Small Joys

As I waited for my daughter to finish practicing yesterday for a music program this Saturday, another waiting mother informed me, "There is practice on Saturday morning too. I cannot bring my son. In any case, there are 40 children singing. What difference will one voice make?"

Hmmm... I thought. Why do I have to, too? Don't I have enough on my plate already?

So when I was driving back with my eight-year-old daughter, she mentioned something about the program and I casually remarked, "Forty kids. How does it matter if one sings or not."

She replied, "No ma! See we get to sing in such places, and practice! Can we call the grandparents?"

I was chastised immediately and said lamely, "That's the right attitude."

This morning, she chirped around the house happily, "I am so excited. I get selected in all music related things. I am in choir (there is a school choir, which is how she ended up in this program), I am in this program, and I am in the school music programs too!"

They are all by the same teacher... But why spoil her fun, when it makes her eyes shine so!

Am I glad she sometimes does not listen to me!

Exclusive Amusement

The cyclone whipped up a wind, and the stink from the nearby dump swept over us strongly. But even that couldn't deter us from watching the swallows and the crows from enjoying the wind.

The tiny swallows would fly up, be caught in the wind, and be swept back. They would spread their wings, stop their flight, and then allow the winds to carry them behind.

Suddenly, the crows joined in the fun. Even their larger bodies enjoyed the effortless reverse flight that the winds afforded them...

Their own private amusement park?

Welcoming New Year

The bursting of crackers woke her sleeping husband up. "Happy new year," she whispered. She went to the window to see the fireworks lighting up the sky. The nearby terrace had a crowd of people screaming 'happy new year.' She smiled to herself.

They had been in the party circuit when they were newly married. But somehow... somewhere along the line... it hadn't seemed as exciting. It seemed to take too much effort to talk over the loud music, to be excited about the dinner so late... to think that the people at the party were so close that one HAD to welcome the new year with them.

She slipped into the bed. Her husband put an arm around her. They smiled at each other in the darkness and kissed gently. "Happy new year," she whispered again. He merely smiled. She chuckled, knowing his theories about these 'special days'.

She heard a message alert. It was her colleague. Must have just finished the midnight mass in the church, which she never failed to attend on new year's eve. Like her sister, who never missed going to the temple first thing in the morning. She replied to her colleague and greeted her sister. Her husband chuckled reading a message on his mobile. "That was mom..." She smiled. Her mother-in-law had only recently learnt to send messages. She found the gesture sweet.

As the crackers fell silent, she strained her ears to discern the sound of the workers in the nearby land. A metro station was coming up there, and for the last few days, she had heard them work through the night. A demolishing vehicle would go up and down, incessantly, guided by men on the ground. The felling of trees was the most heart-wrenching.

But today, it was silent. She was glad that the workers had been given time off to welcome the new year too...

She closed her eyes and prayed, 'May the new year bring peace and happiness.'

Making Saraswati Flow Again

I picked up the book - Sarawati's Secret River - for my daughter hesitantly. Another story based on Indian mythology? Should I just pick up a fairy tale instead? Oh well, let's see how she likes it, I thought.

Her reading is far from what I would like it to be. So one rare night, when I agreed to read a book for her, I picked this one up. By Devdutt Pattanaik, I was suddenly caught up in the story and read some 8 pages instead of the promised 4. Then, of course, I didn't pick it up again for a while, hoping my daughter would tell me how it read. But I ended up reading it again.

I wondered - is this book for children or adults? Of course, the style is simple and the story straightforward, but it is adults who must read this book. For, children probably already instinctively know what Pattanaik is writing about. It is we adult who go against the grain!

Goddess Saraswati visits a school principal and takes her on a journey to the past when children learned what they were interested in. And so, the River Saraswati flowed big and strong. But over time, rote and forced learning began, and the river shrank.

In the princi's own school, there is a boy who questions, and is discouraged... The lesson being, don't discourage him and let other students think independently too.

Now, tell me, what is the use of making this a children's book? Isn't the greatest tragedy of our times the fact that adults decide what and how children should learn? Isn't it we who cut down curiosity and encourage rote? By telling children about the need to pursue their interests, isn't Pattanaik doing them a great disfavour? By sowing such thoughts, they will only meet with frustration as they go back to schools all enthused, only to find lessons forced down their throats!

Mr. Pattanaik, it is not enough to write great books. Please make them realistic. Don't raise hopes in children without preparing them for disappointments.

Or, maybe he is hoping that children when they become adults will bring about the necessary changes? Hmmm... but by then, they will be 'house-trained' too!

One Earth: The Highest Being

One Earth: The Highest Being: The birds and animals first scout for the ideal tree or ground to build a home for their little ones. The man scouts for the best spot for...

Of Childhood

The noise the children were making slowly increased in volume. Simran, resting in her bedroom, got up and went to see what they were up to. She saw her nine-year-old daughter Madhu and some neighbouring children playing Monopoly. She saw her friend's daughter, Lalli, sitting quietly, slightly away from the rest of the children.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"Mamma! Ankit is not letting us play! He wants all the money!" Madhu said.

Simran frowned. She did not like to get involved in kids' scrapes. "Well, don't make too much noise. I am trying to rest," she said and turned to go.

But, it was not to be. She heard someone crying. She rushed back to see Ankit's sister Priya crying. "What happened!" she asked exasperated.

"Mamma, Ankit hit Priya!"

"Ankit?" she turned to the boy. He was a perennial nuisance, hitting other children if he thought he was losing. But for sometime now, he had been better behaved. What had come over him now? She turned to Priya, pushing Ankit to the background for a minute. "Come here, let me see..."

The girl's cheek was swelling. Ankit had hit his sister with a car he had been holding in his hand. Simran decided that it was best to call their mother, who came running down. "Ankit!" the mother said just one word on hearing what had happened. The 11-year-old boy walked to her with his head hung. She lifted his face up, and gave one tight slap. All around, Simran included, stood in stunned silence. "Go up!" she ordered the boy, who went away without a word. The mother held her daughter and asked, "What did you do?"

Nine-year-old Priya, clearly mortified, said defensively, "I bought the state he was eyeing for..."

The mother's no-nonsense look stopped the girl. "He likes to win. Can't you let him, in a game?"

Priya hung her head and went away, silent tears wetting her cheeks. The mother looked up at Simran and said apologetically, "He has exams coming. His exams are coming, you know, and he seems to become very aggressive then? I keep telling him - Priya gets better marks than him and he does not even put in the effort he can! This time I have warned him I will not give him chocolates if he doesn't score well! ... I am so sorry for the bother. I will warn him not to misbehave."

Simran just stared open mouthed, nodded because she didn't know what to say and turned to look at her daughter, who was busy playing with the remaining two friends. Madhu had exams too but seeing her, no one would have thought so. And she did well - not the top of the class, but not bottom either. Simran shrugged. She was fine with that, and so was Madhu.

She caught sight of Lalli, still not part of the crowd, busy writing something. Simran walked up to her and asked in a friendly tone, "What is it?"

"Some math... I have math Olympiad coming up."

"Oh...? That's nice," Simran said.

"Is Shruthi also giving the test?" Lalli asked.

Simran looked at her daughter, who seemed blissfully unaware of everything except Monopoly, and asked, "Does she look like?"

"No..." Lalli drawled, a dissatisfied look on her face.

"So... is this the first time for you?" Simran asked.

Lalli shook her head. "No, I have been giving this for the last four years. And Science Olympiad. And Spelling Bee..."

"Oh really!" Simran exclaimed, wondering if she was doing something wrong. Her daughter, the same age as Lalli, had given Math Olympiad only once - the previous year - and then declared that was it. And here was this child... "Some of the portions have not been taught yet, right?"

"Yes, but my mother insists that I learn those up. She helps me... Here, these are practice sums for HCF - which we have not learnt yet."

"Oh!" Simran said and was silent for a moment. She wasn't sure if she was so keen on her daughter rushing through portions just to give a test. "Hmmm. But do you understand it?"

Lalli shook her head. "But my mother thinks I am..." there was a pause before the child said in a slightly nasal, adult voice, "CAPABLE!" Simran burst out laughing and finally, the child smiled. "So, I go for dance class twice a week, swimming, thrice, and music twice a week. Of course...I come to you for Hindi. And mamma teaches me science and maths at home. Weekends, she wants me to go for tennis, but because I have to prepare for this, I have not started yet... Maybe once this gets over..."

Simran's head reeled. But trying not to show it, she asked, "And you enjoy it all?"

Lalli shook her head emphatically. "I want to play... and dance, maybe. But the other things? No."

Simran pursed her lips sympathetically, and the girl imitated her expression. Both nodded at each other, then smiled. Lalli was bright, no doubt. "So... when do you play?"

Lalli shook her head. "I don't. If I do well in the Olympiad, my mother has promised that she will get me a video game to play when I want to relax."

Simran got up, feeling the child's heavy heart affecting her. Her daughter and her friends got up suddenly. "Mamma! I am going down to play. Lalli, will you join? Oh math? Okay, you do that." And she was off.

Simran watched her daughter bouncing down the stairs and play with her friends, whose parents were obviously as neglectful of their children's future as she was. Well, they will find something they will enjoy doing, she decided and went back in to take the much needed rest.

Enough

I want this and that
Grabbing them all up close
When one slips through
I cry, not wanting to let it go.

Even when I have all
That I could want
Why does that one
Bother me more?

Within reach
And yet not so!
The soul longs for it
Yet so much more!

A spark itches within
Wanting to light a fire
When that fire is lit
The spark itches again

Is there no end?
No word in my dictionary
Called "enough"?
Giving contentment and peace?

Why then this desire
That burns bright
Burning all within
Focused only on new goals?