Goodbye school

In 2007 we relocated to Mumbai again. With one kid in my tummy and the other reaching below my knees, I came for my toddler’s school admission before relocating. The school had a nice warm feeling to it. It wasn’t a big or hi-fi school. All I wanted was my son to learn, be happy and a school where I could approach the teachers. My son got admission in senior KG and his journey in this school began. This is the school where a shy little toddler learnt studies, made a whole bunch of friends, had bittersweet experiences with teachers, had few great teachers, learnt to be confident, learnt to deal with all kinds of students and teachers, learnt teamwork, learnt to deal with success and failures, had his crushes…
 
Today is the last formal day of my son in this school. Tomorrow he has his farewell. The shy little toddler that entered in the school in 2007 walks out as a confident, strapping teenager with loads of memories, friends, and some tears..
 
#goodbyeschool

Goodbye school

In 2007 we relocated to Mumbai again. With one kid in my tummy and the other reaching below my knees, I came for my toddler’s school admission before relocating. The school had a nice warm feeling to it. It wasn’t a big or hi-fi school. All I wanted was my son to learn, be happy and a school where I could approach the teachers. My son got admission in senior KG and his journey in this school began. This is the school where a shy little toddler learnt studies, made a whole bunch of friends, had bittersweet experiences with teachers, had few great teachers, learnt to be confident, learnt to deal with all kinds of students and teachers, learnt teamwork, learnt to deal with success and failures, had his crushes…
 
Today is the last formal day of my son in this school. Tomorrow he has his farewell. The shy little toddler that entered in the school in 2007 walks out as a confident, strapping teenager with loads of memories, friends, and some tears..
 
#goodbyeschool

When the son wore his dad’s shirt

My son looks like his dad, behaves likes his dad, emulates his dad.  I often joke that he has inherited 95% of his genes.

My husband has been a hands-on and very involved father right from the time I had conceived my children.  He has always been the calmer and more practical parent, while I have been the stricter and the more emotionally labile one!  So, we have had a perfect balance.

We both have been very frank and friendly with our kids.  We both have always believed that kids need to be comfortable enough to talk to us about everything.  My son apart from inheriting his dad’s genes has also inherited his sensibilities to an extent!!

This week my son will be having his school farewell.  He is supposed to dress up formally.  He specifically wanted his dad to be with him when he chose his shirt and blazer.  He is sure that his dad’s choice will never be wrong in this regard.

We came back home.  My son was trying out his shirt and blazer.  My husband took out a few old shirts of his, one of them being his wedding reception shirt.  My son tried those out and they fit him perfectly.  We both became emotional.

Kids grow up fast, yes this is a very cliched line, but they do!  When my son came in front of us dressed in his shirt, blazer and tie, he looked just like my husband looked in his younger days, a spitting image..

From the tiny little bundle who is swaddled to a formally-dressed boy, the journey has been blissful.  Also, has been blissful the father-son bonding which often goes missing in many families.

I wish this bond remains like this forever..

Not strong enough to fly

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative forIndian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

In a small town of Gujarat, people were very excited as their favorite festival “Uttarayan” was approaching.  The markets were filled varieties of kites.  Everywhere there was a festive mood.  The women of the households had already started preparing the delicacies like undhiyun, chikki, and other farsan.

But amidst all these festivities, Geeta was sitting quietly.  Every year she used to look forward to this festival as she wanted to beat all the boys in the kite flying competition.  She was very good at it.  Her father didn’t like her challenging the boys.  But her mother would somehow let her get away with it.

This year she dreaded this festival.  She was getting engaged.  Jan 14th was considered to be a good day for her engagement.  She would be appearing for her 10th board exam in March.  Her would be in-laws were “generous” enough to “allow” her to take the exam.  After that within 2 months she would be married off.  Yes, she was only 15 but in her community this was the right age for a girl to get married.

Geeta didn’t want to leave her studies; she didn’t want to leave her parents, her siblings, her friends.  She knew once she would get married she would lose her independence.  She would have to be in a saree all day, do household chores, and within a year or 2 bear a child.  This is the life that her mother has been living, her older cousin sisters have been living.  They don’t have any voice.  They are only supposed to serve.

Uttarayan day was at its full fervor.  Geeta’s home was bustling with people.  Her mother was busy preparing delicacies for Geeta’s would be in-laws.  Everyone was excited and happy except Geeta.  Her mother came to her room to deck her up in jewelry and a new saree.  Mustering all the courage, Geeta said, “Maa, I don’t want to marry now.  I want to study.  Please convey this to Papa.  I want to be free for at least few more years.”  Geeta’s mother saw her daughter’s pleading eyes.  She wanted to hug her little daughter and never let her go.  She didn’t want her life to be like hers.  But she knew she was helpless.  Like all the other women in her community, she had no voice.

She had to ignore Geeta’s plea.  She decked her up and took her for “display” in front of everyone.  Geeta had become numb.  She didn’t know how to react.  Like a robot, she went through the rituals of the engagement.  Her feelings were numbed and she knew they would remain numb the rest of her life.

Someone in the adjoining terrace shouted, “Kaipo che.”  She saw from the window that a kite was lifelessly going down.  She sighed! The Kite fell on the ground. She said, ‘Wish it had strong wings!’.”

Those retro days

#Myundinokibaathaimoments

I often travel for events by Ola cabs and invariably or coincidentally the FM always plays the retro songs (now 90s is the retro), reminding that I am also a being of the retro era🙄.

Just the other day, the retro songs played were the songs of the time when Salman Khan was still not Tiger, Aamir Khan was still not experimental, Akshay Kumar was the Khiladi, SRK had just begun to attain stardom. The songs reminded me of my stay in Bharuch when I was still dreaming of becoming a doctor, when it felt nice when a boy paid attention (it still does😜). It was the time when finances were my dad’s headache and taking care of us and managing the home my mom’s! It was the time when watching Mumbai city in movies fascinated me (never knew one day it would be my home and an integral part of my life).

Those were the days when every other song was of Nadeem-Shravan sung by either Kumar Sanu, Alka Yagnik, Udit Narayan or Anuradha Paudwal. That was the time when Amal and Arman Malik were toddlers and Anu Malik ruled.

Now, Salman is Tiger, Aamir is experimenting, and I am the experimental mother who is trying to be a Tiger🤣

Strong daughters, the need of the hour

Just couldn’t resist myself from posting this. Read in a group how a little girl’s mother cut her daughter’s long hair to make her look “ugly” so that she isn’t noticeable in this big bad world! Really?

I too have a daughter who is beautiful, extremely expressive, vivacious, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about her or the way she is. She is at a stage where she is growing up and at a risk of all kind of stares and later on may be comments from unscrupulous people. What do I do? Do I keep her locked in the house, ask her to speak or laugh in measured tones, ask her dress drab, ask her to stop interacting with people? I would rather make her fearless and make her ready to take on the world instead of getting her to withdraw in a shell. Yes, the world is a scary place and like any other mother I am also scared about the well being and safety of my daughter. But making her look “ugly” or be inconsequential is not the solution. People who are perverts don’t look at the age, gender or “looks” for that matter.

The message given out to that little girl is become subdued; give in to the society’s age-old traditions where girls are subjugated and treated as objects or later keep mum whenever they are facing any injustice, be it from outsiders or from husband or in-laws!

Despite all the fears that I have, I will raise my daughter to be fearless and I hope all mothers out there raise their daughters to be fearless and confident.

Aren’t sons and daughters equal?

Once again read somewhere this line and again I cringed, “My daughters are like my sons.” Let the daughters be like daughters. It depends on how you raise them! If you give them the independence, education, and freedom of career choice like sons, they will do what the sons have been doing so far traditionally; taking care of the parents and being strong to take on the world. This statement somehow makes me feel that such parents are trying to say that the daughters are as good as or equal to sons. But aren’t they born equal naturally?