Figuring out Santa Claus

Sometimes we ended up discussing philosophy while putting my daughters to sleep. On Christmas Eve, I recollected one of those old conversations.

My three-year-old was very worried on the night when Santa was supposed to come and visit.

“Does Santa Claus know we have shifted to Bangalore?”

“How does he know where each child lives?

“Will he be able to give gifts to all the children on one night?”

I didn’t have plausible reasons so I gently changed the topic and we discussed the next day’s plans till she fell asleep.

My six-year-old was still awake and she crept closer for the secret chat.
She giggled and whispered: “I know you buy the gifts for us. The Santa Claus in the mall is just a normal people who wears the red dress and sticks on a false beard.”

"Santa Claus is not real" She was sure.

I was glad that she had it all figured out but I also felt so sad at that moment; as if a little bit of enchantment  had just left our life.

“So now that you know that there is no Santa Claus, I don’t need to keep the surprise gifts for you anymore?”

“No Mamma, Santa is not real but the gifts are real! You have to keep giving them.”

Over the years I lost my monopoly on being ‘Santa’ of the house as they too started giving us gifts. And then the circle expanded to friends, to the people who work for us and to children who actually need gifts.

So we do have a bit of the magic left with us, in the form of joy that comes from receiving and giving.

Making Sense of an Ending

A seventeen year-old in my neighborhood jumped to his death.

His parents are devastated. I, like most of the people who have known them for years, shocked to the core. I had thought I’d tell me daughters about the incident only when they came home for the holidays, when we could have a longer conversation. But bad news travel fast and it was my daughter who asked me for ‘details’.

Then I had to write to them. I write to them often but this time I did not know what to write. Why am I putting parts of it in the public domain? As a prayer from a mother who hopes that no parent has to live through this.

What happened?

He jumped from the 7^th Floor.

Why?

Only he knew what was going on in his mind at that moment. Anything else we say would be an un-called for assumption.

What other details can I give you?

His parents will be in pain for a very long time. It is like he stabbed them and went off, leaving the knives in.

We are all shocked. We, who knew him as a much loved child a friend of our children, are now not sure how to talk to our children.

Say yes to everything, because we don’t know how you will react to a ‘no’? But then how will you face the number of times the world says ‘no’ to you? Be around, keep a check on all your activities, your internet time, your interactions? But what if that sends you off in a more remote corner, interpreting out protection as intrusion? Trust you, leave you to your own space-but what if that leaves you feeling alone or isolated or vulnerable?

There are a hundred ways in which we can go wrong. But is this the solution?

We have just one life. And that too is limited. Some beliefs say we are born over and over again but then that will be as a different identity, a different life altogether. Death is final. And every death is so sad. The death of a child, that too when it is deliberate and avoidable is the saddest.

Maybe he thought it was his life and he had that right to give it up because he didn’t want to live it anymore. What makes a person decide to take his own life? Depression, desperation, frustration, loneliness, losing all hope, not being able to ‘face’ the world, running away, or the desire to punish someone-making them regret forever? Or is it just that overwhelming moment? For everything there is a better solution.

Maybe he thought there was no other way for him. Everyone is looking for the reason now. If anyone knew the reason, before he took this step, they could have helped. Maybe if he had talked..

There will be phases in life where there is no hope, where your struggles may seem too tough to carry one, where you may not see the point of going on (I wish I could save you from such sadness forever, but it’s a reality which happens to everyone). But there is always a way out.

J.K. Rowling suffered from severe depression. She channeled it into imagining the ‘Dementors’ and the 'Dementor’s Kiss'-a fate worse than dying because all happiness and hope is sucked out of life. Everyone can’t write a 'Harry Potter' but everyone can survive, find a new hope, a new reason to live. It takes a lot to break out of these phases, more than conjuring up a Patronus from happy thoughts, though that is a good begining. Talking helps-massively.

There will always be a way out. Talk to us, your friends, strangers, anyone. Keep talking. Keep the human connections alive and you’ll find a way. Be a friend. There would be people around you going through such a phase but you’ll be unaware if you don’t talk enough. You could be a tiny light for someone. Make someone’s life happier. Make your own happiness. Make something from your own life. It can be as beautiful as you let it be. (No, don’t take it as more gyan from me-this is just what I wish for -a beautiful life for you).

Wayanad-Driving through hills, forests and a river valley-Day 1

The Holiday Resolutions:

There are too many things to do right here. I get more tired planning for and recovering from vacations. Let’s not go anywhere this time. 

Ok, we'll take one small break. But this time we’ll not drive-let's take a flight, or a train, or a cab, or hire a driver…

The Reality:

Driving for three and a half days through steep hills, sharp bends, lush forests and the Kabini river valley.

The Decisions:

Since this was an unplanned, unintended trip we quickly decided on Wayanad because it was the only non-visited destination within driving distance. We booked our hotel after a quick Face book research, packed a few sets of clothes, filled petrol, and decided to leave early on Saturday morning.

My husband decided to work from home on Friday to ensure we pack in early on Friday evening. He was determined we would leave as early as possible on Saturday to avoid the traffic jams that happen on exit roads to Bangalore at the onset of all long weekends.

I dread waking up early in the mornings. And I have memories of long traffic jams on National Highways as early as 5.30 am and continuing all the way to Mysore when we had travelled to Coorg on another long weekend.

So we took the inspired decision of leaving right then (Friday evening) and spending the night at Mysore. (We get to sleep till 7.00 am that way).

The Drive-Phase 1: Bangalore to Mysore

We also tried to avoid the other Friday evening travelers-specially the buses travelling from Madivala to Coorg/Kerala/Tamil Nadu by taking Mysore road. That was a bad idea. The entire stretch is in a mess because of the debris from the first phase of Metro construction and the excavations happening almost up to Bidadi for the second phase.

My husband tries to take over driving through most difficult stretches of the road, but due to the infallibility of Murphy’s Law, I usually get to drive through these interesting lengths. And so I negotiated through the Friday Namaz traffic, the going home for weekend traffic and the Metro mess for an hour and a half and before the city let us go.

Then the holiday began for real.

We made the customary halt at Kamat’s. The girls are now too grown up to play with the geese and too jaded to enjoy the ‘mudde idli’ but we still stop here every time we cross the place. And after the initial drive this was a welcome break.

The next part of the drive was smooth except for pockets of traffic when we crossed the intermediate towns. The big jam,right on the National Highway at the usual quiet town of Mandya was unexpected-this was first-day show for Bahubali2!

We reached Mysore without further drama and checked into the service apartment we had stayed in previously-it has homely food, enough space for a tired family of four with two teenagers and is located on the Ring Road so we don’t need to enter the city.

We had a leisurely dinner, squabbled over who’s sleeping where and usual, random stuff and planned the next day’s route before packing up for the day.

Rote Planning for-Phase 2: Mysore to Kuruvadweep

We had three route options from Mysore to Kuruvadweep, all pass through wildlife reserves and hence get closed after sunset:

1. Mysore (road will close between 6PM-6AM) > Hand post > Anthersantha > Bawali > 6km > 2^nd Gate junction (turn left) > 5km > Palvelicham > 1.8km >  (total 110 km)

2. Mysore>Hunsour>Nagerhole ( closed between 6 P.M. to 6 A.M.)Divert via Gonikuppa > Kutta>Tholpetty>Kattikulam (155 km)

3. Mysore> (via) Nanjanguad>Gundlepet> Muthanga wild Life Sanctuary> (Road closed between 9 PM to 6 A.M.) > Sulthan Bathery> Pulpally> Dasanakkara> Payyampally> Kurukkan Moola> (155 km)

We decided to take the shortest route to the hotel, check in, take rest and then explore the nearby areas.

Coming up in the next post: Welcome to Wayanad, by Kerala Police

My Story and Hers: Which way do we go?

This is a continuation of events from my previous post when my friend and I had decided we needed to change the ‘new’ school.

My mother said bye to me as usual as I left for school. Then she stood still with shock and screamed: You are wearing the wrong uniform. You have the grey-and-white uniform now.
(She had also given away my old blue uniform, I had to borrow one from a friend and it was two sizes bigger than my size).

I told her I am not going to the ‘grey-and-white uniform’ school anymore but my old blue uniform one.

Yes, I knew I could not just walk into a school like that.

My friend had spoken to the office staff and got my Transfer Certificate request cancelled.

I had visited the old school, met the Principal, the admin staff and my friends. My school had changed.

My parents had a conference between each other that day and they let me continue my way; probably because of the shock factor of the drastic step.

This was perhaps the first independent decision of my life. Was it the right one? It did feel right and I have never regretted it. I felt bad about the time and money lost in the school-change drama but was so glad, I could take the U-turn in time.

As a parent at the same stage now, I had the same doubts about my daughter continuing 11^th and 12^th grades from her school.  She had selected subjects that were considered 'tough'. She’ll be dealing with the ISC curriculum which again is a tough one. She’ll not have tutor support and she’ll be busy with sports, art, extra-curricular activities while most students of her age in city schools would be focusing entirely on academics.

She was sure she wanted to continue in her school.
Was it the right decision for her? I’m not sure.

But it is her life and her decision.

I can only be there to try and help it become the right one for her. And if it turns out to be a wrong one-we’ll just have to take a U-turn, together.

Restarting this blog (Again!)

This is another 'About-me' post to mark the new reboot attempt.

As you can see (read), I’m trying to pick up the threads and continue the stories in this blog after a long break.

I need your help in the form of feedback-on the content, layout, structure, format, well on everything. I am especially weak on the technology, platform side of blogging. Thanks to those of you who responded immediately to my call for suggestions-taking out the time to go through my ramblings in spite of your schedules and coming back with your much valued inputs. Please bear with me as I try to categorize and arrange my posts in a coherent order.  Or should I just junk the effort and move to a new WordPress platform? Please keep the feedback flowing.

Having awesome friends has been my biggest strength in life and you’ll find that evidence scattered through my blog posts. It has helped my getting over so much more than technology issues and writing blocks: the insanity in the crazy-busy days of being a hands-on parent; the loneliness of ‘distance parenting’; and yes, even the darkness of an ongoing cancer battle in the family. Restarting this blog and my book project is my way of thanking them for being there for me.

My daughters have grown up into young adults since I started blogging-they don’t need me so much for the day to day logistics, but need me just as much for food when they come back from boarding. And yes for the debates, arguments, confrontations and some conversations. So the 'mom stories' remain the same.

Professionally, I am still in the learning industry, juggling within the different domains in corporate learning with an occasional stint in the social sector. And I am just as frustrated that with all the theories and strategies on learning, the tools and the technology, there has been so little change in the area where it is needed most-the way our children learn at school.

Where am I going?

“In my posts under ‘Exploring Education’ I am sharing my own experiences, dilemmas and questions on the system which needs to work better. I don’t have the answers. Just hoping and trying to influence some change, somewhere.

And then there is the book project-the stories of some mad girls in college. Too early to talk more about them, but we might meet them along the way in the coming posts. Tell me when you spot them :)

Travel Diary

(This is a very old post, got published again in my attempt at classifying the posts; the journal is still at the 'intentions' stage, let's see how it goes)

Elena’s first trip was a trip to her grandparents’ house for her “Annaprasana” ceremony at the age of five months. At nine months she traveled to Dehradun and Mussoorie. ..

Then came Aurora, and ever since we’ve been traveling across the country with these two in tow.

I’ve been planning to update my travel journal ever since. 

Yes I had one ever since I was in school. I would take the time out to retreat to a quiet corner, or the topmost bunk and scribble down the experience as it happened. But then in those days, I have traveled without bookings, without a budget, and even without luggage (yes, at times without my toothbrush).

And now, before the trips I am psyched about making lists, booking tickets and hotels, and packing almost everything they might possible need. During the trips it is about keeping them entertained, resolving arguments, or being an integral part of them. And after the trip-I am up to my eyes, unpacking all the stuff and hitting our daily hurdles-running. And the journal lies waiting.



Yet, we enjoy the trips just as much. And I’m making another attempt at my travel diary. Lets see how it goes.

My Story: The High School Trauma

(This post is a continuation of my story from the earlier post  
This happened a generation ago. I have tried very hard not to repeat my parents’ mistakes. But I am sure; I have made plenty of different ones. I just hope that my daughters deal with them in a better way than I did. )

Mummy meant well. Being a teacher, she  was well-informed about the benefits of CBSE over the archaic state board syllabus and so she changed my school in 11^th standard. Yes she also wanted me to be away from the strong peer pressure, my existing group of friends, and begin again as a focused student.

I did not want to be a focused student. Getting better marks on subjects I anyway didn’t want to study didn’t make much sense. As a teenager who drew on the company of her friends for oxygen, it felt like the end of life to be forced to cope without them.

(My imagination and my emotions were always dramatic (rather melodramatic) as per conventional norms. But that’s how I think and feel. Yeah, even now J.)

I did try to fit in. I made a few friends, kept up with my studies, tried to do all the right things, but it was tough.

I missed my friends from the last ten years, practically my entire lifetime. I missed the old familiar school where each room, each corner was full of memories of growing together. I hated the new routines, the new uniform, just the feeling of going to this new school every morning.

I also felt harassed. I was the new girl in class. A class half-filled with hormonal boys, nurtured on bollywood notions which generally told youngsters that girls fall in love with you if you keep irritating them. I couldn’t discuss these nuisances at home. I had learnt that my parents’ way of protecting me was imprisoning me. There would be more questions, more restrictions more tension.

If I had friends to share the Archies greeting cards with the long, complicated proclamations or the torn slips of notebook with ‘shaayari’ sneaked into my bag, I might have seen the romantic or the comic side to things. But I was alone. And I felt hunted and miserable.

I called my friend and poured out all the angst. She agreed that I needed to take some drastic action.

We decided to change the school-back!

What followed after that phone call with my friend is coming up in the next post but the questions still remain:

The state board/CBSE/ICSE variances remain along with differences in their syllabi, their grading patterns, the different criteria colleges use to score these grades are still painful and so unnecessary. Why can't we have a uniform system?

We need the variances where they matter more-in the subjects a student wants to study.
We need variances in the way students with special needs are taught.

The world has changed in the last quarter of a century.
Why has nothing changed in this area?

A Birthday Party with Fairies

Birthdays were one huge annual task for me. They were two huge annual tasks to be precise, and that too within a span of five days in February.

They were like this and this and this.

The budget sheets and estimate sheets I used for annual planning at work were child’s play compared to the bday.xls file I had created over the years. It had master-lists for guests, party-item suppliers,  invitation formats, party themes, ideas for return gifts, menu planning, ideas for games, entertainments, pick-and-drop logistics, cleaning-up, start-be-end-by dates for tasks  etc. etc.

And when they went off to boarding school this became another way to miss them; another vacuum to fill.

The first time one of them was not here for her birthday, I felt like calling her friends over and celebrating just the same way. But it would have not made sense. Not doing anything also did not feel correct.  It was such a special day for us, I still wanted to celebrate. Celebrating just by ourselves also didn’t seem enough because I felt this need to share my happiness and my gratitude for this wonderful day.

We went to Cheshire Homes. It is a home for physically disabled girls where they do the awesome job of educating the girls and training them on work skills; empowering them to build their own live, notwithstanding their physical challenges.

We bought cake and snacks and had a very simple party with the girls. But their joy was so touching; it melted away all the loneliness I had been wallowing in. There were little girls who came running and thanked us in sign-language, there was another one in a wheel-chair who translated for them, some managed to grunt their thanks, and some held my hand. They sang the birthday song for my daughter in words, gestures and thumps on the table.

Happy Birthday, Sweetie! The fairies had come to party for you. They opened their innocent hearts and sent you their magical wishes. 

My Story: How the High School subjects chose me/us

I am starting to write my own story here.

First, because my primary source of inspiration-my conversations (aka tirades, rants, clashes, slugfests) are so few and far between with the girls moving to boarding school.

Second (or maybe this is the primary reason) because as formal studies are taking over their life in a stronger grip (my last post);, I feel as if I am re-living that trauma again.

I wrote this part of the story first on a post for mycity4kids.

Reposting here..

At fifteen, Elena had to decide on her ‘subject-combination’.

 It took me back to the time when I had to make my choice. I had been  for waiting for months for the time where we get to choose which subjects to study.

I loved History and Literature and Geography. The combination wasn’t ‘available’ in our school so I had to pick the nearest available package. I think it was History, English and Home Science.

My parents were aghast. Their well-wishers (extended family, neighbors, friends, friends of friends, families and all) felt their pain and came together to support them.

‘She was such a good student! How did this happen?’

‘It is the age. You should check why she has lost interest in studies. Is she involved with…’

‘You can’t let her take such a decision; she is going to blame you for not guiding her when she was young.’

Their logic: If you score decent marks, you study science. And become a doctor or an engineer.

I vetoed the Doctor option outright-I could already imagine being surrounded by pain, illness and death. I would suffer more than the patients around me. That, they could understand.

And engineering wasn’t an option because I hated Math. That led to guffaws (nowadays you would called it LOL-ROFL) because I had scored 96/100.

They coaxed, cajoled, threatened and then compromised.

According to the logic(?) followed by our education system, a science student has the option of changing to non-science subjects but not vice-versa. If I studied science for just two years it would give me the option of selecting subjects of my choice two years later too.

Now, knowing how parents and well-wishers think, I guess they assumed/hoped I would realize the wisdom of studying engineering over history by then.

And so I ended up selecting ‘Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics’ over ‘History, Geography, Literature, Biology and others.’

A generation later, my daughter has picked the same core subjects.

I don't know if the decision will work for her or not. 

I wonder what she will be thinking a few decades down the line. Will she blame me for not ‘guiding’ her? Will she blame herself for not making the correct choice? Will she be thanking us/herself for making a great decision?

Or will she be just looking back and laughing about it, like me.

It's not funny that decades later our children are facing the same limitations.

Do we really need to make children choose between the categories of science/humanities/commerce at the age of fourteen or fifteen? And eliminate all other options?

Are these 'subjects' really so different from each other?

Why can't the student who loves Biology and History study both?

Da Vinci had interests in painting, sculpting, architecture, science, music, mathematics, engineering, literature, anatomy, geology, astronomy, botany, writing, history, and cartography. He painted the Mona Lisa and designed a prototype for the Helicopter in the 15th century.

Why are we denying our children that chance in the 21st century?

As they enter a new world

Kids grow up fast. I too had heard the cliché so many times. But sentences become clichés only because we use them so many times; live them so many times.

My daughters are in 8^th and 11^th grade now. Their world is so different from the one I used to blog about. It is beautiful in many ways, scary in many others.

Earlier I used to worry about day-care, maids, PTMs, sports days, birthday parties etc. etc.

Now I worry about the world outside, social media, their career decisions and higher education. In fact education is the biggest worry on my mind right now.

We were extremely lucky to find a school which imparts the kind of education we believed in. The girls grew up exploring, experiencing, and enjoying (well, most of the time) their education. But now the long tentacles of the formal education system, the ‘board exams’, the subject-package choices, and the college entrance systems are closing in.

I find it particularly scary because I remember what the system almost did to me.  It’s almost been a quarter of a century since then and it is still the same system— the one which we keep blaming the British for; the one which we haven’t done anything to change; the one which we ‘dealt with’ in our own ways; the one which now our children have to live through.

I wish I could do something to cause that change.

Since writing is what I can do, let me start with just that.

I, like many other students, did not get along with the system. I suffered and eventually 'dealt-with' it, but I still remember the pain. I’m trying to re-live and share those experiences here, in the hope that I can help my girls ‘deal with’ it in a better way. And maybe reach out to more parents, educators, students who can together create a new system—one which may not be perfect, but at least a lot better than our current one.