Many blogs, pictures, videos have made their rounds trying to tell me what I should give my children to make them good individuals when they grow up. There were quite a few things said in different ways that it sometimes left me confused. Being a first time parent with no prior experience like almost everyone, these writeups did intrigue me, lest I may be enlightened.
An incident today, gave me the answers.
My younger son aged 8 is reluctant to try most things, his favourite rejection being vegetables. A little bit of coaxing does get him to try helping us break his resounding No. So this time, it was to try riding his older brothers cycle and be sure that he hasn’t lost balance before we buy him his own. His argument was that the handle was too wide, the seat was too high etc., etc. This evening I told him that I would walk behind him if he would try. He reluctantly agreed. When he heard me telling his brother that this was mommy-kevin time, he was on cloud nine. So we set off. The first round on my street was not bad. He spotted a 2 cm high uphill which was too difficult to climb, he didn’t know how to make right turns, he walked near a bridge and so on. I just stuck with him and got him home. I managed to coax him into a second round, this time a straight road, halfway to his school. It was much easier this time. He took a right turn without thinking, went uphill at the driveway, rode past a bridge, leaving me way behind.
He was ecstatic. He said, I don’t need a new bicycle, I like this one, you can buy Nitin a new one!
As I was walking back home, the beautiful sunset smiling at me, I realised that I helped him overcome his premonitions by spending time with him, providing some encouragement and love. So that’s it. Time. Encouragement. Love. He is a more confident person.
I can put this formula to any situation and I think it will work. I am sure somebody has said this before and I have read in one of those how-to-raise-children blogs.. but this instance made it loud and clear…
My children have taught me the best lessons on parenting and constantly remind me that its the little things in life which matter the most!!
The whole…
Nobody knows you completely. Not one person.. nah!.. Not even yourself. Because you are not who you think you are. Its just a part of you. Who you are is what you are to the people you know and the lives you touch. What you are to the other person is you.. rather a part of you. The emotions, the connect, the conversations is that part of you. And all these parts put together is the real you.
So I don’t have anybody in full. I have only one part of everyone. What they are to me, they are not to another person. The equations are different. What is constant is only the equal to sign.
So technically, nobody is mine. A part of them is mine. And unfortunately, its not until death tears us apart, that we see all the parts or atleast most of it. When all the parts come together to bid one final goodbye to the person that was.. and this realization dawns on you, that yes, she gave birth to you, your whole is a part of hers, yet, you are only a part of her whole..
So I don’t have anybody in full. I have only one part of everyone. What they are to me, they are not to another person. The equations are different. What is constant is only the equal to sign.
So technically, nobody is mine. A part of them is mine. And unfortunately, its not until death tears us apart, that we see all the parts or atleast most of it. When all the parts come together to bid one final goodbye to the person that was.. and this realization dawns on you, that yes, she gave birth to you, your whole is a part of hers, yet, you are only a part of her whole..
Meenakshi
She was the fourth child born to a namboothiri father and his second wife, a nair lady. At the age of 17 she left her small town Eravimangalam in central Kerala to the garden city of Bangalore to help her sister take care of her child. In six months at the age of 18yrs and 3 months she got married to a photographer employed at Visweswaraya Museum. Five years down the line she had a daughter and another 5 years she gave birth to a son.
She strove hard to put her kids in Bishop Cottons School, one of the premier schools in Bangalore. With the meagre salary her husband brought home and the additional extra income from screen printing it was a repeated cycle of rigorous thirty day struggle to make ends meet. But she stuck through it for a long twenty one years. She put her kids through engineering colleges and got them through computer science degrees. When her children graduated, she graduated as well. She cleated ICSE twice in her lifetime.
At the age of 46 she came down with Parkinsons. But that did not deter her spirit. She travelled the world, made five trips to the US, saw the grandeur of Niagra falls, grand canyon, new york, the white house and vegas. She gambled at the casinos on the slot machine and she had so much fun. She saw the arrival of her grandson as he let out his first cry in this world. She cut the umbilical cord.
Through all her troubles, she smiled. She lived by example and showed us that there is no mountain too big, no storm too rough, no day that you cannot get through. Courage was her middle name.
I have never experienced death this closely. It does bring an end of sorts. But it is not the end. She is here, in this house, around me, with me, watching over me.. like how i cannot touch happiness, i cannot touch pride, i cannot touch her. But she is here, very much here..
I don’t know where she went, however, i know she is happy. She is at peace finally. She has no troubles no sorrows no pain. Her limbs are not bitten by Parkinsons anymore. She is free. She is smiling and in a very happy place.
Like every mother and daughter we have fought. Arguments, periods of not talking, patching up. But at the end I realise that there is nothing of that. It’s just the happy moments..
I know the void will never fill but it makes me happy that at this very moment and for all the moments to come she has only happiness..
Why do marriages fail?
Why do marriages fail, after all marriages are made in heaven. People are meant to be, made for each other and all those decorative one liners.. In real life most of these one liners are more of a curse. Spouses want to find that heaven and douse it with fire. They want to find that astrologer who told their parents that this couple was made for each other and stab him a hundred times.
So why do marriages fail?
Every person thinks he knows what he wants in a spouse. Most often than not what he thinks he wants is not what he really needs. This is step 1. When he finds a spouse he feels that what he wanted and what he got are not in sync. He either adjusts to what he got and leads a happy adjustment life or remains adamant on his needs and tries to change the spouse. This leads to discord and an unhappy life or broken marriage. This is step 2.
Some people enter the institution of marriage not knowing what they want, completely clueless. After they are tied down they start to understand what they need and start evaluating the spouse against those needs. Surprise!! You married the wrong person. This is step 3.
There are indeed very few happy marriages and in such marriages what they need and what they think they need and what they get are all in sync for both partners. What are the chances for this? Very very low. The rest of the marriages that survive are adjustments. Some honest adjustments lead to happy marriages. Spouses give less weightage to their wishes and whims. They, again both partners try to see the bright side of things and try to blend into what they get. The last group is the most pathetic. They stick to their wish list and make a mess out of life. Either they end up sticking to each other due to social pressures or take the bold step of divorce.
Alas!! Marriages are made in heaven but the people getting married are mere mortals 🙂
Madhavikutty
Let me start with a disclaimer that I may not be the right person to write about Kamala Das. I may not know the whole truth. My writing is based on my interpretation of Kamala Das from a couple of her interviews available on YouTube, her book “My story” and Merrily Weisbord’s book “The Love Queen of Malabar”.
The first time I heard the name Madhavikutty was from my father, when I was a child. The name just settled down in my mind to gather dust. When I was an adult, and started my feeble attempts at writing, I read about Madhavikutty on the internet and learnt that her official name was Kamala Das. I bought “My Story” her controversial autobiography and honestly never completed reading it. I read the essentials of the book and left it there. This was more than five years ago.
Recently due to some reason I switched from fiction to non-fiction and found myself looking for books about Kamala Das. I wanted an original English work because I knew she wrote in Malayalam and personally do not prefer translated books. The element of the book, the essence of what the author pens down is lost in translation. A complete personal belief. So after some considerable research I found “The Love Queen of Malabar” by Merrily Weisbord. Since the author was Canadian, I was sure that the major text would be in English, and would be confined to limited translations. I just finished reading the book and was proud that I selected the best book.
The book is a conversation between Merrily and Kamala Das during their trips to Kerala and Canada. The acquaintance that grows into a deep friendship. I was glad that Kamala found Merrily during her later years, a compassionate friend whom she could trust.
I felt sad at the plight of Kamala Das, and I believe she wrote the truth. She was born in a time where male chauvinism was at its height. Man used women for their gains. I came to hate Sadiq Ali who was man enough to sleep with a 60+ year old woman, almost twice his age, but was a coward who succumbed to the pressures of society. Most men are man enough to sleep with a woman, the commitment to nurture her for years to come is where he plays the dodging game.
Her story is what happens in most households. There is only one in crores of women, who can write about it, honestly. I understand why men abused her when the book “My story” was published. She was unmasking their real face. She shed the pretenses they wear when they walk out into society.
In this book she says “This new person accepted that “marriage to Dasettan was not good, but my destiny”. And since we are all just instruments of destiny, it was useless to struggle against it”.
Another excerpt from the book, which lingers on –
The first time I heard the name Madhavikutty was from my father, when I was a child. The name just settled down in my mind to gather dust. When I was an adult, and started my feeble attempts at writing, I read about Madhavikutty on the internet and learnt that her official name was Kamala Das. I bought “My Story” her controversial autobiography and honestly never completed reading it. I read the essentials of the book and left it there. This was more than five years ago.
Recently due to some reason I switched from fiction to non-fiction and found myself looking for books about Kamala Das. I wanted an original English work because I knew she wrote in Malayalam and personally do not prefer translated books. The element of the book, the essence of what the author pens down is lost in translation. A complete personal belief. So after some considerable research I found “The Love Queen of Malabar” by Merrily Weisbord. Since the author was Canadian, I was sure that the major text would be in English, and would be confined to limited translations. I just finished reading the book and was proud that I selected the best book.
The book is a conversation between Merrily and Kamala Das during their trips to Kerala and Canada. The acquaintance that grows into a deep friendship. I was glad that Kamala found Merrily during her later years, a compassionate friend whom she could trust.
I felt sad at the plight of Kamala Das, and I believe she wrote the truth. She was born in a time where male chauvinism was at its height. Man used women for their gains. I came to hate Sadiq Ali who was man enough to sleep with a 60+ year old woman, almost twice his age, but was a coward who succumbed to the pressures of society. Most men are man enough to sleep with a woman, the commitment to nurture her for years to come is where he plays the dodging game.
Her story is what happens in most households. There is only one in crores of women, who can write about it, honestly. I understand why men abused her when the book “My story” was published. She was unmasking their real face. She shed the pretenses they wear when they walk out into society.
In this book she says “This new person accepted that “marriage to Dasettan was not good, but my destiny”. And since we are all just instruments of destiny, it was useless to struggle against it”.
Another excerpt from the book, which lingers on –
“A writer moves away from family, old relationships, very far with the speed of a falling star… Otherwise the writer is destroyed, and only the member of the family remains: the mother, sister, daughter, wife. The writer at some point must ask, Do I want to be a well-loved member of the family? Or do I want to be a good writer? You can’t be both at the same time. The days when you are with the children and are being a very good mother, you cease to be the writer. You feel repelled by the pen and the paper, which are definitely going to come between you and your loved ones.”
My Grandmother’s house – Kamala Das
There is a house now far away where once
I received love……. That woman died,
The house withdrew into silence, snakes moved
Among books, I was then too young
To read, and my blood turned cold like the moon
How often I think of going
There, to peer through blind eyes of windows or
Just listen to the frozen air,
Or in wild despair, pick an armful of
Darkness to bring it here to lie
Behind my bedroom door like a brooding
Dog…you cannot believe, darling,
Can you, that I lived in such a house and
Was proud, and loved…. I who have lost
My way and beg now at strangers’ doors to
Receive love, at least in small change?
Beautiful!
When
When the sunsets on the beach
are not as radiant as they are today
When the nights are cold
and dont carry the warmth of a hug
When the days are long
and the business of life engulfs life
Will you still love me?
are not as radiant as they are today
When the nights are cold
and dont carry the warmth of a hug
When the days are long
and the business of life engulfs life
Will you still love me?
When the conversations are empty
or the same words repeat themselves
When we look into each others eyes
and see a sheath of blankness
When there is more nagging
and less words of endearments
Will you still love me?
or the same words repeat themselves
When we look into each others eyes
and see a sheath of blankness
When there is more nagging
and less words of endearments
Will you still love me?
When the seas come in between
and we are no where in sight
When we have to move on
and take up life’s chores
When we are forced to wake up
and abandon our dreams
Will you still love me?
and we are no where in sight
When we have to move on
and take up life’s chores
When we are forced to wake up
and abandon our dreams
Will you still love me?
indupatikkal 