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Mom, writer-editor, dreamer, dog lover, wannabe traveller...yes probably me

Sunday, June 21, 2009

I know why

I have one very important question – WHY DOES HE NOT UNDERSTAND A NO?
I already know the answer- BECAUSE HE IS A CHILD.
The story to this recurring enlightenment goes thus:
Children are not allowed in hospitals. “Ok, so we will wait out,” I told Arin as I lead him away from the elevator towards the door so we could stand outside and he would have plenty of distractions to occupy himself.
“But I want to go. I want to go inside mamma,” he said. I told him children are not allowed so we will wait for Dada to get back. Also that I was not going because only big people were allowed.
So he howled and he began to kick the steps, found out that hurt so tried the railing and that hurt as well…smartly he moved to little plant patch and began kicking up dirt . All this mind you with tears streaming down his face and his voice rising higher and higher. Naturally, people around were staring at the bad mom who was not letting the little darling do what he wanted…If only they knew…
I had to get him away from the wet mud kicking activity so I tried very hard to pick him up-unsuccessfully-and settled instead on walking him six steps away. Of course he was howling louder. I asked him to keep quiet, shushd him, made him stand (coz he wouldn’t sit) and he kicked me and hit me.
I held his hands. I wouldn’t lose my temper, I reminded myself and called Kunal to come down asap.
Then I moved him six steps further and he howled louder and longer so I lost it I whacked him, hard.
That should have shut him up? No way. It added to the tempo. Hmmm… Time to summon all my strength and pick him up and struggle ahead.
The stares were penetrating more than before. The looks were getting angrier or more piteous. But what was I to do?
Got it! “Will you have chocolate?”
“No. I want to go in,” wahhhhh…continued Arin.
Huh. I had had absolutely enough. I called Kunal, “Come now. I am upto my gills. Can’t take more.” He of course said very calmly, buy him a juice or something….Hello? Preservatives, emulsifiers, added colours blah blah?
With Arin’s arm under mine, I marched all three feet something of him bawling like he was being whipped to the ice cream stall. “Will you have ice cream?”
“No. I want to go inside..waaaaaaaaahhhhh”
I bought a Vanilla cup and assured the salesman that the child was absolutely ok. “Its white ice cream. Open your mouth.”
And so the licks began. And everything was quiet. I wished very hard I had given him a proper licking to make him stop instead…
This was a bribe.
Corruption begins at home.

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Wake up!

“Just look at the time Arin, its 2.30 pm. If you want to play football with dada in the evening, you must sleep now so that you can wake up at 4 have your milk and run,” I tempted him for the nth time, on yet another Saturday.
Every weekend’s a whirlwind of lunches at home, one dinner at a friend’s place and the resurgent urge to make up for the lost sleep and energy of the week gone by. Naturally, the soothing afternoon siesta is topmost on the mind. Hmmm…life’s settled into much of a routine.
The trouble you see begins when on one of these afternoons he just refuses to sleep. After three stories, a couple of rhymes and the favourite Oh Susana, he announces, “I’m not going to sleep mamma. Play with me.” Very sure of every word that comes out of the sweet little brain, Arin grins or conveys straight faced.
Uff! I hit my head mentally, and, physically when the night before’s been especially long.
He wakes up around six, often times before 6 am. Wouldn’t sleep be a natural need for any three-and-a-half-year-old around 1 pm post a heavy lunch and perhaps a bath, then?
While he rubs the sleep straight out of the system with his beautiful little fingers, I sweat over the afternoon and evening looming large. Kunal manages his forty winks through it all. Football, cricket and colouring later we settle down to milk. “TV. I wont have milk without it,” he declares. Why? Coz Dada dear has taught him that to give something, you have to get something. And milk in this kids parlance is obviously not a hot or cold favourite.
Lets not get into how much or how the milk went down the gullet and skip straight to the next bit. I point out after the milk that he’s not going for football with Dada because he’s not slept. “Ok. Let’s go down to play with my cycle mamma,” he decides. With a cycle under his control – without brakes – the evening happily flies by.
Of course it’s a TV dinner at 7 pm. And the bundle of energy finally falls asleep by 8 pm. The day’s done. I’m bushed. And ready to call it a night. Now if only the older boy would eat his veggies on time, not watch angry movies and talk, I could be in bed by ten, snoring.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Free, at last

I took my time. My own sweet time actually. And I have mastered it. Well not enough to win an Olympic medal as my very dear sis-in-law very inquisitively questioned, but enough to do a full half lap!
For those uninitiated in the world of aqua sports, swimming is a refreshing, addictive, fun exercise. You get to splash in water, wear itsybitsy clothes and you don’t have to give a damn to who is exercising along with you. Aunties and uncles, grandpas, bachche, college kids whoever are all doing their own thing. Yes they may check you out, but if you’re good or dedicated, you get respect.
I can now do a hugely improved version of the freestyle. My legs manage to kick as they should, my arms take care of their bit most of the time. As for the breathing…it’s like a breath of very fresh air. I can breathe and kick and swim as I should, about 95 per cent of the time.
It took me two loooong months but in the meanwhile, I’v managed the backstroke, strengthened my breaststroke.
A huge deal it is, let me assure you, this freestyle business. It all looks easy and smooth. But get into the water and you will experience how tricky it is to keep the air in them lungs. One hand-other-hand-ten kicks while this happens breathe one side. One hand-other-hand-ten kicks while this happens and breathe from the other side…whewwwwww.
So I cheat. I don’t count the kicks, only the hands and breaths. And when I’m reaaalllly tired, I don’t roll the shoulder as I should. Instead, I semi lift the neck while I look one side and take a nice deep breath. Works ok, except that mam sees me whenever I cheat. And we are the only two who know my secret in the pool. But shes a sweety, she won’t tell a soul who can’t figure it out for himself/herself.
Till then, I’m the cool pool aunty. What more could I want? Oh yes a flat stomach. Maybe sometime later…