advice - Learn when to back off honey. Hahahahaahhaaa...I love you. And I have a little gift for you. When Papa was preparing to come to Nigeria for the first time, your Muthachan sent him a letter which was all about you. Papa shared it with me when he got it; he was overwhelmed and had tears in his eyes. The letter has an universal quality about it and Papa had given me permission to put it on my blog. I was waiting for you to turn thirteen to put it up. I have typed it in and have also put up a few pics of Muthachan and you. This was published in one of the Raksha Concert Souvenirs.  

Muthachan was extremely fond of you as you well know and will know more when you read the letter. I hope it will also give you an insight into the person he was and that you will get to know the true essence of him. I am sure had he been around, he would have dragged Ammooma along and landed in Lagos to usher in your teens. Just as I am sure that both your Ajja and he are sending you blessings from wherever they are. You were very precious to Muthachan and there have been instances when I have known for sure that he is watching over you. 

Never mind whatever else I may say, I am truly blessed and thankful that your soul chose me to be your Mom. Thank you for being my rock during the times of crisis. You do have those sparks of wisdom and maturity far beyond your years and the old men up there must surely be beaming with pride! If only they knew...

Love, kisses and hugs. And a big God Bless.

- "The Mother"

Here's Muthachan for you...

My dear Parag,

As the date of your leaving the shores of India draws near, I am troubled with the thought that fate may deprive me of the chance of seeing you again! Nigeria is far, faraway. It is not even Bombay or Kharaghpur, which heaven knows was far enough for someone for whom anything beyond Panampilly Nagar is far! But, who knows in a vaporized condition, I might find the entire world more accessible! But then I shall be a non-participating audience!

It is comforting to plan, meanwhile, for Muthu’s and Aarzoo’s visit; the thought of which is immensely exciting. We will make most of their time in Cochin. With Aarzoo around there won’t be any need to plan and, any case her mother will probably have to be whizzing around at great speed and we could have Aarzoo all to ourselves! When, and if I live to see Aarzoo after Nigeria, she will be a grown up girl, possibly a little shy, in Montessori or, LKG or, UKG and, of course, progressively more enchanting!

I hope you will fill her ears with the best classical music you can lay your hands on, Indian, Carnatic and Western. Let her speech aspire to music and her movements to dance. Speak sofly so that her speech will be modulated and she will know the power of the whisper. Give her children’s edition of Ramayana, Mahabharata, Iliad and Odyssey and the entire Greek classical lore to read in translation. English is a beautiful language and she has a right by inheritance to Bengali. Give her some Sanskrit too, for it is a storehouse of infinite wisdom. Not too much, for you don’t want her to be an antiquarian; just enough so she too can stand filled with wonder before the edifice of a tradition of such unmatched splendour. Malayalam is a harsh language not given to much refinement and invariably spoken in high decibels! But it would be a pity to miss it out altogether for it has much to offer but you may have to sacrifice its study for the sake of a more selective choice. If she is a “language girl” she will learn as she goes along anyway. You don’t have to thrust it on her.

Science will take an increasing role in the lives of those who belong to her generation. And, if she is to steer her course through this life she will need an ample measure of it – Mathematics, Chemistry, Biology and Physics, and all the baby sciences that these mother sciences have produced. Teach her to distinguish between religion and spirituality. Let her know what religion is all about but practice spirituality. It belongs to the realm of science and is the only opening to, of self-knowledge. It will bring grace, depth and quality to her life and it is never too early to begin the great exploration.

Let the temple of her body grow in health and strength. It does not call for more than Milk, fruit, vegetables, plenty of sunshine and exercise – swimming, cycling, tennis and gymnastic exercise, which enhance the control of the body. Let her learn to value her body for it in her care for a lifetime and, we all have an obligation to make the most of what is given to us even without our seeking.

She will need to sleep a lot so she can grow well and bed time must be considered sacred and, set aside only as a special treat, when some great artiste is coming home to sing  or play a musical instrument, or you are taking her out to listen to a concert of some truly great musician. Brook no departure and don’ let her cajole you into yielding! Your own lives will have to be seriously disciplined to ensure that she sees always before her eyes brilliant examples of the lifestyle you impose on her.

I wish I could list the books she must read but that will take all of a lifetime and in any case what can I recommend her at 75! By the time she begins serious reading everything but everything will be recast for the new generation. New stories, new poems, new myths and legends, new music, new science and even newer superstitions! All we can say teach her to distinguish the trivial from what has permanent value. There is no easy way to distinguish this wither, no magic formula to tell one from the other.

If I omitted to mention laughter and humour it was only to give them the prominence they deserve. Let your home be full of ringing laughter and bright shining eyes. Sulk is sin; fear it like the plague. Even if a sorrowing visage is in fashion, don’t keep with the trend. Teach her to value the “now” for that is all she has. The past is mere memory and the future mere imagination. Count any day as lost if you have not laughed. Don’t brook any sorrow in your life or in the lives of others; treat it as a kind of illness. Religions wear the clothes of sorrow and almost worship it as something essentially good. If you follow a faith in order to be miserable there are clear there are cheaper and easier methods to accomplish unhappiness. Take your morning papers seriously that is all that it calls for. Remember in spite of Bush and the Iraq war, in spite of Advani and Naidu, in spite of Lalu all our other calamities, in spite of the disability, illness, deaths by starvation, and thirst, ugliness and despair there are also wonderful people, and skies and flowers still smile, and there are kittens, puppies and babies – what more can you ask for.

As I sit here banging on this machine, from the ground floor of this nine-storied building, I hear the voice of children screaming with delight. This sound travels up the stairway and I keep the door ajar so that I don’t miss it. It fills me with a great surge of joy and I am reconciled to life and death. If this will carry on after I have left the world what is there to grieve about.

I started with the simple intention of saying bye bye and to say have a wonderful time and send you love. You don’t need all this but I wrote it on an impulse! God bless.

Love and many hugs from Baba.

Tell Muthu I love her and this un-revised, unedited letter is also for her together with an equal measure of hugs and kisses. Baba

Overcoming fear

I still remember the paranoia in the girl’s eyes when I took her swimming that year. She just refused to get into the water no matter the cajoling in combination with the threats of dire consequences made by Hitler Mom. She was six and the story was the same every summer since we had moved to Bangalore.

The club in the complex, we lived in, had a lovely pool and had facilities for coaching in the summer. I would register her for lessons and she would parrot every excuse in the book, to not attend classes. When she did attend class, she would have the coaches tearing their hair out; she would dig her heels in and refuse to get into the water. Given the large number of children they had to coach, they invariably ignored her and gave me "the look". I was at my wit’s end. Swimming was a skill I wanted her to master for the joy of weaving through water is quite unparalleled. Life is going to take her through the rough and tumble and swimming would be one of the greatest stress busters with zero need for the chemical anti-depressants.

The situation took a 180 degree turn when we landed in Nigeria and were introduced to Coach Tough!! She agreed to take her under her wing and coach her. The initial days were tough and the story seemed to repeat itself. But Coach Tough did justice to her name. And then there came a time when she swam the entire length of an Olympic sized pool, determination writ large on her face, never once flinching when she crossed into the deep end. Watching a nine year old overcoming her fear and being confident of her strength was overwhelming to say the least. My Mommy heart cannot thank Coach Tough enough.

Post her triumph over her fear, Aarzoo Elizabeth Kaveri Sen, aged 9,that year, wrote this piece......and made me proud and confident that she has it in her to turn the lemons into lemonade!! Here it is unedited; and I better duck for cover before Ms. Intensely Private bares her teeth and claws at me for sharing this.

Photo: Coach Tough and her wards

Our Friend Water

To all the people who are scared of swimming, deep waters, going to the beach or for who are afraid of water. Here is a story about me being afraid of swimming. I always would feel scared of going to the pool. I had these bad thoughts that would scare me like drowning, getting hurt, etc. No matter how much my coaches, my parents and relatives tried, nothing worked. I started having even more of these scary thoughts after my coaches said they were going to push me in the pool. I didn’t like the coaches. When my dad started working in Lagos, Nigeria, my Mom made me sign up for swimming lessons in Lagos with Coach Tough. When I went to sign up, I saw her and we spoke. I told her my problem and she told me not to worry etc. The club has two pools. One was 10 ft and the other was 9 ft. But they started from 3 ft and the other started from 3.5 ft. Day by day, when I learnt swimming, I realized I had overcome my fear. But still I was a little scared of the deep end, but I overcame that. My Mom always said, “You will never drown. Water is our friend.” Then she explained buoyancy etc. This was because of my Coach Tuff I overcame my fear. I love her v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v.v. much!!! She won a lot of awards in International Swimming competitions. She had swum for Nigeria. Everybody should know that water is our friend. You will never drown. ( I don’t know, depends!)

Mixed up family

This entry is a few months behind schedule and is dedicated to Shalini Froiland who gently kicked my butt to ensure that I woke up from the lazy stupor I had gotten into....

"Mummy, I know Runa Aunty's full name", was how the conversation began.

"Oh really! What is it?", I responded

Aarzoo : I know all the full names. I'll tell?

Me : Tell

A : Runa Banerjee, Samrat Banerjee and Aditya Banerjee.

(Sam is Parag's colleague and over time he, his wife Runa and son Aditya, have grown into family)

A: Everybody is Banerjee, like Shitiz Banerjee

(Shitiz & Aarzoo were best friends when we were neighbours. He lived across the corridor in Flat No. 1308 and we lived in 1306. Runa lives in the same complex but in Flat No. 1306 of another building. We too moved into another building and live in Flat 404)

A : Everybody in 1306 & 1308 are Banerjee. Only 404 is only Sen.....

M : No Aarzoo, Sen & Devaya

A : Yes, I know. This is a mixed up family. Even the languages are mixed up; Bengali, Malayali, Hindi.......

My daughter's take on the linguistic & cultural diversity of our family had me laughing till my sides ached.

My Handprint

November 14, 2008 - Children's Day - Aarzoo's handiwork at school. The words stapled to this piece of art had me all choked up.

My Handprint

Sometimes you get discouraged
Because I am so small
And always leave my fingerprints
On furniture and walls
But everyday I am growing big
And soon I will be very tall
Then my hand prints
Will be hard to recall
So here is a special handprint
Just so that you can say
This is how my fingers looked
When I placed them here today

My baby turned six last month. Soon she will be ten and inch into her teens and there will be major battles for independence. And turf wars that will leave me battle worn, tired and weary. But for now I retreat into my maternal corner and let the "Kaveri" flow

My daughter, my teacher

I am usually not one to fall for those pleading eyes and whiny pleas of the puppy dog kind but for some reason gave in to Aarzoo’s pleas of, “Please Mummy, please, please, please, just this once”. I had picked her up from school and she wanted a balloon; the last one left from the balloon seller at the gates. I am really tough on the kids and therefore quite unpopular with them. Brook no nonsense because give and inch and my brood will take not just the mile but the whole darned 1000 square miles!

But on the afternoon of the 17^th of July 2008, I gave in for some reason. Maybe it was because I was recovering from a bad cough and did not want to lapse into a spasm arguing with the persistent daughter. Maybe it was my sister Deepti’s birthday and we were on our way to wish her after school. Whatever the reason, Aarzoo couldn’t believe her luck and because she did not want to take a chance lest I changed my mind, she quickly scampered towards the hawker. The lone balloon was round in shape, translucent white in colour with a bright magenta coloured heart shaped balloon inside. The treasure cost us Rs. 10/-

Aarzoo was excited beyond words when the plan to visit her aunt unfurled and she decided on the spot to gift the balloon to Deepti. The ride from school to Deepti’s place was spent rehearsing the process of gifting the balloon and what she was going to say. Me of little faith was quite cynical about the whole thing and I was like, “Yeah, right! Let’s see if you go through with this”. For when push comes to shove, the kid within might win over and all those generous intentions may slide down the drain. Come on, let’s be realistic. After all who does not like to own and play with a fancy balloon like that, aged five and a half.

Thankfully, all that was just thoughts I had and were not said aloud. Impervious to the doubting Thomas gnawing at me, the little one was glowing with delight and getting on my nerves with her impatience. I guess, at that age, when you have a plan and focus, even a five minute drive can seem pretty long.

Deepti is my youngest uncle’s (on my father’s side) daughter and among my youngest sisters; Aarzoo addresses her as Deepti Kunjavva (Kunji = little, Avva = mother, in Kodava Tak, the language of the Coorgs). We arrive. Finally!! Aarzoo jumps off the car and runs up the stairs hesitating a little on hearing Nano’s barking (Nano, a six month old Labrador retriever, is the latest member of member of my Uncle’s family). Now my daughter is not afraid of dogs or animals but she does respect their space and temperaments and I am pleased to see that in the manner in which she deals with Nano as well. Anyway, she is the first to reach and there is total pandemonium. Aarzoo was screaming her lungs out singing, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEEPTI KUNJAVVA, Nano’s barking had reached several notches higher in terms of the decibels and he was jumping on Aarzoo. Poor Deepti was trying hard to keep Nano under control, respond to Aarzoo and welcome me into the home, all at the same time!!!

Aarzoo stood her ground, so Nano piped down and I could give Deepti a hug and kiss her cheeks and wish her in relative peace. Aarzoo immediately held out the balloon and said, “Deepti Kunjavva, this is for you. My birthday gift for you”. Deepti was all smiles and mid-way through a “thank-you Aarzoo”, when the brat quipped, “And see that heart shaped balloon inside this round one? That is to tell you, I love you, Kunjavva”.

Hold it. What was that? I don’t think that was part of the rehearsed lines. Where did that come from? I got all choked up and risked getting emotional and teary-eyed. So I bent down to pat Nano still reeling from what had just happened.

“No big deal”, you may say. “Not worth wasting reams in cyber space”.

“Ah! But you are of the generously forgiving nature”, I say. “Remember the cynic who did not believe that her five and a half year old brat would part with such a treasure as a balloon with a magenta coloured heart-shaped balloon within?” “It was ME of little faith!!

Well, I better start eating my thoughts, for my little one has a lot of teaching in her soul for this weather beaten hag of a mother.