For the love of my Child

When I was a kid, I had a fetish for all waste material because I always thought there's way from Rags to Riches. My brother always saw in me a garbo ( read rag picker). Well, I should say old habits die hard. I still love creating things out of waste , no matter how I am seen now as well.

I was feeding my two year old daughter from her favourite platter, Dora and Friends when she suddenly jumped out of her seat and blurted 'Dora's hairband,Mom". I said in affirmation as I hurried making a challenging attempt at feeding her another bite sized piece.

My daughter is fond of Dora and her accessories. This time her eyes were stuck on Dora's purple pink hairband. Seeing the spark in my daughter's eyes made my heart melt. She gave me a food for thought.
I went into flashback when my Granny and Mom would try hard to make my wishes come true. Well, I wanted to appease my daughter too. Not that she had asked for anything, but I wanted to make a hairband for her ,myself ( read as most important).

Ragpicker ( as my brother would say) in me woke up and started gathering all the waste I could. Yes ,I had few scraps of Hank and memories of how my Grandmother would crochet beautiful patterns in all her time.

Well , I decided ,I need to self crochet a headband for my doll. The true inspiration behind all my work is my Granny ( Late Smt. Harbans Kohli), who is not with me now but certainly a driving force in life and my Mom's Aunt (Santosh Chadha) who is the reason behind all perseverance in taking up a tedious and mundane task as my husband would say.

Some of you might say this is foolish but I would say, this is for the love of my Doll.

\

Battle of the Bedtime with my Iggle Piggles

Tanvi : Stooeee Book Momma, Pleeeee.....sss
Mommy: Sure darling, but just one story and we kiss it good night.Do you Promise??
Tanvi : Yes, promise Momma..Stooeee Book

Every night we go through the same drill. We lay our darling daughter in bed, read her a story and she's all thrilled and excited, not to listen to the story and see the illustrations, but at the thought that in few seconds, the story book will be in her hands. Yes, she feels that she will have it her way. As soon as she lays her hand on the book, she gazes at the hard bound cover for a few seconds and then jumps off the bed and says, 'STAR', mommy and I nod my head in affirmation. She then starts singing the Twinkle Twinkle rhyme, that I have heard and repeatedly sang with her almost 20 times during the day.She then flips through the book as fast as she can .I instruct her to handle it softly, gently and carefully and then she seems to understand.

Whereas I thought that my toddler should develop early reading habits and that reading bedtime stories will make her calm and aid in smooth sleeping, she has other plans in mind. She knows what is coming next.Before I could ask her to shut the book, kiss goodnight to it, she is already all over it.One moment she embraces the book tightly, while the other, she jumps over it and pretends that she's already slept with the book. She doesn't want to part with it, any which way.Yet, she doesn't know how to hide it from me as of now.

It is more or less a battle of who wins. Ofcourse my wiggly one loses on strength and dominance. But it is just a matter of time when my bumble bee will outwit me.

This entire episode makes me think every day 'Did I do the right thing by introducing the habit of reading at night?' While I am still thinking, my little one has learned that this is a routine and she will get to see, read, hug and kiss her storybook every night and it seems as if she's falling in place too. As soon she get to read the book now, she says ' Softly, gently, carefully.' She then says good bye to the book and hands it over to me, making me realize how quick we are in making opinions and passing judgement, not just about others but our loved ones too.

Melting Pot, Singapore

Until last year, when Tanvi received her first Eidi from our lovely neighbours, I never realised that she's revelling in multicultural environment of Singapore which is quite different from diverse culture of India.

Times have certainly changed. When I drop my bumble bee off at preschool in Singapore every morning, I feel she is a part of some UN delegation. There are more races at display than would have been at Commonwealth Games.

Last week, her class celebrated Xin Nian Kuai Le, the Chinese New Year. All the Children made Greeting cards and red packets , Hongbao and wished each other Gong Xi Fa Chai. She has already started speaking Mandarin and Malay, ofcourse, I still need some lessons to comprehend as to what is she saying.

She had a mini party and I was wondering if she picnicked on Pineapple tarts from Singapore, German pretzels, South Indian Vadas n Idlis, Japanese Sushi orNorth Indian Pakoras. Tanvi has friends from Singapore, Taiwan, Japan, China, Malaysia and South India. I was 29 when I encountered so many nationalities under one roof and for her, she is not even two.

Definitely, she is growing up in a diverse culture diffrent than in India. Singapore is melting pot of cultures, colours, races, flavours, sights and sounds.Singapore in true sense is a secular country and unique because everybody celebrates commonalities rather than differences.

Growing in Urban Jungle, amid tradition and modernity, Tanvi shines in 'Can Can' and 'Lah' energy.

                                                   

With myraid of experiences and contrasts, Singapore is a place to be....

My baby's journey but without me...

Today is one of those monumental days I think all moms look forward to, yet somehow dread at the same time. Today I sent my baby girl to preschool.

Preschool means that for the first time your child waddles into class for a day of assumed loving support but without you. It’s the beginning of a journey that parents take on good faith.

She poses in front of the door for a quick 'first day' picture as she tries to finish off her breakfast and off we go. I feel the tears begin to stream down my face as we cross the street. More so I feel guilty that I didn’t listen to my husband when he said, ‘she is still very young for a school’. Glancing at her, I was thankful for the sight: her little hands holding mine firmly and a smile on her face, although a reminder to me of how young she is still.

Part of me wonders how this could be happening in the first place. Is it really possible that I’m sending my daughter to become a little person who wears a uniform? To school? Grow up?

I think every mom who sends their kid off to school for the first time gets a free pass to be sad, confused, guilty or even a full-blown wreck. Before even starting school, I visited the beautiful classroom so many times before hand to see if it has all those things that will keep my baby happy. On the orientation day, I stood outside and waited, listening for her to miss me, which would mean I’d get to take her home, or atleast my husband presumed that way.

Surely it will be different the second time around. It still feels new though, the love and fear all tucked into one big event.

Some day,I am hopeful, we’ll both cheerfully wave to one another, and as I watch my heart walk into the classroom, I’ll tell her how happy I am that she’s starting a new adventure and I’ll truly mean it.

Happiness

All of us want to be happy, all the time. But we are always thinking about things and people that make us unhappy. The price that we pay to find happiness is happiness itself. Buddha says ‘All that we are arises with our thoughts, with our thoughts we make the world.’ Truly said, we need to work on our thought system rather than making world conform to our wishes.


But it is not easy to change ourselves too. We have been programmed for years to respond in a certain way once we receive a similar stimulus all the time. Then how do we find happiness? Do we find another stimulus? or do we change the programme? 


I feel once we understand our limitations of pyschology and how hard is it to change the programme within us, we become more tolerant of others because we realise how difficult it is to change anyone.


Yet you can't say you are happy, but you start looking for signs of happiness.

Crooked path of motherhood

I was a really good mother ( teacher) before I had a child of my own.  Since she arrived I have endured accusations of maternal crimes, have suffered the minor calamities of broken bones ( read heart ) and unexpected moments as well as occasional moments of grace.But I have to be happy or else what my child will grow up to be? I ask myself.


Don't do it like this, UHHH you dunno know, Haven't we raised our children?, are common phrases now.
I am bombarded...   What can I say or rather what and how should I say?  Nothing. The thought keeps lingering until I see my darling.I just feel my way and know intuitively what the next move should be.  My child is happy; she's learning and growing.


She loves me and feel safe with me and in spite of being an apparent serial offender when it comes to making mothering mistakes I feel safe with her too. She's a part of me and is sharing my path with me - I am blessed.   I am trying to be a watchful parent while in the trenches of daily experiences I never imagined how daunting a task it would be before I became a mother.


I am becoming aware and I am indeed grateful to walk the crooked path of motherhood!