Category: letter

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When friendships change

Dear girls who play with my son,

Last time I found H in a scrambling match with one of you and took him to task. You remember that I’m sure. A few days back I found two of you again, walking away. One of you was in tears and the other, outraged on her behalf, for the same reason – a scuffle with a boy during a game, where her t-shirt got pulled.

Okay I’ll admit my first thought was, “No, not H again!” It wasn’t.

But that’s not the issue at all. The point is, there are some things you will need to understand when you play together. In a game that needs some amount of physicality, when one of the children is supposed to catch another (and count to ten while the other tries to free himself/herself), t-shirts will get pulled, dresses will fly, hands will be twisted, feet will be stepped upon.

You know the rules, right? You are the ones who put them in place along with the others. You cannot then, in all fairness, start to cry, or get angry or quit the game either. You will simply come across as a bad loser.

You’re growing up, I know. You’re becoming more conscious of yourself and the changes in you and that’s just how it should be. But don’t let it take away the fun from your playtime. Don’t let it take away from your friendships.

Soon you’ll all be grown up and out in the world – working, competing, playing and socialising with men, on an equal footing. Each time a situation like this crops up you cannot break into tears, you cannot get outraged and worse, you cannot withdraw. 

You cannot.

If you do, just like in the playground, be prepared to be laughed at, or what’s much much worse, patronised by the others. You’ll hate it, take my word for that. Just as you will be left out of the game now, you will be shut out from the more exciting challenging opportunities to learn and grow and prove yourself.

Most importantly you’ll miss out on many many good friendships. Men do make for wonderful companions – easy, uncomplicated, fun. I say that from experience. And that would be truly sad.

For now, I’ll repeat the five simple rules I keep telling H – 
1. Set the rules before the game – Make it clear what is acceptable and what is not. Do be reasonable and practical.
2. Dress for the playground – Wear sensible clothes: shorts, tights, jeans, running shoes.
3. Be prepared for some amount of rough play – It can be fun once you give up your ‘I’m a girl I shouldn’t do this’ self image.
4. Accept no nonsense – But don’t be over sensitive.
5. Assess the situation, the intention – An unintentional pull of the T shirt is NOT a bad touch.

Remember these rules. They work in the grown up world too – Set the rules, dress sensibly, be prepared to fight rough, accept no nonsense and asses an intention fairly.

For now, stop being girls or boys – just be friends.

Love and hugs
Mom of H.
Linking to ABC Wednesday , after a long long time, for the letter C for Change. It’s good to be back here.

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Finding Santa

Dear H and N,

Christmas this year, is going to be different for it was only this year that you discovered Santa wasn’t real. N, how you cried! It broke my heart. I had no answer to your ‘you lied to me‘. It’s true of course. It did. It was I who ate up your cookies, I who put the gifts and I who read the letters I’d helped you write in the first place.

I’m sorry I should have done it differently, perhaps.

I know you’ll miss him. That smiling, silver-haired presence bearing gifts, the one who made everyone smile – he’ll be missed sorely.But wait. What if I told you there really IS a Santa – nope, not a make-believe one in a red suit, a real one. There’ll be no more lies, I’ve learnt my lesson. He’s a bit different, this one, from the one I told you about.

He doesn’t live at the North Pole to begin with.

So where is he? You ask. I can see the disbelief in your little faces. Hear me out then and be patient.This Santa is all around us. What’s more, he’s far more generous than the one you’ve known all along. He doesn’t wait for Christmas to give us gifts. He comes unannounced any day, anytime, sometimes many times a day, bearing precious gifts. You’ll have to look carefully though for he’s in disguise – no red suit, no silver beard.

‘So how will we know him?’ I hear you ask, suspicious still.Well, first, wipe off those disbelieving looks then listen on my little doubting Thomas’ – here’s how you can see him.

Shut your eyes.
Go on do it.

Now open your hearts.

And think.
Did someone make your face light up with a smile?
Did someone do anything to make you feel special?
Did someone make your heart swell with happiness and fill with warmth?
Did a hug, a kiss, a compliment make you feel like the happiest person on earth?
Did someone make you feel so happy you wanted the whole world to smile with you?
Well.. hold on to them, that right there is your Santa.

 

The friend who stood up for you, the teacher who said ‘well done’, mama who surprised you with your favourite tiffin, grandma who saves up a new story for you everyday, dad who came home early with your favourite sweet – they’re your Santa.And your gifts? – the smile, the warmth, the happiness – aren’t they all precious? Way more precious than that remote controlled car, that crashed within a week of it’s arrival, right H? Or that Barbie buried somewhere deep in your toy cupboard N.

And you know what? You are a Santa too.

Remember that one time I came home all tired and you ran to give me a hug? I so needed it then, and you were my Santa. And that cake in a cup you made for me – you were my Santa again. To tell you the truth, you became my Santas the moment you were born.

There’s a Santa in all of us. He just hides away sometimes under the stress of homework and housework, the arguments and the anger. This Christmas let’s dig him out and give him a new life, shall we? Let’s all be Santas this Christmas – real live Santas.

Love and hugs,

Ma.

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Girls and boys and a lesson in chivalry

Dear H,

The other day as I was
taking my walk I saw you pulling a girl by her T-shirt. At least that’s what it seemed to me. She was yelling and struggling to free herself. I was appalled. I made you let go and
apologise too. Oh I did see those tears of anger, frustration and humiliation that sprang up in your eyes. I didn’t mean to humiliate you but this needed to be done.
Later, much later when
we’d both cooled down, you’d explained, “Ma we were playing Chor Police and I
was a Policeman. We have to hold the ‘thief’ to a count of 10 for him/her to be
declared out.”
“You cannot pull a
girl’s shirt,” I’d said.
“I wasn’t pulling, she
was. I was supposed to be holding her.”
“No matter what, you CANNOT pull a girl’s shirt,”
“Why,” you’d asked, ‘Why
can’t I ? That’s how she catches me too, that’s how I catch the boys and everyone is fine with it.”
You had a bit of a point. 
Here is my answer. Listen patiently for this is something that will stand you in good stead all your life.
The problem was not that you were holding that girl. The problem was that she didn’t like being held. That she was asking you to let go and you weren’t.

It’s simple, actually. If a girl doesn’t like you holding her T shirt, let go. If a boy doesn’t like it, let him go too. LISTEN to what the other person is saying.

Yes it’s tough. Yes it’s easy to get carried away by the game. Yes it’s easy to take people’s reactions for granted. But it’s crucial to remember that it’s a game only if all people playing it are enjoying it, or else it’s plain bullying. Sounds harsh, I know. You didn’t intend to bully, I know. But that’s what it was.

I hope that answers your ‘Why?’.

Here’s what you can do. ASK what everyone is comfortable with. Put the rules in place before you start a game. As you grow up you will realise, many times people don’t even speak out when something makes them uncomfortable. You have to learn to listen, even without words. This ‘watching out’ for the other person’s reaction is very very important. It’s called being ‘sensitive’.

And while we’re at it, here are a few more things for you to remember…

– Caring for other people’s
feelings is way more important than winning any game.

– Your responsibility
doesn’t end with good intentions. If the other person feels hurt, wronged or even uncomfortable by your behaviour, don’t do it. Take time to understand and explain.
– Open
doors, hold the lift, help with bags. Practise chivalry for no other reason but that you are a gentleman. 
– Respect not just girls,
not just people older to you, but everyone. You have an even greater
responsibility if the other person in not as strong as you.

– Never be an unintentional bully.

You might not always win the game but you’ll win over many many more people and that, dear H, is way more important and much more fun too. This is a BIG thing and needs plenty of practise, but you’ll get there. And like I always say ‘You are the best’. I know that.

Hugs and love,

Ma
********

We’ve had our ‘big talk’. And I am hoping it made some impression. Have you handled similar queries from your son/nephew/friend’s son? So how do you teach a boy to be chivalrous without being sexist? How do you tell him he doesn’t need to do this because the other person (girl or not) is weaker but because he is stronger? Mothering, I tell you… is a hard hard task.

*********

Linking to Write Tribe’s super initiative ‘7 days of rediscovering your blogging grove’ where we blog seven days in a row according to a format. The idea is inspired by Darren Rowse. Today we had to ‘ANSWER A QUESTION’. 

Go find some more answers at the Write Tribe blog.

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Dear Sister…

This is perhaps the first time I’m writing to you, ever. Isn’t that strange? We do talk though. All the time. On the phone, through Whatsapp, through mails, on FB – – thoughts, opinions, jokes, gossip and pictures; Oh the pictures – – from home, from the roadside, from markets and shops and trial rooms, back and forth, the communication is constant.

Letters however are a different thing. They give you space to think and express and talk about things you might never have told each other.
Let me start at the beginning. It certainly wasn’t love at first sight. There you were, comfortably sleeping in MY favourite place, snuggling up to MY favourite person. That’s MY mum, I’d shouted! claiming what was rightfully mine, had been mine for three whole years  – ALL mine. But then probably you’d opened your eyes and given me one of those smiles – – Toothless, guileless, lazy and laid back and I was sold – just like everyone else. Then on we shared everything – – clothes, books, school, college, crushes, friends and foes.

I have often felt God intended us to be twins. We were meant to be born together only you had lingered, perhaps involved in some exciting adventure, while I made an early appearance. However once here you never truly believed or behaved like the younger sibling matching punch for punch and braid pull for braid pull. Yeah you call me ‘didi’ but that’s such a token thing – – Like Manmohan Singh’s prime ministership.

We were equal partners in crime, plotting and planning against the common enemy – mum! Remember how we spilt the entire bottle of cream and hid it away, or the times we sneaked off the school bus to our favourite bookshop, or when we managed to unlock the TV (yeah TVs had locks back then) and watch that forbidden film? I still get goosebumps but you never had any reservations, cool as the proverbial cucumber.

Despite your bravado, to me you always were the little one, the baby sister I’d carry around proudly on my back. The little one who’d fainted on me when we’d gone to visit a sick friend giving me a near heart-attack. The sister I once forgot to pick up at school and then went back and searched and searched my heart filling up with an awful dread only to reach home and find you happily perched at the dining table. Oh you could take care of yourself even then.

We are the perfect foil to each other. My patience to your impetuousness, my Capricornian discretion to your Scorpio bluntness, my conformity to your irreverence, my look-before-you-leap to your if-you-hesitate-you’re-lost, so different yet so similar.

When I became a mum you turned the best masi ever – – cool and fun. Whether it’s taking the kids for a walk in the rain (something I’ll never do), teaching N to whistle (something I cannot do) or trading drawings of aliens with H, you’re the best.

If ever there comes a time when the kids have a disagreement with me I know they will confide in you. And I know you will guide them with level headed wisdom, sanely yet without the encumbrances of being a mum. And secure in that knowledge I blithely wield the strict mum baton.

You’ve taught me so many things….
– To have fun without over thinking consequences.
– To stop worrying about ‘what’ll everyone say’
– To give new ideas a thought before saying ‘no’.
– To think about everyone and yet not to forget to live for yourself.
and above all
– to be brave and strong and to accept, … not just accept … but enjoy life no matter what cards are dealt to you.

Life wouldn’t have been the same without you

Hugs!

PS: Yeah I got all emotional but it doesn’t mean I’ll relinquish the remote or let you switch on the fan at night… don’t even think about it!
This post is part of the Write Tribe initiative. For more interesting letters drop in at

 

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No means No

Dear Hrit and Naisha,

Today morning as we sat watching the news you suddenly asked “What’s Rape?” and left me completely flustered. I struggled to find an answer even as a hundred thoughts flashed across my mind. You’re just 10, where had you heard that word? Are you even old enough to absorb this stuff? Who had you been talking to? Were there other things you’d heard of that I needed to clarify?

I floundered in the dark wondering how to explain it all to you. How to explain the heinousness of the crime without explicit details? How to reveal to you the horror of the word without scaring you? How to teach you to be careful without extinguishing your carefree spirit? How to help you grow up to face reality without taking away your innocence? I wondered.

I struggled along babbling about ‘good touch bad touch’, about never being alone in washrooms, about being wary of overfriendly strangers.. trying to warn you… yet never really getting to the point.. never really telling you what I was warning you about.

You’d both looked from me to the television a little lost at the connection between thousands of people being bombarded with water cannons and lecherous men in lonely bathrooms. A hundred more questions unfolded. “But why are so many people there?” “Why is the police pushing them?” “Who are they shouting at?”

Oh you were so confused.

And so here I am trying to get some answers for you. Those people, dear children, are angry. Angry at something that happened to a girl and her friend. They were both raped, violated, hurt, harmed by a group of cruel men — the girl physically, her friend mentally. The scars will take a long long time to heal.

Those people are all standing out there in the cold and the rain demanding for those men to be punished. Will they get justice? Is this even the right way to demand justice? Are they doing the right thing? I don’t know. What I do know is that the need to demand why youngsters are not safe in a country built on tolerance, is right.

The anger is right. I feel it too. Anger, frustration, empathy, shame, hurt, worry, fear.. I feel all of that. I wish I were there. I wish you were a bit grown up and I wish you were there too. But we cannot be there. What we can do, however, is to learn to respect people’s right to be the way they want to be, to not force our morality, our sense of right or wrong on them; to look beyond short skirts and skimpy tops; to create and respect boundaries; above all to learn to say as well as to  understand and respect that small word ‘No’, so that no one is raped ever again.. mentally or physically.

Love

Ma
 

This is a part fictional letter inspired by a friend’s inquisitive 10-year-old. The post is written as part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

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