Posted in My life

Slaying Our Personal Dragons

We have just faced the worst fear of parents–children stepping out of their control zone! Our daughter has finally joined school. For 5 hours, she is out of our sight and very much on our minds. I can only wonder how parents send their children to hostels or marry them off. We can’t breath properly if until we see her again. It is like a part of us leaves with her. The house is too quiet and weird without her chatter.

And then, there is the fear for her well being–we know she is in safe hands. (My husband visited the school multiple times to ensure that.) But still the days and nights before the first day at school were filled with instructions.

  • Never keep hands on door threshold or some one might close the door and crush it. (Sure!)
  • Never close the classroom door. (Sure!)
  • Never let others close the classroom door. (Sure!)

Note that there are no doors in the classes of this school to ensure children don’t shut them, but still our daughter indulged us.

  • Never jump from benches. (I never do!)
  • Never run on stairs. (I never do!)
  • Clutch the railing tightly when going up and down the stairs. (I always do!)
  • Don’t stay alone in a classroom. (What if I am the first child in the class?)
  • Don’t leave your classroom unless accompanied by a teacher. (What if I have to use loo?)
  • Don’t play outside classroom. Someone might push. (Okay!)
  • Don’t play inside classroom. You can get hurt with all the benches. (Where will I play then?).
  • Don’t enter a class that is not yours. (Why would I do that?)
  • Don’t leave the school until Papa arrives. (Okay!)
  • Don’t stay alone inside school until Papa arrives. (Where will go then, if I am the last one?)
  • Don’t talk to strangers. (Papa will drop me and pick me up! When will I get a chance?)

And then there was more serious stuff about good touch-bad touch and self-defense heirarchy with increasing severity. If someone corners you or you don’t like their touch:

  1. Say No. Tell them to leave you alone. (What if they don’t?)
  2. Shout (What if they cover my mouth?)
  3. Bite and run (What if I can’t bite?)
  4. Kick (Not tall enough!)
  5. Fingers in the eyes, nose and throat, and run (My fingers are not strong enough!)
  6. Pencil in the eyes, nose and throat, and run (What if I don’t have pencil?)
  7. Anything in the eyes, nose and throat, and run (Fine, I’ll try.)
  8. Never use self defense against children. (What if a big boy at school hurts me?)
  9. Complain to a teacher. (What if there is no teacher?)
  10. Shout…

And so we go again…

In the end I was afraid that I had converted my daughter into a walking landmine, ready to explode at the touch, and I had to calm her down, reminding her that most people are nice and generous. They don’t hurt people and usually take care of children. I am wondering whether I have done a good job.

Even after all these preparations, on the first day, after walking her to school, my husband went back there to check on her after an hour and would have gone again if it wasn’t against the rules. He reached the school half an hour early to bring her back home.

All these years, we had waited for the day to come when our daughter would go to school and we would have some quiet time. Now, all we can do is look at the clock slowly ticking away the time until she returns home and fills our day again with her constant chatter.

Posted in My life, Twisted Tales

The Hare, the Tortise, and the Storysmith’s Daughter

My three-year old daughter demands me stories nearly all day. I try to wave off the requests most of the times, since it means overusing my brain, which is already fried by listening and singing nursery rhymes, and dealing with petty quarrels regarding property rights over various animals, dolls, lego blocks and kitchen set, apart from building the training courses for clients.

My favourite way to wave off the request is to ask my daughter to tell me a story before I tell her one. Usually, she asks me to excuse her to deal with an ‘important matter’ and leaves the vicinity until I had forgotten the request (my daughter through and through). A few days back, though, after multiple requests, she acquised to tell me a story of the Hare and the Tortoise.

As most of you would know, the original story was about a race between a vain but fast Hare and a humble but slow Tortoise. The vain Hare underestimates his competitor and sleeps off half way through the race and wakes up to find that the Tortoise has reached the finish line. I was expecting a retelling of the same tale.

However, this is the tale she told me (in Hindi).

There was a Hare 🐰 who was going to market to buy some carrots 🥕(?), because all Hare love carrots 🐰💕🥕.

He met a Tortoise 🐢 on the way who asked him nicely if he could join him–he needed to buy some carrots too 🥕 (??), because all Tortoise love carrots too 🐢💕🥕.

So, off they went merrily 🐇🐢. (Not sure when the race will begin!)

On the way, they met an Elephant 🐘 (???) who asked them not so nicely to carry him to the market because he wanted to buy some carrots too (because, obviously, all elephants love carrots too, 🐘 💕🥕). Or else he will step on them 😡.

So the Hare punched him 👊 (That was one strong Hare!), and then, he pulled the Tortoise on his back and ran to the market. 🐇🐢💨 (AHA!!!)

Then, they, bought carrots🥕, and happily ate them.

Author’s mother’s note: Well, what can I say,  I love carrots too…🤣🤣🤣

Posted in Life and After

Black

She was sitting next to where you lie, mother, all black, serious, and still.

I wanted to ask the traitor the same questions you would have–why she wasn’t around while you were still alive; when you needed to snuggle with her; when you cried for her all night?

But then, she had been out pursuing lord-knows-what.

Now, she finds the time to sit next to where you lie, mother, after you closed those beautiful eyes and left to pursue lord-knows-what; all teary-eyed and seeking forgiveness for neglecting you for all those lonely years; bringing fresh flowers; trying to take my place in your lap.

You could hardly blame me for scratching her face. I wish I had taken out her eyes…but they looked so much like your own.


Photo by Howell_eddie on Unsplash 

Posted in Twisted Tales

A Hushed Conversation

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A hushed conversation

“Isn’t that the same tree stump we passed twice before?”

“Not sure. Can’t tell one from another in the mist.”

Silence

“Greta, should we call out father’s name?”

“Han! We have been over that before. He isn’t coming. You heard mother last night, didn’t you?”

“She was just complaining about the lack of food…”

“And too many mouths to feed!”

“Then, why didn’t they send us to the king? We could have worked as slaves or something.”

“Because then, they would have to give us food for the way and money for the ride. It beats the whole point.”

Silence

“I’m scared.”

“Me too.”

“And hungry.”

“I’m so hungry, I can smell gingerbread.”

“Me too.”

Silence

“Do you remember what old Rabbi told about the witch house made of gingerbread?”

“He’s senile.”

“I hope he’s right. I would rather be eaten than starved.”

Silence


Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay