Obsessivemom

30/12/201222/08/2026

Of dread and hope

And so Nirbhaya’s gone… a sad sad end to the year.

Each day we read about scores of rapes. We read them with anguish and dread then put away the papers and get on with our lives.. each day. Yet, what is it about Nirbhaya that I can’t get her out of my head? Why is it that the scene haunts me.. a happy 23-year-old boarding a bus with a friend, the ‘normal’ eve-teasing starting off, taking a scary turn and then turning into something horrific. Each night as I’ve gone to bed these last few days she’s been with me. Oh I’ve gone about my days.. playing with the kids, celebrating Christmas and birthdays but she has remained, a sad presence that refuses to go away.

A lot, of course, has to do with the media, the constant news coverage .. the papers, the television, updates, debates, views, news. And then there’s the gruesomeness of the crime and the fact that it happened in our Capital not in some tiny mofussil town.

Even as I bid her farewell I can find little place for hope in my heart.

All I find is dread.

Dread for my daughter…She’s growing up… fast. How will I ensure she’s safe? How will I ever let her walk the streets alone? How will I ever trust she’ll be safe when she’s out with her friends?

And an even greater dread for my son. He’s growing up too… from a baby to a boy. I see him change everyday. He likes hanging out with older boys. I’m not sure I like that. However no longer can I choose his friends. Besides, they aren’t bad boys.. just a few years older… and that makes a difference. There was a time he loved playing with kitchen sets. I saw him being teased, not just by the boys but the girls too. Soon, enough he gave it up. He likes chatting to me, hanging out in the kitchen.. will that go too, with time?

I’m scared.

Will I lose my connect with him? Will the stereotypes take over completely? In a few years time, will I not know him? How long will it be before the seemingly innocent “Girls can’t play cricket and boys don’t play with kitchen sets” changes to the ominous “girls are weak, boys are strong”? And how long before it turns into the truly evil, “If you don’t do what I tell you, I will make you”?

Soon.. it’ll be very soon if I let the dread take over, if I let Nirbhaya signify ‘dread’ rather than ‘hope’.

If I want my children to remain mine, I have to keep the hope alive, along with her memory. I, only I can do that and I will.

I once dreamed about a safe country and I will have it. I will keep the connection alive with my children. I will not let them fall prey to stereotypes. I will teach them to value humans .. men and and women alike. I will not let men rule the roads. They belong to my daughter as to my son. She will walk out alone… at night, if she needs to,… and she will be safe because I taught my son well.

RIP, Nirbhaya.

The post is part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

29/12/201215/04/2017

Happy birthdays are made of these

10 things that make a perfect birthday

1. A late lazy morning and waking up to a phone call from home, then another one from an old old friend, then another one and another and another…..
2. Birthday wishes from the kids accompanied by a big hug and countless kisses. They then follow it up by popping out from unexpected places throughout the day with a “Happy birthday mama”.
3. The maid comes in time.
4. The kids behave themselves.
5. The Husband remembers your birthday and gets the most gorgeous chocolate chip cake ever.. muah.
6. Friends drop in bringing along plenty of laughs.. and a scrumptious cake too… yes one more.
7. Lots of flowers that you didn’t buy yourself.
8. A few thoughtful gifts which also haven’t been bought by yourself.
9. Good food obviously not cooked by yourself.
10. A gift hamper full of goodies from the daughter.. Check out what it had…

The hamper

A pearl flower saved from a Diwali gift box

A pink ribbon.. must have for a girl

‘Perfume’ which was actually some flower petals in a
dessert glass

A single rose bouquet

A favourite Mc Donald toy she gave up for me

Can one ask for more?

26/12/201215/12/2017

Santa still exists

Another Christmas went by with the kids’ belief in Santa intact. I have a feeling, however, this one’s going to be the last. Of late H is playing a lot with older boys and a few days before Christmas he came home saying someone told him there’s no Santa.

“My friend said mamas and papas buy the gifts and tell us they’re from Santa,” said he.
“Well your friend must’ve been naughty and Santa wouldn’t have got him a gift so his papa and mama would have had to get him one. But if you’re really good Santa will come,” said I.

Surprise surprise H bought the argument. Hah!

He made a card for Santa and placed it under the tree. Then he got a brand new pack of his favourite biscuits and put them with the card.

So it was that after the kids were asleep, ‘Santa’ had to not only wrap their gifts and put them under the tree but also squirrel away the card, eat a biscuit oozing chocolate and leave a thank you note in the middle of the night. Yes well this Santa has her manners in place.

The things one has to do for one’s kids!

The spellings are all his and those hearts are N’s idea

That’s the inside of the card. I’m glad Jesus Christ gets a mention here.
Regrettably, he’s overshadowed by Santa

And next morning their faces were my reward, if I wanted one. N was a tad regretful. “I’ll also keep biscuits next year”, said she. H, needless to say was thrilled to bits. He called up the entire family to tell the tale of how Santa ate his biscuit and wrote ‘Thank You, H’ on a tissue paper. “You see he was in a hurry”, he explained.

During the day the sis-in-law came by and snuck in some more gifts under the tree. She then asked with a straight face, “What’s that shiny stuff under your tree N?” At which the kids raced there yelling, “Santa came home twice”. “But when did he come we were here all the time”, marvelled an incredulous N. “I can’t believe he came in the day. He’s not supposed to come in the day”, added H, ever the logical one.

He gave up trying to unravel the mystery after a while and finally declared, “This is the happiest day of my life” .

24/12/201215/04/2017

Merry Christmas!

People around here are on a shopping spree. No I’m not the kind to keep tabs on my neighbours’ spendings. Just look at what my two little scavengers brought home.

I hadn’t been able to spend much time with the kids and we were lagging in our Christmas preparations too. So we decided to put all of those ‘goodies’ to good use and came up with some very quick decorations.

We began with drawing some stockings on the sheets..

Cut them out with a hot knife and painted them green and pink..

..and silver and strung them out on a ribbon.

Then we did some bells… which have still to be painted

and some stars and circles too.

.. and then it was time to do up the ‘tree’.

And now if you’ll excuse me I’ll be off.

We have to hurry up and clear the way for shy Santa.

Tonight’s Santa’s busy busy night. Besides clearing the kitchen and

dinner table he has still lots of gift-wrapping to do.

Merry Christmas folks.

23/12/201215/04/2017

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

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.