How do people teach little kids without losing their patience? Especially if the kids show attitude and generally behave like little brats?
My mom was there to help me with the kids and their school work till last year. I managed it somehow after she passed on, mostly by concentrating on D and letting A do things his own way. But this led to A doing not-so-great in Hindi and Kannada, his nemesis subjects, though he ended up with As or Bs in the other subjects.
This academic year, D is in first grade, has a full schedule of subjects and I entered this with some pretty high expectations for A. I felt he was getting lackadaisical and lazy and wanted him to feel like he ought to give things his best shot.
Well, the year has only just begun and already I'm ready to pull my hair out and bang my head against the wall.
A has developed a sneering, know-it-all 'tude- he only wants to keep watching cricket or playing it. He yells at me, refuses to write down anything and wants to skim through the stuff in the most superficial manner.
D is the other extreme: gets extremely anxious about everything, bursts into tears if she feels something is incorrect and generally panics if she can't find something, whether it's a pencil or a notebook.
Getting them to study at the same time is an exercise in juggling- giving one kid an assignment and teaching the other, while also answering the first kid's questions and grumblings and ignoring everyone whining.
God, writing this makes me realize how out-of-control this classroom is. I don't think I should be teaching the kids anymore. This is some sort of mental abuse I'm subjecting everyone to, with the yelling and drama. I need to dial my expectations way, way down.
Is this why people put their kids in tuition class ?
I need to change my attitude entirely. Although, how? Tell Ani that he's free to study the way he wants? Maybe I should only intervene with Hindi and Kannada and leave the rest to him (Though... God, it makes me cringe when I see his mistakes in Maths... but no, that way lies mental torture. I need to let him make his mistakes, but also need to teach him that he and only he can put the effort into doing something well. How the hell do other parents bring up their kids? How does one push somebody hard without tipping them over the edge? Where is the manual for these kinds of things?)
With Durga, I need to give her some constant, low-level attention, instead of piling on the pressure just before any exam. And I need to give her some cuddles and physical affection to calm her down. Not scold her for getting tensed.
I am the problem in this scenario, I think. And it will only improve if I step back, take a deep breath and trust my children.
Can I just say, I miss my mom! I know it's been over a year and I need to move on, but it's times like these when I really really miss both my parents and I really wish I could just kind of hand over the kids to someone a bit wiser, more loving and more patient.
Saturday, June 29, 2019
Monday, April 22, 2019
The all-natural, known-origin diet
A few months ago, RK and I signed up for a "better eating, better lifestyle" program. It's really nice, the people who check in with us and recommend various things are great etc. One of the recommendations they made that really stuck with me was along the lines of eating foods as natural as possible. This isn't like a paleo diet thing, but more of a "let's reduce the stuff of unknown origins that enters our stomach"thing.
Two suggestions they made were reg wheat flour and ghee.
Now, wheat flour has always been something I purchase in large quantities from any of the usual big companies (Ashirvaad, or Pillsbury or whatever). And I'm very happy with the ghee I make at home from butter that I purchase from Nandhini or Amul.
But after speaking to this lady, I realized I didn't know exactly what was going into the atta or the butter that I purchase so liberally. What if the atta was actually chock-full of preservatives and chemicals? Or the butter full of antibiotics?
So, I decided I would do it the way my grandmom and mom used to do it a million years ago: actually buy the wheat seeds and take them to the mill to get the flour. Get full cream milk and extract the butter out of it.
Ok, so wheat seeds aren't as cheap as you might think. The whole process of purchasing the wheat (no more than 3kgs, because I couldn't carry more than that), taking it to the mill, standing around while the mill guy did whatever he had to do, and then bringing the hot (jeez, is that freshly ground flour HOT!) flour back home without hurting any part of hands and then making rather sub-standard chappatis out of it... bit of a let-down actually. Maybe this sort of wheat flour is very gluten-y- it was kind of hard to use. It kept feeling wet no matter how carefully I added the water to make the dough, and then when I added more flour, it would become dry and hard,
Then, the butter... OMG. What a nightmare. Firstly, getting desi milk from a desi cow (never mind wondering what the cow has eaten... I know which cow I'm getting the milk from, so I figure I am already ahead of the pack. The milk is.... well, okay. Not the greatest.. kind of watery, actually. Then, getting butter from milk is horrendously difficult, even if you put it in the mixie and not whisk it for hours by hand like my grandmom used to do. It's summer, the thing melts, it's difficult as hell to keep it cold and precipitated. Then the ghee-making... as soon as you put your nightmarish butter on the stove, you get the weirdest smell in the world. The whole house smells of it for a couple of days. And the ghee sticks to your palate and your tongue and is really rancid.
You know what? I'm okay not knowing the origins of my butter. And I'm not sure if the whole wheat seed-mill-atta nonsense is really worth it.
Two suggestions they made were reg wheat flour and ghee.
Now, wheat flour has always been something I purchase in large quantities from any of the usual big companies (Ashirvaad, or Pillsbury or whatever). And I'm very happy with the ghee I make at home from butter that I purchase from Nandhini or Amul.
But after speaking to this lady, I realized I didn't know exactly what was going into the atta or the butter that I purchase so liberally. What if the atta was actually chock-full of preservatives and chemicals? Or the butter full of antibiotics?
So, I decided I would do it the way my grandmom and mom used to do it a million years ago: actually buy the wheat seeds and take them to the mill to get the flour. Get full cream milk and extract the butter out of it.
Ok, so wheat seeds aren't as cheap as you might think. The whole process of purchasing the wheat (no more than 3kgs, because I couldn't carry more than that), taking it to the mill, standing around while the mill guy did whatever he had to do, and then bringing the hot (jeez, is that freshly ground flour HOT!) flour back home without hurting any part of hands and then making rather sub-standard chappatis out of it... bit of a let-down actually. Maybe this sort of wheat flour is very gluten-y- it was kind of hard to use. It kept feeling wet no matter how carefully I added the water to make the dough, and then when I added more flour, it would become dry and hard,
Then, the butter... OMG. What a nightmare. Firstly, getting desi milk from a desi cow (never mind wondering what the cow has eaten... I know which cow I'm getting the milk from, so I figure I am already ahead of the pack. The milk is.... well, okay. Not the greatest.. kind of watery, actually. Then, getting butter from milk is horrendously difficult, even if you put it in the mixie and not whisk it for hours by hand like my grandmom used to do. It's summer, the thing melts, it's difficult as hell to keep it cold and precipitated. Then the ghee-making... as soon as you put your nightmarish butter on the stove, you get the weirdest smell in the world. The whole house smells of it for a couple of days. And the ghee sticks to your palate and your tongue and is really rancid.
You know what? I'm okay not knowing the origins of my butter. And I'm not sure if the whole wheat seed-mill-atta nonsense is really worth it.
Tuesday, March 26, 2019
Unexpected Philosophizing or Crisis and Resolution
It started off as one of those seemingly harmless, meandering conversations with the kids:
D: So now I'm six and going to first standard. Do you think I can keep having birthday parties as long as I live?
Me: Sure, but don't be surprised if I don't intend to invite anybody for your birthday after you turn 10. If they happen to turn up by themselves, that's fine. But don't expect a party with balloons and return gifts and stuff.
A: You mean I can only have 2 more before I stop everything?
Me: Yep. Sorry... have you seen any older kids blowing candles and cutting out cake and playing party games? Nope. After some time, people just get older and they have private celebrations at home. I'll still buy you cake and you can still cut it, if you would like. But I am not going to throw a party.
D: Did I have a party when I turned five?
Me: yes
D: Did I have a party when I turned four?
Me: yes
D: Did I have a big party or a small party?
Me: You had a humongously big one when you turned 3. That was the first one we celebrated in India and a whole ton of people came.
D: What about when I was a baby?
Me: Yes, even if you were too young to really know any difference.
D: What about when I was in your tummy?
A: No, nothing for you then. Only for me.
D: You mean you weren't happy I was in your tummy?
Me: I celebrated by eating chocolate. You went wild inside- you kicked up a storm.
D (satisfied): Ok. What about before you had Ani- when you were in school?
A: Appa and mummy weren't even married yet. Why would they celebrate your birthday?
Me: You were only a distant idea to me at that time, baby. I was too busy celebrating my birthday at that time!
D: Where was I then? Was I with God?
A: No, you would have been someone else's kid. And your Appa and Mummy would have been different. You would have been different too... maybe you were a donkey.
D: Mamma! Is that true?!
Me (completely taken aback, responding to the easiest part first): huh.... It's possible, I guess. Baby donkeys are awfully cute though. They have such long eye lashes and they are very smart and very stubborn. They know exactly what they want- just like you!
Inside, I was reeling. It made me lose my breath for almost a good minute while my brain raced through the buried ramifications of Ani's statement.
My kids might have been someone else's kids. Someone else in the world might be grieving for their lost ones and I got them in some kind of cosmic musical chairs.
My parents might be someone else's kids now! When I think of my parents, I think of them bobbing around in heaven somewhere, gossiping, thinking, arguing... actually, pretty much the way they were when they were alive, but surrounded by clouds or something. And always, always aware of what I or the kids are up to down here. Sort of like those Hogwarts headmasters.
To think they might not actually be there, but have started lives elsewhere, is horribly weird.
Maybe they might have left some parts of their souls sitting around in heaven doing all of the above... Sort of like having a post box with a forwarding address to collect all the thoughts that go up their way and then direct it to the "right" entity which look like my memories of them.
Maybe they might have left some parts of their souls sitting around in heaven doing all of the above... Sort of like having a post box with a forwarding address to collect all the thoughts that go up their way and then direct it to the "right" entity which look like my memories of them.
This reincarnation stuff is a lot more complicated than it seems like at first glance. Hey, maybe my kids weren't really human earlier... maybe they were, I don't know, ants or something and had easy deaths and came back as humans (because they were such good ants?).
And maybe my parents, because they were such evolved people, aren't really back on earth in some different avatar but are truly merged with God... maybe they learned everything they needed to learn. Though, well... my dad was pretty short-tempered and my mom used to get super-stressed and broody about stuff sometimes... so, perhaps they weren't as evolved? Maybe they are back on earth after all? Then again, isn't the time in heaven supposed to be really really slow compared to Earth time? So maybe they have actually only been there for about a day, and it might take them a while to leave again, during which time I would have become older and more prepared for them not to be hanging around where I expect them to be hanging around.
Jeez... this is too, too complicated.
One thing my parents did teach me. When in crisis, seek help. Where else would I look but the Bhagavad Gita for matters of the soul? I know very little of the BG (actually, the kids know way more than I do, since they learn it in school... A and D can recite a couple of full chapters, isn't that crazy?), but I do know these sentences:
One thing my parents did teach me. When in crisis, seek help. Where else would I look but the Bhagavad Gita for matters of the soul? I know very little of the BG (actually, the kids know way more than I do, since they learn it in school... A and D can recite a couple of full chapters, isn't that crazy?), but I do know these sentences:
Nainam chindanti shastrani
Nainam dahati pavakaH
Na chainam kledayantyapo
Na shoshayati marutaH
नैनं छिन्दन्ति शस्त्राणि नैनं दहति पावकः । न चैनं क्लेदयन्त्यापो न शोषयति मारुतः ॥
Nothing can destroy the soul- no weapon, no fire, not water nor wind.
Don't ask me which chapter and which verse. God knows... haha... literally.
Don't ask me which chapter and which verse. God knows... haha... literally.
I'll find my relief where I can. As the BG says, it does not matter what the body is. The soul remains eternal. It doesn't matter if my parents are up or down or look different. The body is like the clothes we wear and discard. I should stop making my monkey brain jump all over the place and trust that my parents' souls are intact and no matter where they exist, they feel the strength and love in my thoughts. Similarly, I should trust that my kids' souls also feel the same and that they may be feeling the strength and love from people and other souls that I have no clue about.
That is simultaneously frightening and awe-inspiring.
Monday, March 25, 2019
Many posts
I've uploaded a ton of posts below. Most of them were sitting around as drafts and then I got tired of them being drafts and published them...
You've been warned...
You've been warned...
Urban blues
What I really want to do:
Wake up in a farm somewhere- clean air, some flowers, many trees, a bunch of birds.
I don't want to wake up to piles and piles of plastic garbage and smoke.
Five more years, Bangalore. That's all I'll give you. After that, I am going to a village far far away from the madding crowd. A clean village with clean air. Where when I look out, I don't just keep seeing some concrete and smoke, but actual greenery. What a treat that would be.
Wake up in a farm somewhere- clean air, some flowers, many trees, a bunch of birds.
I don't want to wake up to piles and piles of plastic garbage and smoke.
Five more years, Bangalore. That's all I'll give you. After that, I am going to a village far far away from the madding crowd. A clean village with clean air. Where when I look out, I don't just keep seeing some concrete and smoke, but actual greenery. What a treat that would be.
Screen Time
My kids get a lot of screen time- between video games on the phone, Netflix on TV and Youtube, they watch a good bit more than the 2 maximum hours recommended by the American Academy of Pediatricians (Ani would say, if he heard me say this, "well, the Indian Academy doesn't have any recommendations so why are we following Americans in India?").
On holidays, or afternoons when I'm at work and the kids are with the maid at home, their screen time shoots up even more. To be honest, even when I take them to work with me and I leave them in lab to attend a meeting, by the time I'm back, both would have somehow managed to get hold of phones and will be playing video games on them.
In an effort to promote actual conversation around the house, I decreed a no-screen time around dinner. Instead, the kids and I sit around in a circle with our food and I'm supposed to tell them stories. The best stories eliciting the biggest laughs are those from my own past. I dig through my memories and tell them stories of when we used to be a joint family at the ancestral home. Five families lived under one roof for a few years- the stories I recall are from the time I was probably around 4 till about 7. Five families, my grandmom, her elder sister, and 4 cousins growing up bickering and fighting and laughing. A total of 16 humans. Imagine the amount of cooking and washing! And this was before washing machines!
But all this humanity living under one roof made some pretty hilarious stories. In addition to the humans were also animals! This was during the time when there were enough trees on that street that there used to be monkeys. So antics of monkeys competed with the antics of humans.
So anyway, all this forced conversation- time is making me recall stories that had long been buried within my memory... weirdly enough, most of my stories from that time revolve around a couple of cousin brothers I don't really communicate much with these days. Now I wonder why I don't. So maybe I should reach out and try to make a connection again.
Despite all the scoldings and yellings that I subject my kids to, I must thank God for them- they make me do unexpected, but very valuable and fun things.
On holidays, or afternoons when I'm at work and the kids are with the maid at home, their screen time shoots up even more. To be honest, even when I take them to work with me and I leave them in lab to attend a meeting, by the time I'm back, both would have somehow managed to get hold of phones and will be playing video games on them.
In an effort to promote actual conversation around the house, I decreed a no-screen time around dinner. Instead, the kids and I sit around in a circle with our food and I'm supposed to tell them stories. The best stories eliciting the biggest laughs are those from my own past. I dig through my memories and tell them stories of when we used to be a joint family at the ancestral home. Five families lived under one roof for a few years- the stories I recall are from the time I was probably around 4 till about 7. Five families, my grandmom, her elder sister, and 4 cousins growing up bickering and fighting and laughing. A total of 16 humans. Imagine the amount of cooking and washing! And this was before washing machines!
But all this humanity living under one roof made some pretty hilarious stories. In addition to the humans were also animals! This was during the time when there were enough trees on that street that there used to be monkeys. So antics of monkeys competed with the antics of humans.
So anyway, all this forced conversation- time is making me recall stories that had long been buried within my memory... weirdly enough, most of my stories from that time revolve around a couple of cousin brothers I don't really communicate much with these days. Now I wonder why I don't. So maybe I should reach out and try to make a connection again.
Despite all the scoldings and yellings that I subject my kids to, I must thank God for them- they make me do unexpected, but very valuable and fun things.
Death. Again.
There a bunch of apartment complexes on our road. These were converted from individual small houses into apartments some decades ago. The relative narrowness of the road and the odd-shapes of these old plots ensure some interesting layouts of the complexes.
Although city laws mandate that no apartment can be more than 3 floors, nobody pays attention to that and most of these apartment complexes are 4-6 stories high. Again, very little attention is paid to strictures about wall heights and so on and perhaps building contractors cut corners, but it's not surprising to see fairly low walls even on the higher floors.
You see where I'm going with this, don't you?
One young man today, when leaning over a wall to grab a towel from the clothesline (no, nobody thought that perhaps the clothesline should not be at that particular place) leaned a bit too much and fell and died. Two of Durga's young friends happened to walking on the road at the time and jumped out of the way just in time to see him land with a thump at their feet. He apparently blinked at them, and then faded out of consciousness and died before the ambulance could get there.
Who was this poor man? Who are his family? What a senseless, pointless way to go.
What makes a person dead? And what is that spark that makes them alive? Life and death. What great, inexplicable mysteries they are. All the stories we have about resurrection, medical miracles, zombies, and even reincarnation- aren't they all just ways for us to try to wrap our heads around these fundamental concepts? We make death a little more understandable by giving it names: The Grim Reaper, Yama on his bull... the fact that any of us can die any time due to any reason is a horribly scary truth and we try to make it a little less scary by making up stories around them. After all, if Savitri could negotiate with Yama to bring back her husband, if Bill and Ted could play games with the Grim Reaper and rescue themselves, if some medical miracle can pull people back from the brink, then perhaps we too will be saved from a sudden, inexplicable end.
What about those two kids at whose feet this guy fell? What a horrible experience for them. How will this affect them? Though, knowing the kids on our street, they probably will be just fine. Somehow, what would seem a terrible tragedy that would elicit hours of reflection and many articles about the dangers of construction and perhaps a couple of bills on safety being passed in the US, seems pretty commonplace in India. Maybe it's because kids face death in other forms every day- an unlucky dog with a crushed skill on the road, a crow pecking at a rat carcass, a goat being bled before it gets cooked.... what is neatly sanitized in the US is very in-your-face here in India. So maybe kids are not exactly unfamiliar with death.
Still.... that poor man and his poor family. My prayers with them. May they have the strength to go on.
Although city laws mandate that no apartment can be more than 3 floors, nobody pays attention to that and most of these apartment complexes are 4-6 stories high. Again, very little attention is paid to strictures about wall heights and so on and perhaps building contractors cut corners, but it's not surprising to see fairly low walls even on the higher floors.
You see where I'm going with this, don't you?
One young man today, when leaning over a wall to grab a towel from the clothesline (no, nobody thought that perhaps the clothesline should not be at that particular place) leaned a bit too much and fell and died. Two of Durga's young friends happened to walking on the road at the time and jumped out of the way just in time to see him land with a thump at their feet. He apparently blinked at them, and then faded out of consciousness and died before the ambulance could get there.
Who was this poor man? Who are his family? What a senseless, pointless way to go.
What makes a person dead? And what is that spark that makes them alive? Life and death. What great, inexplicable mysteries they are. All the stories we have about resurrection, medical miracles, zombies, and even reincarnation- aren't they all just ways for us to try to wrap our heads around these fundamental concepts? We make death a little more understandable by giving it names: The Grim Reaper, Yama on his bull... the fact that any of us can die any time due to any reason is a horribly scary truth and we try to make it a little less scary by making up stories around them. After all, if Savitri could negotiate with Yama to bring back her husband, if Bill and Ted could play games with the Grim Reaper and rescue themselves, if some medical miracle can pull people back from the brink, then perhaps we too will be saved from a sudden, inexplicable end.
What about those two kids at whose feet this guy fell? What a horrible experience for them. How will this affect them? Though, knowing the kids on our street, they probably will be just fine. Somehow, what would seem a terrible tragedy that would elicit hours of reflection and many articles about the dangers of construction and perhaps a couple of bills on safety being passed in the US, seems pretty commonplace in India. Maybe it's because kids face death in other forms every day- an unlucky dog with a crushed skill on the road, a crow pecking at a rat carcass, a goat being bled before it gets cooked.... what is neatly sanitized in the US is very in-your-face here in India. So maybe kids are not exactly unfamiliar with death.
Still.... that poor man and his poor family. My prayers with them. May they have the strength to go on.
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