Monday, December 12, 2016

Beni's bib

I placed today's newspaper and a bib of Beni's on the long staircase, to be taken upstairs on my next trip up. As it happened, Beni went up before I did, and noted both sitting on the stair. I told them they were for upstairs. Not only did he take both (quite an armful for a toddler) he also neatly placed the newspaper on his father's desk and the bib *inside* the drawer it was destined for. I had only mentioned that they would both go upstairs.

 Nothing in my life so far has quite prepared me for a male to take this much interest and initiative in his household. I know he is likely to grow up to be as 'domestically challenged' as all the other males in my life but for just this hour, I wanted to tell you how wonderful this little act of his made me feel. 

He is now exactly two years and five months old, and Rahul was in preschool by this age because I had started work at Contad. I find Beni following me around, learning to keep house, interested in the kitchen and that indefatigable little spark of optimism gets a little brighter. Maybe he will not be completely useless around the house. Maybe he will enjoy neatness for the sake of it. Maybe he will even enjoy it enough to make it happen himself. These days I am frequently overwhelmed by the clutter my family (including obviously our man B) generates, so the optimism is timely. Also, it reminded me of another adorable gesture by another little boy of mine from very long ago.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Conversations with B

Me: You're a good boy, aren't you?
B: No
Me: [say wha--?] Of course you're a good boy.
B: No
Me: [slightly nervous now] I know you're a good boy, a very, very good boy.
B: Nope
Me: [heartily] I'm sure you're a good boy.
B: Okay [giggles at my face]

-----------------------------------

B: [whining in a copy of his friend Ian] Miiiiiiiine!
Me: Stop that. Are you Beni or are you Ian?
B: [calculating stare]
Me: Well, who are you?
B: Babu

All of this would be cute toddler talk were it not for the extremely adult speculation in his eyes. This boy is toying with me.

Sunday, August 28, 2016

Between 2000 and 2005, when I was at university, I was always broke. I had fought with my father and accepted only enough money from him to pay for my education, not necessarily my upkeep.

Most days, for five years, I had a Rs 10 packet of junk for a meal. It was affordable, easy (cooking was hard work!) and it was food.

I quickly learnt to never say no when parents of friends invited me to a meal or snacks or even a couple of biscuits.

I started freelancing in early 2001. The payments were not regular but there was occasionally money, which I spent on French classes, novels (my father's money bought my textbooks), outings, taxi fares. I often paid for my boyfriend as well as myself because he was equally broke, though he did have a family to go home to, and food on the table. It took me a while to recognise that while I usually had more money in hand than he did, I spent far more time being hungry or debating between an outing (travel fare, possibly cover charge) and some meals. There were apparently different ways of being penniless and mine was the one that didn't merit any sympathy. I felt that I needed to be the scholarship student struggling to buy textbooks to actually qualify as poor.

Quite quickly into my battle with pennilessness, it stopped being about my father's harsh words. It was about my absurd pride and refusal to accept more from him than I absolutely had to.

So I made do, somehow. Lived off the generosity of friends, learnt to say no to lifestyles I could not afford. Learnt to befriend people whose love for me was not founded on what I could pay for while I was around them.

With the end of college and the start of a marriage and motherhood, came a different kind of broke. When you couldn't afford to pay for your child. When basics like fresh fruit and diapers and the good rice and clothes were provided quietly by grandparents who were forced to watch from the sidelines.

In the decade gone by there have been good times, when we had money to waste on trivialities, but overwhelmingly it feels like I have spent my adulthood this far worrying about a child needing hospitalisation (the bills! the lack of work hours leading to lack of income!), car needing repairs, us falling ill (freelancers can't afford the time off) and similar worst cases scenarios. Rahul has always gone to a good school, with moderate to high fees, and I don't grudge the money we paid for the services received but I do know every increase in the fees had me sitting down in a panic and re-working the monthly budget.

We have dealt with credit card debt, emptied out savings, a total lack of investments and I think at some point money worries drove me to forget all my blessings -- the healthy children, the loving husband, the supportive parents, the lasting friendships.

This brave article by Gayatri Jayaraman became a point of strong debate a while ago. People argued about the validity of sympathy for privileged adults who would rather keep up appearances than stay sane. I spoke up exactly once, trying to say that sometimes sanity is too expensive a luxury but obviously this hits me too close to the bone for me to explain myself as lucidly as I need to. All I can say is, not all poverty is the obvious kind. And if you can't spare sympathy, be kind and scroll past. Spare the abuse. I promise you the ones struggling with empty accounts and lives lived paycheck to paycheck already have enough to deal with. They really do.