Out of the mouth of babes comes the innocent, uncensored truth. Not vengefully, not intentionally. The simple truth, because it is. Isn't that just wonderful? Let's listen and learn.
A 4 years old's take on death:
My daughter returned home one day from Kindergarden, scared and confused, looking to me for reassurance. Her play-mate in Kindergarden had lost a grand parent and had been crying frequently about never being able to see her Grandma again. My little girl sat on the bathroom floor that evening, as we were going through the bed-time routine, and suddenly broke into sobs. Trying as best she could with her 4 years of experience and wisdom, to articulate the fear that the first encounter with death had triggered in her. 'Daddy should never die' she said (at this point I resist the 'Hey, what about Mummy??' reaction. Big of me, eh?). 'Because if daddy dies, I will have no Daddy and I don't want to have no daddy' she continued, between sniffles. At a loss for words, I take a moment to take stock of the situation. To come up with an explanation that would be as close to the truth as possible without upsetting her further. My very practical son who was playing the passive bystander till now, unexpectedly speaks. 'Why don't you and Daddy just die on the same day then? That way you won't have to live without him'. I gape on dumbfounded.
If in a diabolically benevolent way, he produced a cogent argument that I couldn't refute. My little girl sobbed on even louder and now her brother was confused as well about the continued fuss in spite of his fool-proof solution!
Accepting things you cannot change. Taught to me by a 4 year old:
It had been raining for 4 weeks on end, form April into May. Incessant, persistent, depressing rain. I was down to my last bit of cheerfulness, letting the lousy weather start to get the better of me. My 4 year olds must have been noting this, just as they note everything. One of these rainy miserable days, we arrive home, the three of us partially drenched and cold. I indulge myself in yet another rant about the weather and the rain and why it can't just stop!
Again, my wise 4 year old looks straight at me between his rain soaked black curls and says 'You know mummy, it rains in spring. That's how it is'. The part he left out was, 'The sooner you accept that, the better off we will all be'.
A 4 year old's understanding of emotions:
This was one of those times when the other parent was travelling on work. Four days into single parenting and juggling work, and I'm still determined, come what may, I shall not loose my cool. There was no one else the kids could turn to for refuge if I go ballistic on them. So I vowed to keep myself in close check, pull out all those hidden reserves of patience. That evening, while I busied myself with dinner, my daughter had painted her hand and finger nails with felt pens. Paper was apparently too boring. Then, she washed her hands (but not quite) so that the colours merely mixed with the water to form a kind of a green, blue slurry that trailed in several streaks down the white door that she had handled and was presently dripping the rest into her dinner, the rice that she was about to tuck into.
I sit there and look at her, giving her a long, dagger stare. I didn't say a word. She holds my gaze courageously, defiantly for a while and then says, 'Mummy, my heart is hurting'. I reply cooly, yet sternly 'Really baby, why is that?'. 'Because you broke it!'. She had seen through me, my cover was blown!
A 4 year old's take on Romance:
I was rushing back home one evening, as I am always rushing around, with my son in tow. It was dark, and the moon was full and smoky in it's celestial beauty. He gazes at it for a while with me coaxing him on. He then stops, looks up at me and says, 'The moon is made of clouds'. Just like that, simple and true. Not a question, but a fact. Shaking me out of my stupor, enlightening me.
Now I know too. The moon is made of clouds.
Eyes
Monday 24 May 2010
Sunday 16 May 2010
How does a bad day end?
I'll tell you how a bad day begins.
First I leave the house in the morning with stilettos and no coat. In denial of the spring that never came, of the cold, damp 10°C outside. I know you're probably thinking 'What hit her on the head?', how come I keep making the same mistakes? You see, I'm a slow learner but at least I'm consistent - you have to give me that! Maybe a coat is a necessity here, but I still view it as just a cumbersome accessory (and I also let myself get misleadingly inspired by a toughened friend who's chosen to entirely drop the coat in May).
How does a bad day progress badly?
I am a conscientious worker. I say this unabashedly. Today was one of those days at work, that in addition to doing my job and focusing on doing it well, I was given the very rewarding task of justifying why I do the job I do. Very motivating, makes you want to just drive on! In the middle of doing that, I skipped lunch, headed downtown to acquire an especially large bag of especially large clothes for an especially big, very special persons' birthday.
At the end of the work day, as is most often the case, I head for my kids. Everything has to run like clockwork from this point onwards. There's no room for any dilly-dallying. I am lugged with with lap-top-stuffed-into-hand-bag, oversized shopping bag with goods-for-special-person, no umbrella (which I forgot at work), no coat, totally impractical stilettos, bad weather, empty stomach and my undeterred quiet resolve. 10 minutes into the 35 minute commute, we get thrown out of the sub-way. There had been a fire on the line and the tube had been indefinitely shut-down. We were all instructed to resort to 'alternate' modes of transport. 'Alternate' modes of transportation did they say? Once spat out into the daylight, out of the sub-way gut of the city, we realize that the main roads and all the roads around leading to it are blocked because of this big Christian event - The Ecumenical Church day. No buses, no taxis or anything on wheels was accessible (yes it is rapidly abating now, that quiet resolve I mentioned earlier). Hordes of people were trudging stoically down the 3 km long road, using the only 'alternate' mode of transport - their feet. I had 20 minutes more till the child-care closes, 10 km to cover, and not the faintest clue how I was going to do it (Thank you for wishing me luck). So I did the only thing there was to do. I walked.
An hour later, not much closer to my destination and entirely bereft of calm, I was still walking.
And then, she descended. My savior, my angel! She swooped down to my rescue, my kids already in her shelter and took me too under her wing.
Thank you for wishing me luck, for luck did come my way.
How did a bad day end? Miraculously well.
First I leave the house in the morning with stilettos and no coat. In denial of the spring that never came, of the cold, damp 10°C outside. I know you're probably thinking 'What hit her on the head?', how come I keep making the same mistakes? You see, I'm a slow learner but at least I'm consistent - you have to give me that! Maybe a coat is a necessity here, but I still view it as just a cumbersome accessory (and I also let myself get misleadingly inspired by a toughened friend who's chosen to entirely drop the coat in May).
How does a bad day progress badly?
I am a conscientious worker. I say this unabashedly. Today was one of those days at work, that in addition to doing my job and focusing on doing it well, I was given the very rewarding task of justifying why I do the job I do. Very motivating, makes you want to just drive on! In the middle of doing that, I skipped lunch, headed downtown to acquire an especially large bag of especially large clothes for an especially big, very special persons' birthday.
At the end of the work day, as is most often the case, I head for my kids. Everything has to run like clockwork from this point onwards. There's no room for any dilly-dallying. I am lugged with with lap-top-stuffed-into-hand-bag, oversized shopping bag with goods-for-special-person, no umbrella (which I forgot at work), no coat, totally impractical stilettos, bad weather, empty stomach and my undeterred quiet resolve. 10 minutes into the 35 minute commute, we get thrown out of the sub-way. There had been a fire on the line and the tube had been indefinitely shut-down. We were all instructed to resort to 'alternate' modes of transport. 'Alternate' modes of transportation did they say? Once spat out into the daylight, out of the sub-way gut of the city, we realize that the main roads and all the roads around leading to it are blocked because of this big Christian event - The Ecumenical Church day. No buses, no taxis or anything on wheels was accessible (yes it is rapidly abating now, that quiet resolve I mentioned earlier). Hordes of people were trudging stoically down the 3 km long road, using the only 'alternate' mode of transport - their feet. I had 20 minutes more till the child-care closes, 10 km to cover, and not the faintest clue how I was going to do it (Thank you for wishing me luck). So I did the only thing there was to do. I walked.
An hour later, not much closer to my destination and entirely bereft of calm, I was still walking.
And then, she descended. My savior, my angel! She swooped down to my rescue, my kids already in her shelter and took me too under her wing.
Thank you for wishing me luck, for luck did come my way.
How did a bad day end? Miraculously well.
Thursday 6 May 2010
My India.
It makes me feel vaguely powerful. Being able to predict their questions before they are posed. I am one step ahead. I know from experience they can be any of six. That's India in a nut shell. India summed up in the frame of six stereotypical questions. How they read, here in order of preference (and descending order of tact):
Q1. - How does the caste system in India work?
This one is a timeless favourite. While there is some suspense left in the posing or not of the others, this one is as boringly predictable as they come. So much so, that I want to answer it even before I'm asked. The caste system has officially been illegal for over 50 years.
Q2. - How come I speak (tolerably good) English? Do I speak 'Indian'?
One may recall 'the fish on the bicycle' comparison in one of my first posts. Incidentally, the fact that the British had occupied India since the 16th Century might have something to do with it. My speaking English is one of the few pleasant side effects.
Q3. - (somewhat enviously) Is Gandhi as popular in India as he is outside of it?
What can I say? We had Gandhi. They had Hitler. How long does a political legend or villain last?
Q6. - Did I have a very impoverished childhood?
In the defense of my hosts, India is new to the Germans. It is a country, unlike England and the US, that has had a low influx and thus very little experience with foreign cultures. The Indian sub-continent has practically only recently been discovered on the map, mainly because of the so-called 'Green-Card' that was introduced ten years ago to attract skilled IT professionals.
Now, I don't claim to be extensively knowledgeable about other cultures and countries either. I am, in fact, vastly ignorant. And am I as tactless about it? I sure hope not!
Lets quickly go through the some basic current facts about India. A population of 1.2 billion, the second most populous country and THE most populous democracy. There exist 22 officially recognised regional languages, several of which have their own script, of which I speak 2 (and a half maybe). I virtually cannot communicate in many parts of India. So do I speak 'Indian'? What's your guess?
Of the 9 religions that co-exist in India (4 of which originated there), Christians comprise of roughly 3%. That's 35 (odd) million. Probably comparable to the population of Christians in any European country. So what are the chances you can be Indian and Christian? Hope that one's answered.
My India comprised of a typical middle-class environment, normal and boring. Hardworking parents, striving to offer their kids all that they were deprived of. Immersing themselves to their neck in debt trying to do so. Moulding their kids futures was their sole and only purpose in life. Trying to ensure that the prerequisites were in place for their children to earn a good life and living. In that way, we may in fact be different. In how the Indian parent obsesses with the future and achievements of their children. So, did I have an impoverished childhood? No, I was definitely privileged.
The point is, while India may be all of the above, yet it is much much more. A 'typical Indian' does not exist, for that the country is too vast and the cultures and religions within it too varying and diverse. One might need to invest some effort and time to know and understand it, till such time why not desist pressing the whole of the sub-continent into a mould?
We will slowly be seen as more than the picture the media paints of us. The picture of the soiled, barely clothed child with the snotty nose. We are slowly gaining the confidence to deal as equals on the global platform, to dare to be taken seriously.
India's planning commission has recently revised it's statistics to add 100 million to the ranks of the impoverished (who can't spend $10 on basic goods every month). Raising the proportion to 37%. My brother, a bit of a choleric, fumed at the negative publicity, west bashing east. Only our failings get dragged out in the spot light, he said.
That doesn't make it less of a fact. There is some truth in stereotyping after all.
Q1. - How does the caste system in India work?
This one is a timeless favourite. While there is some suspense left in the posing or not of the others, this one is as boringly predictable as they come. So much so, that I want to answer it even before I'm asked. The caste system has officially been illegal for over 50 years.
Q2. - How come I speak (tolerably good) English? Do I speak 'Indian'?
One may recall 'the fish on the bicycle' comparison in one of my first posts. Incidentally, the fact that the British had occupied India since the 16th Century might have something to do with it. My speaking English is one of the few pleasant side effects.
Q3. - (somewhat enviously) Is Gandhi as popular in India as he is outside of it?
What can I say? We had Gandhi. They had Hitler. How long does a political legend or villain last?
Q4. - What do I think about Bride burning (Sati)?
Sati was actually banned in 1829. 1829, for the love of God! Can't we talk about something a century more current?
Well if I must, the British did eventually pass the law banning Sati because that's what rulers get to do - make or break laws. But contrary to popular belief, they were not it's campaigners, for fear of bearing the wrath of the Indian Brahmins. Instead, they had actually chosen to tolerate this inhuman practise and look the other way for years on end. The initiative that finally lead to the law was driven by Rammhoan Roy (1772-1833), a Brahmin scholar.
Q5. - Why don't I wear the 'red spot'?
This one is actually a trap, I'm tempted to just go 'Oh, I forgot to!'. Knowing that answering this one with details like the significance of the 'red spot' or how I am Catholic in the first place and the 'red spot' being a hindu custom, would simply unleash a torrent of other questions. Like, 'Are there Christians in India?'.
In the defense of my hosts, India is new to the Germans. It is a country, unlike England and the US, that has had a low influx and thus very little experience with foreign cultures. The Indian sub-continent has practically only recently been discovered on the map, mainly because of the so-called 'Green-Card' that was introduced ten years ago to attract skilled IT professionals.
Now, I don't claim to be extensively knowledgeable about other cultures and countries either. I am, in fact, vastly ignorant. And am I as tactless about it? I sure hope not!
Lets quickly go through the some basic current facts about India. A population of 1.2 billion, the second most populous country and THE most populous democracy. There exist 22 officially recognised regional languages, several of which have their own script, of which I speak 2 (and a half maybe). I virtually cannot communicate in many parts of India. So do I speak 'Indian'? What's your guess?
Of the 9 religions that co-exist in India (4 of which originated there), Christians comprise of roughly 3%. That's 35 (odd) million. Probably comparable to the population of Christians in any European country. So what are the chances you can be Indian and Christian? Hope that one's answered.
My India comprised of a typical middle-class environment, normal and boring. Hardworking parents, striving to offer their kids all that they were deprived of. Immersing themselves to their neck in debt trying to do so. Moulding their kids futures was their sole and only purpose in life. Trying to ensure that the prerequisites were in place for their children to earn a good life and living. In that way, we may in fact be different. In how the Indian parent obsesses with the future and achievements of their children. So, did I have an impoverished childhood? No, I was definitely privileged.
The point is, while India may be all of the above, yet it is much much more. A 'typical Indian' does not exist, for that the country is too vast and the cultures and religions within it too varying and diverse. One might need to invest some effort and time to know and understand it, till such time why not desist pressing the whole of the sub-continent into a mould?
We will slowly be seen as more than the picture the media paints of us. The picture of the soiled, barely clothed child with the snotty nose. We are slowly gaining the confidence to deal as equals on the global platform, to dare to be taken seriously.
India's planning commission has recently revised it's statistics to add 100 million to the ranks of the impoverished (who can't spend $10 on basic goods every month). Raising the proportion to 37%. My brother, a bit of a choleric, fumed at the negative publicity, west bashing east. Only our failings get dragged out in the spot light, he said.
That doesn't make it less of a fact. There is some truth in stereotyping after all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)