Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Senti blogposts (and I hope he never read them)

Rahul has me wrapped around his finger. There, I've gone on record admitting as much. It's taken me nearly seven years to admit it even to myself. I refused to be one of those doting mums. Especially when I discovered that I had given birth to a boy I promptly made myself promise that I would never be that Bengali mother. You know the one I mean. Who sits outside her son's class and copies notes for him. Who carries his bag for him and feeds him the tiffin. Who spends her life worrying about his needs and is convinced that he is above reproach.

I blame the fatal Libran charm. I've never been able to resist it. A few months ago he was up to no good and I was about to scold him when he put his skinny arms around me and hugged me tight. I weakly ticked him off anyway but not even I felt that my words had quite the effect they were meant to. Across the room my mother sniggered unkindly.

All it takes is for a sleepy little boy to tell me that I'm his special, special, special, special, special Babu and I lose track of what I was planning to say or do. It's not fair, because I've never had that effect on anybody, not even my father. Well, maybe him, but it didn't last long enough!

It's not even as though he has the decency to share my interests or speak my language or like my baking or anything. Consider that having dreamt of the day when I would read bedtime stories from Enid Blyton to my child, I endure nightly readings from books about ghastly underwater sea creatures (tonight's featured cookie cutter sharks and went into great detail about exactly how they earned their name). Consider that this revolting child has the cheek to turn his nose up at home-made cake merely because the glace cherries got a bit old and manky. He gets his clothes all dirty, wants to wear the same ugly t-shirts each day ignoring the adorable printed cotton shirts I sourced from all over (I even changed the buttons on one shirt after hunting down the most adorable patterned wooden ones). He fights with me all day and tells me with great relish that I don't really know everything (oh yeah?) and that I'm not really a genius (ses who?) and thinks he has the right to play hard to get when I want a hug. Because that is what I endured it all for, right?

And then, not having messed with my head enough, he messes it some more by turning over in his sleep looking for me. That's when I write senti blogposts and hope he never reads them.


Friday, August 23, 2013

For No One

When I was a teenager I firmly believed there was a Cliff Richard song for every situation. Then I went to college and discovered that there was a Beatles song for every occasion.

Last night, this played over and over in my head for quite a while before I realised what I was listening to.


Friday, August 16, 2013

Their Waterloo

Check out this "Pear Tree" cake.

Now go listen to Abba.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Joker

Rahul has been learning to play games of association in school. Sometimes, just to mess with him, I come up with wild associations from him to something perfectly ridiculous.

The other day during lunch I made a chain from him to a monkey I think, going via a joker and a circus. He objected to it saying jokers aren't very nice things. I was a bit surprised because you'd think being a kid he'd like the idea of jokers, right?

He doesn't, because to him a joker is not about the big top (he's never seen an old-fashioned circus in his life) -- it's about the Joker.

We're bad parents.

(And no, an appropriate comment to this post is not "Why so serious?" -- pre-empted you there, hah!)

Sunday, August 11, 2013

Letting Sleeping Boys Lie

Exhibit A, age 6 months




Exhibit B, age 6 years

Wednesday, August 07, 2013

Relative Superiority

We just got back from a whirlwind weekend in Pune with some of my mother's family. It was a wonderful time.

That and some FB posts from last week have made me think about my extended family. Among my grandparents' descendants, I count PhDs, doctors, engineers (including one who helped craft CGS Barracuda), research students, professors, teachers whose students remember them fondly decades down the line, lawyers, notable homemakers (including my grandmother who died thirty years ago but whose food is mentioned with reverence even today by random people)... Of course, we have our share of 'failures' and less notable people like my brother and me.

My little cousin E who is growing into a young lady faster than I can type that out is on the brink of choosing what she wants to do with the rest of her life, as is her older brother B. I wonder what they will do with their lives.

Some days I am simply proud of all these people, even the ones I don't particularly like. As a family we believe in using what we have. I think my grandparents did a good job with the children they had. And somehow, I am convinced that Rahul is going to blaze a trail every bit as bright as any of them. I have no idea why I know this in my bones but I just do. I shall have to be very careful to understand his needs so that I don't douse the spark in him.