Happy New Year, Alex!

When we moved to Seattle, from India, 3-year- old DD was the least of my worries. I knew she would make friends easily, that she’d be all over the place and I’d have to run behind her. Back home, we lived in a safe city, and the community is so close knit that if DD just ran into another neighbor’s house, they’d call and let me know she’s safe. She would probably have lunch or dinner with them before deciding to head back home to sleep.

It never ever occurred to me that I would have to hold her back, for her own safety, until I met an older woman at the bus stop, here in the U.S. It was our daily route an, so I allowed DD to run to the stop – she knew where to stop and she wouldn't go beyond the point.

The old lady glared at me. “That’s a cute daughter you have there.” She said. Her tone of voice did not compliment her words and it only confused me. Should I respond with an angry “thank you” too?
“You've been here long?” she asked.
“Eight months,” I said.  We were relatively new, and I was absorbing everything around me. Including making sense of this weird conversation, where there seemed to be no connection between the words, tone and facial expressions.
“You moved from India?” Well, I do have the accent.
“Then listen, you need to be careful with your kid. This is not India. She can easily be kidnapped.” She scared me. “Your daughter said ‘Hi’ to me.”

“Yeah… but I was only a few paces…”
“Even, so.” She snapped at me. “You have to hold your daughter’s hands at all times.”
I was caught off guard and did not know how to react. “OK!” I said as she was glaring through me. That was the answer she was expecting. She finally smiled and took the next bus.

From that day on, I became extra cautious; I did not want to take any chances, especially after what appeared to be a foreboding. I held on to DD’s hand and never let her out of my sight. But it felt strange and unnatural.

DD would usually stop and look at the chain of ants or pluck out and blow on a dandelion or twirl around a tree, singing her songs. I was feeling very guilty that I was not letting her do all that. Moreover, it was not easy juggling my purse, shopping bags, her bag and the wiggly fingers. DD would plead with me to let her go, cry and scream, but I would hold on. It was making both of us crazy.

One day, I had an unusually large number of bags to carry and I just couldn't hold on to her. So I let her go in the crowded  Market. I knew she would not run away.
DD looked at me surprised, but without waiting another second, lest I change my mind, she began skipping and moving towards the fruit vendors, talking to all of them. She finally seemed at ease, and more importantly - free. 

“Hi!” She said to this particular young man who was just beginning to close his stall. “Are you a girl or a boy?” He had tied his hair in a bun and that was very confusing for DD – she hadn't met men with long hair until then.
“DD!” I exclaimed from behind her.
“That’s OK,” he brushed his hand in the air dismissively and smiled.
“Well, I am a boy” he said turning to DD. “But it is confusing with the long hair, hun?”
“Yes. Why do you have long hair?”
“Because I like it” he smiled. “Just like you like wearing your tiara. I bet you wear it all the time, hun?”
“No. Not all the time. I remove it when I go to sleep. It could hurt me at night, when I am sleeping, or… or… it could break.”
“Smart!” he smiled.
“What’s your name?” DD asked.
 “I am Alex. What’s yours?” he extended his hand to DD.
“I have two names…. Which one do you want to know…?”
And they struck up a conversation just like that.
“Here, do you want a cherry?” Alex offered, as he was shutting his shop.
“I love cherries.” DD said and grabbed the red fruit from his hands. “Thanks Alex!”

Against the warning of that old lady, I let my daughter talk. I let her shake hand with a total stranger and worst, I let her eat something he offered.

For the first time in weeks, I let her be and it felt perfect. She was smiling and hugging Alex and talking incessantly with him. She spoke about our move to Seattle, about her new friends, and well, almost about everything; and I did not stop her. Alex participated in the discussion, asking the right questions at the right time. He did not seem like the guy who’d grab her and run and I listened to my gut.

It soon became a ritual. Every day, after school DD would insist on meeting Alex, yelling his name through the market and Alex would welcome her with the juiciest fruits and the warmest embrace. He would pick her up and give her a bite of whatever fruit she wanted – without charging.  “She’s the highlight of my day”, he’d say refusing to accept my offer to pay. “She lights it all up.” She also became friends with Alex’s friends.

One day, as usual, when DD ran through the market shouting his name, there was no response. Alex would always respond. She was surprised to see Shaun, Alex’s friend in his place. “Where’s Alex?” she asked.
Shaun looked at me and said, “Alex met with an accident – a pretty bad accident.”
“What?” I was shocked.
“He is alive, but he is badly injured. His legs are badly damaged."
“Where’s Alex? Where’s Alex?” DD kept chanting.
“Alex is in the hospital, baby” I said gently hugging her.
“He…had an accident”
“I want to talk to him. I want to talk to him.”
“I have his number” Shaun offered. “He's on sedatives so he can’t talk, but I am sure he would love to hear her. He says this little girl is the highlight of his day.”

DD spoke to him. He did not respond well, he wasn't able to talk, but I knew he was happy to hear her voice.
After that day, DD would draw a picture for Alex in school every day, give it to Shaun and remind him to give it to Alex. This continued for a few months, until one day, Shaun told us that Alex was going back to his parents’ house in Wisconsin.

I did not have the heart to tell DD. But she had the right to know about her friend. She asked me to call him ‘this minute’. As soon as Alex answered, she grabbed the phone from my hand.
“Why are you going Alex? I am praying to God every day for you to get well soon. Please stay. I want to see you.”
“I miss you too, princess” he said.  “But I have to go home.”
“Isn't the market your home?”
“It is. But, I need to go to my parents.  Don’t you go to your mother when you are hurt?”
“But, you are older”
“I know… but I am still small, to my parents. You know I am only 21. I need my parents. But you know what; I have all your drawings with me.”
“What about the one with the Elephant?” DD asked. “I wrote your name on that.”
“I especially like that one. How did you write it? Did somebody help you?”
And soon, they were talking like they had never stopped.

We haven’t met Alex since the accident. But DD always prays for his legs to heal and hopes that he would come back soon. I do too.
DD’s prayers before Alex’s accident involved her asking God not to give her bad dreams and to let Mamma and Papa know to buy the newest toys for her. But now, she prays for Alex’s recovery. She has become sensitive to the health and well-being of others. When someone is sick, she genuinely, in her own little way, cares for them, asking if she can kiss the sickness goodbye and make it all OK. She has learnt to value relationships – something I could never have ‘taught’ her. She had to truly experience it, to understand it.

So then, why shouldn't I be proud of the fact that I let my daughter talk to a stranger? Why shouldn't I be proud of the fact that I let her have a cherry from an unknown person? I have helped her form a friendship, care for a person beyond herself, beyond her family, and more importantly …I have helped her learn to trust people. 

DD knows that she is allowed to talk to strangers only when she is with family or with her teachers and they’re watching. She knows that she should scream if she is accosted or touched, but she also knows, that people are mostly good.

Today, as we draw to the end of the year, she wants to check on Alex, wish him a Happy New Year and ask him to return to Seattle. "Come back Alex", she orders. "It's a New Year, so you've got to be here!"

To the lady at the bus stop - thank you, but no thank you.

Just Let Us Be!

Rape. Shooting. Abuse. Everywhere I look, whichever news page I land on, these three words scream out. Loud. 

6-year-olds being molested, shootings at schools, children accidentally shooting themselves or people around them because they had a  gun at disposal. This is  the world we live in. This is the world our kids are growing up in. 

Yesterday's event - the shooting at an army school killing 150 people, most of them children, was just heart breaking. When I see the plight of all the parents who lost their kids in the shooting, my heart aches. No parent can ever face a harsher punishment. No parent ever should.

We are all taught to compromise, share and take turns as kids. But somehow, when we grow up, that message is lost in some of us. We want to win at all costs. We want to make ourselves happy, and if that means hurting somebody else, we just don't care. Children learn by example, not by the words we speak. If everything around them is violent, scary, threatening and conniving, how can we bring up self-assured, patient and kind kids? 

I admit, it's just a few of us adults that have jingoistic tendencies toward our beliefs. It's only a few of us who'd go to unspeakable limits to uphold our beliefs. It's just a few of us who can destroy humanity, and a delicate world. 

I don't intend to preach, I don't intend to condemn. Each of us may have a reason for what we're doing, but that's just it - it's our reason - the only person affected by it should be our own self. There's no reason for us to hurt the rest. We have no right on another person's life, not even on our own children s', especially not our children - they have a future as bright as they want it to be, as bright as we can let them be. 

So then, this is a plea - to the person who picks up his gun, to the person who makes another person uncomfortable - physically, mentally, emotionally; to the person who won't stop till his devastating vision of the world is accomplished - to the human inside the person. You may have forgotten what it means to be a child, what it means to embrace your mother, play with your father, and I am sorry for that. To me, all those moments are precious. Memories that keeps me alive and hopeful for a world that's rife with immense possibilities. 

I want my children to learn, to love and embrace a new idea, a new feeling, a new phase of a thriving life. I don't want them to fear it. No daughter should not have to ask me the meaning of rape, murder, assault, mean at any age. No son should ever feel compelled to belittle somebody else just to feel superior about himself. 

You've chosen what you want from life. But you can't choose for us or for our children. Let us be. Let us laugh a little, love a little, cry a little. Please, don't break us. Don't break our spirit, our will. We may not all unite in our fight against you - yet, but we all do unite in our hatred for you. 

I wish, you would see what you've done with eyes that feel the pain. I wish you would listen to the screams with a heart that can love, I wish you would answer to the parents who lost their world, to the children who lost their childhood, to all the men and women who lost their hope. 

We each have our own little stories, our own triumphs, our own sorrow. Just let us be. You didn't get us into this world, you can't take us away from it. 


D seems to be learning a lot about probabilities. I wonder where she's getting all this information.
Anything we discuss these days elicits responses with tons and tons of probabilities from her.

Today for example, I was telling her why it is unlawful to pass a school bus. 
Me: "When the red lights on the bus blink, we should just wait for the bus to move. We shouldn't try to pass it."
D: "Why Mamma?"

Me: "Because kids could be getting off the bus and we have to be careful. They don't always see all the directions right?"
D: "Yeah, maybe they are in a hurry to go to their house or to the park or to meet their friend or to ride their bike. Or because it is very cold and they want to take a warm bath or have warm soup..."
Me: "Yeah. So they may not always see around them."
D: "Yeah, because they're so busy in talking with each other, if two of them get down together, or because there's some beautiful flower on the sidewalk that they want to see or there are dandelions they want to blow on..."
Me: "..."
event tree by mcol - An event tree diagram.

D: "It's not only when they get off, Mamma, it's also when they get on. Even then."
Me: "You're right. We can't pass even when they're getting on."
D: "Yeah, the kids could mistake our car to be theirs, although the number plates are different, they can get confused if their car color is the same as ours." 'Kids' she says, as if she's some middle aged woman. 
Me: Yeah. 
D: "Or maybe they'll see you inside and not come here, because you're not their mother. Or maybe they'll want to come if they see me and if they know me from school."
Me: "..."
D:  "And if they come and you don't stop, there will be an accident, and there will be police and all that. So that's why it is unlawful." 
Me: "Yeah." 
D: "So then it is illegal? What's the difference between unlawful and illegal, Mamma?"
She wants me to explain something that's still being debated. Can you imagine the probable scenarios she'll come up with? 

Image Courtesy:Openclipart

If Everyone was a Circus Artist...

In all her five years, we've had many moments trying to figure out what her career choice would be. D's particularly wanted to be several things at several instances - a Cooker (chef), if she liked what I made, a Scientist if she wants to create ice like Elsa, a Ballerina, because well, who doesn't like dancing, even a a Butterfly, for all the colors. 

Her latest ambition, is to become a Circus Artist. It may as well be a viable option considering that she never uses stairs, hangs on anything 'hangable' - trees, railings, even our shoulders. She's good at somersaults,cartwheels, uncoordinated jumping jacks. But a career in Circus Arts? As long as she doesn't ask me for money after we've retired, I think I am perfectly OK with the idea. In fact I admire all that flexibility. I wish I could do that. 

So anyway, when there was a theme given to her at her school - "The World would be a Better Place If..." to draw, I wasn't surprised when she decided to draw the Circus. 
Of course the world would be a better place if everybody knew Circus! Duh!

So I waited patiently till she finished her color coordination, her swirly patterns, her hoops with performers in it. She wanted me to observe her 'method' if you will. 

After she was all done, I asked her. 

"So how will Circus make the world a better place?"

"It's not the Circus, Mamma", she said in all earnest.

"So you didn't draw a Circus?" I was feeling so foolish. Did I misinterpret her art? Is she going to be crushed? Have I ruined her confidence?

"No, this is a Circus." She confirmed, allowing me to exhale. "But I wanted to say that the World would be a better place if all of us were Circus artists."

I had to choose my words, carefully. "How?" I asked, at the risk of sounding stupid.

"If everyone is a Circus artist, they'll have a lot of fun and energy. If people are not bored and tired, they can do amazing things!"

I had no words. It made so much sense. If I weren't bored or tired, I'd probably keep the house sparkling clean. I would also get hubby to do a lot more stuff than I already get him to. Just think of the possibilities!!

I was super impressed, and I guess that's where I'm headed, with her - Circus classes. 

All that Fuss!

My daughter started her Kindergarten this Fall. Kindergarten. The first day was the hardest, I think. A few other moms of Kindergartners, and I found solace in each other’s tears… “Our babies are growing up so fast” was the general consensus.
“Doesn’t it feel like yesterday, when they were so tiny and helpless?” one mom, Lisa* said.

“Well, mine was pretty helpless today. He was trying to put his jacket on, over his bag!” another mom, Marie* disagreed. “He was pretty helpless with the shoelaces, and also, the buttons.”

“Yeah, mine still cries all the time.”  Jenna wiped her tear.
“So then, why are we crying?” I asked. “It just seems like an illusion that they’re growing up. They just seem to get taller holding on to all their kiddie traits. Mine, doesn’t like walking to any place that’s not a playground. She’ll pretend she’s so tired, that she cannot walk another step and desperately needs to be picked up.”

“But still, school is big.” Lisa said, still trying to prove her point.
“Not Kindergarten” I said. “They still only mostly color and trace numbers and letters.”
“Listen to stories, play at the park, dance” Marie agreed.
“So why are we crying?” Jenna asked out loud.

“Could these be tears of happiness?” Marie seemed enlightened. “Are we happy that our kids are finally away from home, without costing a bomb for… staying away?” She was clearly referring to expensive pre-school and day care.

All of us looked at each other. That could very well have been the reason.
“Or are we just feeling liberated, that we can finally read a book without disturbance, or use the toilet without the fear of the little kid barging in any minute or communicating from across the door?” Jenna tried.

“Oh, mine asks me so many questions from outside, and she wants me to see her paintings, right that minute!” Marie empathized.

“Let’s see what they have to say in the evening, when they come back from school” I said, already knowing what my daughter would say. She wouldn’t want to come home. There were so many kids at school. At home, I was the only other kid, and I wasn’t very good at being one. I didn’t whine loud enough and I couldn’t ride her little bike with training wheels.

We bid our good-byes and met again at pick-up.
“Feel liberated yet?” I asked the ladies.
“I cried a little in the car” Jenna said. “But once I reached home and saw the mess in her room, I was back to being the screamer. Only, it felt a little sad that I didn’t know who to aim it at.”

“I could actually hear my kitchen cloth fall on the floor.” Lisa was thrilled. All the tears from the morning seemed to have disappeared with the onset of reality.
“I wrote.” I said. “It felt so good, not having to share my laptop with anybody, because they also wanted to write a letter to their mom, me, at that very instant. I forgot how blissful it was to be in your own company.”

“Here comes the class!” Marie pointed out excitedly.
The kids looked so adorable, walking in a line, holding hands. With backpacks and lunch bags, the kids looked like… big kids. My daughter was talking to a new friend, oblivious to my presence. She was so engrossed in the animated discussion.
“Is that another tear, Mom from India*?” Lisa asked.

“Yeah” I said. “I love her to bits and she looks so happy.  And also, I was so engrossed in work today, I forgot something basic. I badly need to go to the toilet now, and she won’t let me.”

*All names of moms changed to preserve their identity and protect them from any awkward discussions this may lead to when the kids are able to search the internet.

Photo Credit: Wiki

The Diwali DealMaker

D is very lucky. At least that's what I want her to think - she gets to celebrate Diwali on 2 days. A Tamil Diwali and as Ady calls it, 'the rest of India Diwali'. But be as it may, we treated her to South and North Indian delicacies.

This year, we went a step further and also included Tamil and Hindi devotional songs, for no apparent reason. I just wanted D to see how Diwali was celebrated at my home and Ady wanted to add a Hindi flavor.

We lit lamps, dressed up in new clothes (she got 2 sets), offered prayers, cooked together, ate in steel plates, the whole nine yards.

She knows the story of Diwali, in fact she explained it at her school today, so we didn't want to spend more time discussing Ravana's teeth brushing issues or Sita's struggles without jewelry in captivity.

This year, I tried to teach her something new.

"D, you know Diwali is a celebration" I said.

"Yes. It marks Rama's return to Ayodhya, after...."

"Yeah, I know.  Good job" I said. I didn't want to hear the story for the fourth time today.

"So, I want to teach you another ritual that we do. Kids prostrate at the feet of the grown ups and seek their blessings." Ady did not want to be a part of it. In his family, girls don't prostrate until marriage. Only boys do.

"And grownups usually bless the kids and give them gifts." I smiled trying to excite her.
"What do you want, baby?"

"Mamma, a gift doesn't have to be something to play with, or money, right?"

I was very impressed. My daughter is not a 'Material Girl'

"Yes, darling" I answered, swelling with pride.

"Great! Then I want to see a cartoon today." She beamed.

Tricked! I was annoyed, that little firecracker negotiated her way to get what she wants. I was fuming. She knows she gets to watch cartoons only over the weekend. But this, this was just underhanded. Oh, to be fooled by a five-year-old.

Ady was smiling, basking in the satisfaction he derived from my defeat. "You promised!" he said smugly.

So now, my 'innocent' daughter is watching her cartoon while I'm trying to hide my defeat in a blog post. So much for rituals!

Image source: Wiki

When he said, "I Love You"

I know I shouldn't have laughed, but I did. It was so cute and amusing at the same time, I couldn't hold it in. 

We were driving to school today, and D knows I don't like to talk when driving (I absolutely hate driving), but we were discussing something important - why she should not 'accidentally' forget things or break stuff or fall off. As with all discussions, this one too took a lot of turns. 

We spoke about trees, fog, rain and dust before we came to a halt at the red light near her school. "That's John*, Mamma" she said from the back seat, pointing out the window. 

"The little boy crossing the road?" I asked. 

"Yes. He is in my class."

I waved to him and he waved back. 

"Mamma, you know what? John said that he loves me."

"What?" I asked trying to curtail my amusement. 

"Yeah. He said 'I love you' to me."

I laughed.I know ... I know, parenting mistake. But I did. There, I said it. 

"He also said, he'll put frogs in our bags." she added. Now, you  try to keep a straight face. 

"Why would he do that, and who's 'our'?" I asked as seriously as I could. 

"Me and my friend's. He just likes frogs."


I dropped her, hugged her, said goodbye and knew I had to tell this to Ady - immediately. 

A very busy day, Ady may not have the time to pick the phone or respond to my text, but he deserved to know. Besides, I wanted to have fun with him too - I am a good wife. 

"A boy said 'I love you' to your daughter." I texted. 

I knew I'd hear from him, maybe in the evening. He doesn't respond to texts when he's in a meeting, and he's in all day meetings today. 

"Who? When? Why? Call me," was the instantaneous message from husband dearest, or more aptly in this case, 'Papa Possessive'. 

I didn't call. It's just a kid thing, and well, I wanted to savor the moments...and just as I am about to go upstairs, the phone rings.

"What happened? Who is it? I want to know." It's Ady.

"Isn't it adorable?" I ask, smiling ear to ear. 

"No. It's not. Who is it? Maybe you should talk to the teacher."

"Yes. And while I'm at it, I'll also tell her that D is 'awfully' married to Kenny"

That calmed him down. "I don't appreciate you laughing at such things" he said. 

"But, you just have to give him frogs as a wedding gift" I said, "that's what John wants to give your daughter." That did the trick and I heard him chuckle. 

"Is that a laugh I hear?" I asked. 

"No. I have to get back to my meeting." he hung up. 

P.S.: Reading the title of the post, I hope you weren't expecting a different story ;)

*Name changed, so she won't scream at me when she starts reading my blog.

Photo Credit: Disney's Princess and the Frog

Who's a Little Girl?

It's just about a month now, since she started Kindergarten and she loves it. 

"I love it so much, and I have so much fun, I don't even realize I am learning something!" she exclaims to everyone who asks her about her new school. 

She considers learning to be different from fun, I note. Is she a real school girl now? But it's only Kindergarten!

"Can you guys introduce yourselves and tell me which grade you are in?" asks her after school teacher on the first day of after school class. 

When it's her turn, she says "I am not in any grade."
"So where do you go?" the teacher asks.

"Kindergarten. It's not a grade!" she laughs. She agrees with me, I heave out loudly, only to invite curious eyes of the rest of the kids in the class on me. "Excuse me" I say and step out of the class to do a little dance - she's not all that grown up - yet!

"You sure are happy!" a fellow mom remarks catching me in my oblivious step.
"I, just...well..." I try, getting the rest of my body parts closer to the torso. "Yeah!"

It's an hour long class, so I wait outside- working on my laptop, even as I sheepishly smile at the mom who saw me dancing. 

Before I know it, the hour's up and I shove my laptop, pen and book in my bag and rush back to her, so she doesn't feel that I've forgotten to pick her up. Which, by the way, has never happened before.

I see her talking to her friend and holding her hands as she's stepping out of the class. 
She doesn't look anywhere else; just the sky, the ground and her friend. She must be having a discussion about the distance from here to the sky I try and tell myself. You can't possibly have a discussion about the sky without looking at it!

"D!" I exclaim as she approaches me.
"Mamma!" she exclaims, but not with the same excitement as I shared. "Mamma!, can I go with my friend's mom? I'll come back home after half hour. I want to go with someone else who's not my mom."

"What?" I react, not believing my ears. Did she just refuse to come with me?

"I want to play for sometime."

"I've come to pick you up. We didn't discuss this earlier" I say, heartbroken. She doesn't seem to need me as much as I want her to. "Come with me now. We'll talk this over later." 

"O.K." she agrees reluctantly. My heart sinks. She is 5 going on 15. Maybe I am wrong about her. Maybe, she's not a little kid anymore.

"How was your day?" I ask her, trying to change the topic. I haven't ignored her reaction. I just want to discuss her response with her, when I am ready to talk and she is ready to hear. Right now, neither of us is. 

"Fine" she says. She's a teenager. Monosyllables. 

"What did you do at lunch?"

"I ate."

"Who did you sit with?"

"Mamma, can you come to my class tomorrow?" she asks.


"I like it when you are there. Like the first day you were there? It feels nice to have you around."

We've reached home by this time. I get her off the car, we walk into the house and I do my little dance. Without asking me why I am dancing, she joins in. "Can we put on some music too, Mamma?"

She's still my little girl.