How to Dress like a Mommy Once your Daughter turns Teen

It wasn’t too long ago when I had a conversation with a friend about the clothes I wear; we would meet often at a club, restaurant or a party and she’d comment on how well I carried what I wore “at my age”; which simply meant, early 40s, not a thin woman by any standards, and definitely not shy.

A short tight skirt has been a standard fixture in my wardrobe since I was 16 years old. I love my skirts – and while the midriff has become fleshier as I have advanced in age, I work very hard to keep the butt and legs in shape.

My children (daughter in particular) were used to seeing mommy in such clothes when they were younger. I maintained decorum and never wore a skirt to school, but could never wear kurtis as most mothers do at school events. Back then, my daughter would show me off. “My friends love you because you’re so cool,” she’d say. “Their mothers don’t dress like you, mama.”

But all that changed when she turned 14 and suddenly became aware of what ‘mommy wore’.

Suddenly I was dressing too loud, too bold and ‘not my age’. My distressed jeans raised eyebrows (not in appreciation, let me quickly clarify), and so did dresses and skirts. Seeing my teen’s reactions, I began dressing down and tried hard to change my wardrobe to start dressing ‘like a mommy’ when we hung out together.

The next two years were tumultuous because it mattered to me to consider her feelings. I could not be insensitive to her even though I knew that it was the roller-coaster ride her hormones were on that governed her moods and responses. And so I did what was needed.

So here’s my list of do’s and don’ts for all you mommies whose girls are soon going to be at the mercy of their hormones:

1. Don’t wear spaghetti straps unless you cover yourself with a shrug or jacket. (They’d prefer you wore a veil but never mind…)
2. Distressed jeans and butt-hugging skirts can be stored away for a few years.
3. Do NOT show off that tattoo; if it’s on your wrist, wear full sleeves!
4. You can wear kurtis and long tops; in fact, the longer, the better.
5. Bid goodbye to low-back and backless shirts. You’re a mommy now!
6. They love you in saris but will complain about the navel-baring, deep-back blouses and sundry other oversights.
7. You’ll often hear: “Why can’t you just dress like other moms! Sheesh!” You must respond, “I’m trying!”
8. If you have a piercing, then God help you!
9. Do NOT dress in your own genuine style especially around a boy they have a crush on.

As mothers of teen girls we will realise that it is a passing phase and the easier we make it on them, the easier, in turn, we make it on ourselves.

Two years hence (she’s 16 now), we are both comfortable with what the other wears (I am not a fan of her flaunting the midriff in a western outfit, but then, it’s her style) and she has grown to accept her mother’s quirkiness. Peace and harmony have been restored on the wardrobe front.

The small sacrifice in toning down our dressing style pays rich dividends… because one day, when you discuss the issue with her (and seek her permission to write this personal account), she will, in her nonchalant way, tell you, “But I’ve always loved your sense of style!”

Outwardly you’ll say, “Thank you,” and inwardly, “Hallelujah!”

This post first appeared on www.fashion101.in

Lucky man Hugh Jackman!

I wasn't very keen on watching the X-Men movie that was released a few months ago, I recall. I had asked the children to go with their friends and save me the bother of sitting through a couple of hours of watching a movie full of blood and gore (or so I thought).

The children, insistent on showing me the 'glory' of the X-Men, begged and eventually I relented.

As I type this I am so glad that I did.

And not just because I enjoyed the movie. 

It was during the scene where Magneto drives metal rods into Wolverine that the son and I heard sobbing sounds emanating from our left. Through the darkness of the cinema and the rather cumbersome 3D glasses, we saw that it was my daughter, his older sister who was crying as she watched Hugh Jackman cringe in pain and die (of course, not for ever, but for the moment.)

As we stepped out of the cinema, son discussed the movie excitedly (as is the norm - we just HAVE to discuss the details of the films we watch), she started tearing up again. 

I looked at her and said, "C'mon, its just a movie, baby!"

She nodded and wiped her tears, hiding her face away from other passers by.

We descended the three flights of stairs and got into the car and the son I realised by now, had understood that his sister was getting emotional at the mention of the particular scene began thus, "Mom, the scene where Magneto tries to kill Wolverine..."

Before he could complete, she was crying again.

I saw her from the rear view (I was driving and the children were seated behind), I shushed her and almost chided her. "Its just a movie!"

"But I love him!" she said, exasperated, while her rather emboldened brother laughed and started again... "Mom, that scene..."

Sighing I started the car as one continued to sob and the other, giggle.

We were headed to a restaurant for dinner and hours later, we thought the "pain" of watching her idol die (but not really die) would have abated. We were clearly mistaken when we saw tears rolling down her face as son excitedly explained the plot to someone who had joined us for the meal.

Oh Hugh Jackman, dear man... Do you have any clue that there's a fan here in faraway India who can't even bear to see you die even though you emerge alive three scenes later? 

You're one lucky man if my daughter's shedding her precious tears on you! One lucky man!!!!

Backseat Conversation July 2014

Sometimes I think that the son is quick witted. At other times, well, he's just honest.

Daughter: "Mama, you know our neighbour is pregnant and A thought that she's become fat."

A: "Of course mama! You don't know but she eats a lot."

O H K A Y!

Who knows you best? Your child, of course!

Son's new friend comes home for the first time and is surprised that our pet Beagle is quite docile.

"Your dog doesn't bark?" he asks.

"Not really," comes the prompt reply.

"I have a ferocious dog at home," reveals the friend.

"Wow, really? What breed is it?"

"Its called a German Shepherd."

"Oh okay... Any way, he can't come to my home, or else he will have to deal with my mother."

Both nod in agreement.

Love is in the air...

The quietly humming air conditioner had illuminated the room with its display light. Lying in bed, I was hoping to fall asleep when I turned sides and saw my son was awake too. He was staring at the window the shades of which I'd purposefully left undrawn. I whispered to him (so as not to wake up the other sleeping child) what he was thinking about.

"Not what mamma... who"... he said.

"Ok...who are you thinking about...?"

"Oh you know...."

"No I don't..."

He smiled from ear to ear and blushingly blurted out her name, "Mohana..."

"Ohhhh.... nice..."

Mohana is a classmate from his old school, the one he left in March. I wasn't aware of the presence of this girl until one day, a friend whose home the kids were staying in for 2 days while the hubby and I shifted to another locality in the city, called to tell me that he'd been telling her 8 year old daughter about Mohana - "the love of my life!"

"So do you like her?" I asked.

"Mamma...not LIKE..." he answered and clarified... "L O V E ...love.."

"Ah! Ok!!" I said grinning to myself comfortably camouflaged in the darkness as he continued to stare at some point beyond me.

"So have you told her that you love her?" I asked

"No! I am scared..." he answered

"You don't have to be scared. You can tell her..."

"No mamma. I am too young..."

"Ah!!!" I thought to myself - too young to tell her but not too young to 'fall' in love!!!!

The conversation moved to how much he was missing Mohana and the other friends from his old school. I assured him that he will make friends in this school too.

He sighed and said, "But there cannot be anyone like Mohana!"....

I asked my love lorn nine year old if he'd like to go visit her sometime this week to which he jumped up and hugged me and said, "Oh thank you so much!"

Smiling he shared more with me, "I dream sometimes that we are married and we have kids and that my handwriting is still bad and I ask Mohana to do all the writing for me..."

"My children have PSPs to play with but I have invented them..." and went on to explain at great length the PSP he will invent in the future...

"But Mamma, she is a Christian..."

"That doesn't matter. As long as you love her" I assured him...

"Ok. Good. I think she is from Brazil..." he added his eyes travelling once more to some point beyond me, out of the window...

Eventually we drifted off to sleep, him and I. I have a feeling he was dreaming of Mohana as a faint smile played on his lips ....

A Tale from Gastronome

Every country has its food habits. And every country has its guest etiquettes. The geographical distinctness of our vast motherland has allowed different cultures to thrive within its fold. Apart from the variation in cuisines, the treatment to guests also varies. I have the unique distinction of being a north Indian who was brought up in the furthest corner of south India and who subsequently married a south Indian. My insight into the way guests are treated in different parts of the country stems from my experiences.

In north India for example, it is considered detriment to the image as a welcoming host if their guests are not treated to foods cooked in clarified butter, with more than the required peppering of spices or sweet meats prepared with refined sugar and garnished with dry fruits. Not a thought is spared for the unfortunate guest who may be on a diet, may be unused to such food and may therefore be unable to digest it. This hospitality called ‘khatirdaari’ in Hindi is an essential part of the north Indian’s guest etiquettes, especially amongst the Marwari / Baniya communities and Punjabis.

Down south in a typical Malayali Christian household, breakfast may consist of steak, rice, the traditional sambar, poriyals (curries), idlis/puttu, chicken curry, prawn curry/fish curry, with an egg dish thrown in. I considered this to be a layout of mammoth proportions and as a child growing up in Kerala, I was often amazed by the sight. As I would take my seat at the dining table, I would imagine my friend and his family to be gigantic gluttons.

Sometimes it is the quantity of food he is expected to consume rather than the quality or variety that makes the guest feel like he is trapped in an underground mine. It happened to me when my husband and I dropped by at my sister-in-law’s place for lunch many years ago. She is married to a Telugu and had at that point just given birth to her twin boys. That my sister-in-law lived with her own parents-in-law had not seemed like double jeopardy to me. I have smartened up since then!

A brief background to the episode will be prudent here. My hubby and I were newly weds. As mentioned earlier, I am a north Indian and hubby from the south of India. Apart from the differences in our language and culture, we were often cross examined on the food I cooked. I was accused by his relatives of feeding my tam-bram (tamilian brahmin) husband rotis and chappatis, while my own set of relatives pitied me for switching to rice as staple food. That we were a multi cuisine couple who enjoyed rice and rotis just as well as pasta and falafals, could never be fathomed by any of them.

Anyway, so getting back to that afternoon, since I was a new bride, my sister-in-law’s in-laws took it upon themselves to introduce me to Andhra cuisine and the manner of eating it. I was forewarned by the authoritarian father-in-law that leftovers would mean disrespect to my hosts. As soon as we were seated on the dining table aunty (mom-in-law) served each of us an enormous plate of vegetable biryani. I used to be a small eater then and half way through the biryani I felt rather full. But I endeavoured to finish each morsel remembering the ominous warning I had received at the outset of the meal.

When aunty cleared the plates, I heaved an inward sigh of relief knowing that I had passed the test with flying colours. As we indulged in more small talk, aunty placed another plate before each of us. I looked up at her and wondered why anyone would serve dessert in a dinner plate. As I gloated over my table etiquettes and their lack of it, I saw aunty walk in with a few dishes. To my horror, the dishes did not contain varieties of dessert, but an entire meal.

Thereafter I was lead through the course of a proper Andhra meal that consisted of an unbelievable quantity of rice; Rice with pickle, followed by rice with curry, rice with sambar, rice with rasam and lastly, rice with curd. By this time, I was smilingly stuffing each morsel of food down my gullet and cursing my small appetite. I managed to survive the attack on my stomach, but only after I had firmly refused the curd-rice-with-mashed-banana combination. Despite my south Indian upbringing, rice with banana constitutes a meal faux pas for me.

This onslaught was followed by dessert consisting of four gulab jamuns. I was too shy to refuse the plate and looked beseechingly at my hubby. He performed the superman act and reminded aunty in Telugu that a bride could only eat so much. Despite uncle’s protests, I managed to get away with two gulab jamuns.

As we bade farewell to the in-laws and in-laws, I thanked God for my stupendous gullet control that held me in good stead till we reached our hotel; where I threw up the afternoon’s effort, literally down the drain!

All grown up at 8!

Well, I don't remember what was my 'level' of thinking at 8. All I recall is that I loved playing the mundane ghar-ghar games, hopscotch, painting/colouring etc... The thought of 'boys' didn't cross my head till I turned 15...

I do remember my youngest brother's thinking at 8. Being 8 years junior to me meant that we had a generation gap between us. I remember in class III he had crushes, but nothing serious. But then that was over twenty years ago...

At 8, my son has been volunteering pieces of information on a daily basis on several sundry topics, some which I find uproariously funny, others which leave me zapped.

For one he has begun resenting a hug before boarding his school bus in the morning or a kiss that I'd like to give him just any where. He retorts: "Don't hug me/kiss me in public. I don't like it!!!"
Now that it has been established that he is embarrassed by it, the daughter will hug and kiss him to piss him off every available opportunity, in public! *sigh*

Last night as we discussed a probable vacation spot he candidly said, "When we go to Goa I won't get out of the room. I don't want to go to the beach because of the women in bikinis."
Daughter: "Maa, just look at this boy! Just 8 years old, look how he talks!!!"
Me: "At 8 you don't like girls. Wait till you're 15 when you will want to stay at the beach only" *devilish laugh*
Son: "We'll see about that!"

Over the past few months, his conversations have been getting increasingly candid - like the one about How hot you are - or - About Gay.

While I was amazed that he knew about bikinis, I also knew that he was telling me exactly what was going on in his mind. As he grows up, the one thing I am happy about is that we communicate. That I guess is the only 'upside' to these inputs...and the humour of course!

Tackling tantrum throwing

Different couples have different reasons for having children. Ours was a bit complicated and some day I will note it down (makes for insightful reading).

Bottom line is we not just had one child, but two. Now there is a very good reason for that too. Read about it here...

However, as any parent in this world will tell you, while parenting has its obvious joys, parenting two kids also has its challenges. Handling both of them, the sibling rivalry and trying to be 'reasonable' and 'fair' to both (even in the midst of a terrible fight), has never been easy. But I have found a via media, a veritable middle path that I use in tackling some of the 'sensitive' issues between them, and I am sharing four of those 'tactics' here. 

When my children hear me mouth the following words they think I am insensitive and impolite. To me, this is the only way to avoid losing my temper, shouting at them and in the bargain, feeling miserable. 

Here's a list of what generally gets my goat and how I deal with it:

1. Crying - Really loud. Most likely in a public place. Or in the midst of a guest/relative/friend. For a vague reason that could range from "You always buy her/him everything and me nothing" or "I REALLY want to play now and you are saying 'study'"....

I shush them quiet and say "I don't want to 'hear' a sound. Cry in your mind."

First few years they'd actually become quiet and calm down and figure out 'how' to cry in their mind. Sometimes I would go a step further and tell them "I don't mind if you cry. I don't want to hear it. Thats all."

Then came a phase when they would irritatingly ask me, "How can I cry in my mind?" 

Now at 12 and 8, they just quieten down. Guess they've also learned that I am deaf as long as they screech and I am also beyond embarrassment with their tantrum throwing.

It works!

2. Fight - They are siblings so they fight. A lot. 

Sometimes I am at my wits' end and then I remember how my mother used to tackle us. She would find it hard to ignore us, if we (like my own tots do) kept tugging at her clothes, chin, hands whatever to grab her attention and get her to "accept" that she would shout at the brother/sister who was hassling us... But finally she would give in and say:

"I will shout at him/her when I find them alone next."

If we protested, she would say in her sweetest voice, "It doesn't look nice to shout at him/her in front of so many people. So I will do it when I find him/her alone."

What it does is calms the situation down for that moment. Kids being kids soon forget the reason why they were squabbling or fighting and the issue is laid to rest without actually screaming/shouting/threatening the child, and thus avoiding another confrontation ("You don't love me..."....)

I use the same tactic. And this one works too.

Of course when the children realise that this is just a way of postponing the crisis or brushing it under the carpet, they DO get mad and shout, "But you never do it!" or "I KNOW you won't shout at him/her..."

But, in my experience, it is a better way of dealing with intense sibling rivalry or tattle telling...

3. Love - When their fights go beyond the usual "I hate you" I stop and remind them how much their sibling loves them. "But she/he loves you so much..." This sentence almost always gets to them to stop mid-way and listen to you through the crying and tears. 

The older one does sometimes say "No he doesn't..." to which I always promptly say "He does. If you stop fighting you'll see the love"...

This works too :-)

4. Hugs - What child hasn't questioned your love for them? As a parent, don't we often hear, "You love her more than me..." or "You love him so much you agree to everything he says"...

I often tackle this by hugging them real tight and telling them that I love them as much as I do their brother/sister... After the initial resistance, that lasts a minute perhaps, I feel their bodies slacken and give in to the hug. Then they hug me back. 

A hug can heal any thing. Believe me... This one works like magic!

Images courtsey: Google Images

Solar System redefined

The Solar System was redefined by my eight year old in a tele-conversation with his father today:

"Hi papa. I am your SUN... Don't touch me you'll burn ha ha ha.... You are Mars, mama is Venus and didi.... Didi is Pluto because it is furthest from the Sun... No... Didi is Mercury because when she goes there she will touch the dry ice and die"...

My reactions - Good God! He must not hate his sister THAT much! His school is doing something right (his planetary information is quite updated)! Post a blog...

You're a size too large for this outfit madam

This one goes out to all my girl friends, who, like me, are..well... fat. I'd like to say "healthy" but ever so often when the scale tips in the wrong direction I am compelled to acknowledge that 'yes' I have more body fat than I am supposed to and 'yes' I am trying to do something about it.

But this post is not about accepting my health status and condition (there are a lot of people volunteering to do that including the hubby and kids!).

This post is about the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I used to walk into a store to treat myself to an outfit that is not a t-shirt, a pair of jeans or a kurti and the salesgirls more often than not directed me straight to the L (Large) or XL (Xtra Large) section!

Have you ever felt unsure of the way you're going to be treated at a store when you try to buy a 'western', 'modern' or perhaps a 'sexy' outfit for yourself? Have you ever entered a store, started looking through a rack only to be confronted by a tiny salesgirl who will look at your vital stats and announce, "You need a L/XL!"

When faced with such behaviour, I would often wonder why such stores employed reed thin girls (I'm sure the classified says, Wanted REALLY thin (preferably size minus2) girls for xyz store) with so much attitude? Or are they trained to throw such attitude?

Sometimes I visualise a training session for salesgirls where they are taught the requisite skills:

Trainer: What will you do when a MoT (mother of two) walks in to the store?
Salesgirl 1: "Lead her to the L/XL section immediately."
Trainer: "What if she saunters over to the M section?"
Salesgirl 2: "Follow her with uplifted eyebrows and tell her in a loud voice that its not her size."
Trainer: "What if she pays no attention?"
Salesgirl 3: "Pull her by the hair and drag her to the section that stacks clothes her size..."
Trainer: "Shabaash!"

I would also wonder why clothes that fit sizes 0-6 are stocked predominantly at such stores. Why can't a size 10 or 12 enjoy the same clothes and feel as pretty or desirable or both as the thin (I'd like to say 'anorexic' but I am on week 1 at the Joy of Giving initiative and won't criticise anyone for this week) girls? Don't they want "normal" women to buy clothes from them? Don't they want to cater to a population that has girth no doubt, but also the resources to buy the exorbitantly priced garments?

In my experience, most often salesmen in multi branded stores are a lot more accommodating, allowing us to pick any size we want. I can pick a S (Small) and they won't bat an eyelid.

But if I pick a S in a store with salesgirls, rest assured, one of them will swoop down on me from some part of the 1000 sq ft store to announce, "That won't fit you madam." Usually when this happened I would exclaim, "Oh I was looking at it for my daughter" ...thinking that it in this new consumer 'friendly' world it is a crime to even "look" at a size that won't fit you!

Yes. There was a time when I used to go to these stores with trepidation. But no more! I liberated myself from that cycle of self doubt and embarrassment. I began doing what was really necessary: change my attitude and exude more confidence.

Now I walk into a store and don't get upset if a L or XL garment is handed to me. I simply go try it on and come back out... One look and the salesgirl says, "Oh its too loose. You need a M"... Inwardly I cheer! It also serves another fabulous purpose - I get to gloat at myself in the mirror inside the trail room as the garment hangs loose on me...

Alternately when I am feeling supremely confident I walk into a store and ask for M and if the salesgirl looks at me as if I have lost my mind, I simply say, "Thats my size."

I've found a new way to shop and walk into stores with an air of invincibility. It's working wonders for me! Why don't you give it a try too?

!!!!!

One morning, we're in the lift, going to drop him off for school at his designated bus stop. I hug him and say "I love you"

He hugs back and says " I love u too..."

And then the following conversation ensues:

Him: "Oh you're so hot..."

Me: "Yes... I am always hot..."

Him: "Not THAT kind of hot mom!"

Me: "What kind of hot are you talking about?"

Him: "Your-hand-is-like-fire...hot..."

Me: "That's the hot I meant too..."

Him: "No you didn't."

Me: "Okay ... So what kind of hot do you think I meant...?"

Ponders a minute and says: "I can't tell you. You won't understand. Its too deep..."

!!!!!

That evening I am picking my daughter from a friend's place and relate the incident to her. She laughs and says, "Oh my God! How did he know THAT hot?"

Me: "Which HOT?"

Her: "That one mom!!!!"

Me: "Which one? Tell me! Give me an example..."

Thinks and says: "Like we would say for an actress. She is so hot..."

Me: "What does that mean? Beautiful? Pretty? Cool?"

Her: "Not really" And I see her grinning...

Me: "You mean sexy?"

Her: "YES!"

!!!!!

Sometimes I wonder how many such !!!! I am going to report on my blog as my children grow up every minute and astound me with their ...errrr..... 'exposure'.....

Face Mask

Glad to know that the son will probably not gawk at beauty regimens women follow after I overheard this conversation last weekend.

Friends of the son drop in on a Sunday at about 2 pm.

I open the door and they look funnily at me. Then I realise why. I have a face mask on.

Anyway, I let them in. They start playing cricket in my living room (much to my alarm) and to avoid the mask from cracking my skin, I squeak, "Please boys. No cricket indoors. Go down and play."

This it seems makes them notice the "mask" again.

Next thing I hear son updating his mis-informed and unaware buddies in his matter-of-fact tone, "Hey, its not yuck thing ya. Its called a face mask. My mother applies it all the time."

My reaction: I laughed and the almost-dry face mask cracked and started to crumble...

Mama Bear

Received the following via e mail ages ago. I am sure most women and all mothers will identify with it!!!!!!

If you are a bear, you get to hibernate. You do nothing but sleep for six months. I could deal with that! 

Before you hibernate, you are supposed to eat like crazy. I could deal with that too!

If you are a bear, you birth your children (who are the size of walnuts) while you are sleeping (hibernating) and wake to partially grown, cute, cuddly cubs. I could definetely deal with that!

If you are a Mama bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat anyone who bothers your cubs. If your cubs get out of line, you swat them too. I could deal with that!

If you are a bear, your mate EXPECTS you to wake up growling. He EXPECTS that you will have hairy legs and excess body fat.

YEP, I WANNA BE A BEAR !!!!!!!

Parents can never get it right!

The other day my 11 year old complained.

"When I order something different in a restaurant and it doesn't taste nice you scold me for trying something new."

"And when I order Butter Chicken and Naan at a restaurant you say I should try something new!"

Ah! Parents! Bundles of contradictions.

How am I to explain to her that ordering a burger at a Vegetarian Idli-Dosa kind of place is never going to taste like McDonald's, and experimenting with a Afghani chicken or kebabs at a typical North-Indian/Mughlai restaurant is often a good change from the butter chicken and dal makhani???

At her age, we are strange and inconsistent...as I am sure I thought my parents were...

Song of birds

These days, I wake up to the sweet song of a cuckoo bird.... Some days the notes of its song are sweet and melodious and some days, relentlessly sharp and strained. Yet, I enjoy it tremendously because the song of a bird is an alien auditory treat for me.

Even as a child, I don't ever remember paying attention to the song of birds. Perhaps because I grew up in a land that is famous for one type of bird alone...the crow.... Everywhere you go in Kerala, you will hear them "caw".

As a child, I distinctly remember a crow snatching a sandwich from my hands as I stood munching in the balcony. The feel of its claws on my fingers is a sensation I remember to this day. I guess thats where my fear for birds started. I also remember my mom lamenting the assaults wreaked by crows on her drying mango slices (for that mmmmm pickle).

I am reminded of an incident from school, when I was in class VIII or IX; an incident that makes me smile to this day!

One afternoon I returned from my lunch break to find my wallet missing from my desk. Yep, at that age, I was very careless with my belongings and often misplaced my things in school. (I hope my daughter who recently joined FB is NOT reading this!)

My wallet contained the pocket money for the week. I was panic stricken and upon my friends' suggestion, decided to seek permission from the English teacher due to take her class during that period, to launch a search for my missing wallet.

The English teacher, Ms Dolores was not the most popular in the school. She was infamous for her temper and tantrums and the inconsiderate manner in which she dealt with the students.

As soon as I began the story of my missing wallet, Ms Dolores gave me that omnipresent irritated look.

"What's happened?"
"Miss, I have lost my wallet. I want to look for it. Can you excuse me from the class please?"
"Wallet? Who took your wallet?"
"I don't know Miss."
"Why don't you know?" (I could almost hear the grrrrrrrrr in her mind!)

Addressing the class, she asked, "Does anyone here know who took her wallet?"

One hand went up. In all seriousness, Satya, who always strived to live up to her name 'truth', stood up and said,"I know Miss. I saw a crow taking her wallet."

"A crow?"
"Yes Miss. A crow."
"Which crow?"

At this point, the entire classroom broke into laughter. Next thing I remember hearing voices from here n' there shouting,
"A black crow Miss."
"A crow with feathers."
"Martin Crowe."

Needless to say, Ms Dolores quickly gave me permission to look for my wallet within the school premises. Not before she made the naughty girls stand outside the class for the rest of the period!!!!!

(June 2007)

For the sake of arguement

Conversation I often have with my younger bro as we compete with each other to fit into the same size jeans:

Him: "Haha! I STILL fit into a 32!"

Me: "So do I."

Him: "No you don't. Admit it! You are fat!"

Me: "Yes. I am. I gave birth to two children. What's your excuse?"

Him: Quiet. Dumb struck.

Me: *halo* Angelic. Smiling devilishly inside.

Origin of Species - Darwin...watch out!!!!

Unwittingly, my four year old son has been getting lessons about the ‘ORIGIN of Species’.

Conversation 1, verbatim, about 6 months ago:

Dad: “Oorja, do you remember when Abhir was born in the hospital? You were the first one to hold him.”

Oorja: “Yes. He was in Mama’s tummy, right?”

Abhir: (In wonder) “I was inside Mama’s tummy?”

Conversation 2, verbatim, about 3 months ago:

Oorja: “Abhir, you were not there for my 2nd Birthday party. You were in mama’s tummy.”

Abhir: (Shocked) “I WAS IN MAMA’S TUMMY?????”

Oorja: (Matter-of-fact)”Yes.”

Abhir: “How did I come out?”

Oorja: “Hmmm… I think the doctor cut open mama’s tummy. Hai na, maa?”

Abhir: (Surprised. STUNNED.)

Conversation 3, verbatim, a few weeks ago:

Abhir: “How did I come in to your tummy, Mama?”

Mama: “God put you there.”

Abhir: “Okay. Was I a big baby or was I a small baby inside your tummy?”

Mama: “You were a small baby and you grew.”

Abhir: “But, HOW did I come in to your tummy, Mama?”

Mama: “One day I thought I wanted to have a darling little baby boy named Abhir. So I prayed to God and asked him to put ABHIR inside my tummy.”

Abhir: (Eyes popping out of his sockets) “Really? You asked God to put Abhir inside your tummy?”

Mama: “Yes darling. I did.”

Abhir: “And God gave you?”

Mama: “Yes. He did.”

Abhir: “Was it Krishna?” (the God you prayed to…?)

Mama: (Immensely relieved that the topic was changing) “Yes.”

Our daughter went through the motions after we conceived him; watching my tummy grow in size, feeling his kicks, and finally seeing HIM on an ultrasound before he was born. Somehow, we did not have to EXPLAIN it.

Even though the birds and bees conversation is a few years away, explaining to my son how he came in to our lives was serious stuff.

I only hope that we handled it well.

"Girls go to college
To gain some knowledge

Boys go to Jupiter
To become more stupider"

Words of wisdom I heard my daughter repeat as she played the clapping hands game with her brother; while her brother, oblivious to the indirect reference being made to him and his kind, babbled along trying to parrot the words.

For my part, as a responsible mother I did what I should.......corrected the grammar!

Can I have the Super Woman Award now?

A few days ago, daughter and I were going for a haircut. It was a bright sunny morning after a spell of incessant rain, Madonna was playing on the stereo and we were generally chirpy and happy.

I had re-joined a gym after a hiatus and was also feeling wonderfully 'toned' (the reality however is far from what I was feeling)... Anyway, my daughter darling notices the slight bulges on my arms (Yes! They are muscles, visible only to the keen eye) and exclaims, "Mama, wow, you have muscles!"

"Yes, small muscles" I murmur, flexing them (inadvertently of course).

"Thank God!" she says.... "Now I feel safe with you."

So gentlefolk of the world, after having proven my utility as mom, cook, part-time cleaner, tutor, nurse and the frill-earner (working when I can get off the other responsibilities), now I am a strong contender for the Super Woman Award for also having a body capable enough to protect my children!

Can I have it already????!!!!