Thursday, December 3, 2015

New mothers around the world deserve a decently long paid leave from work

New mothers around the world deserve a decently long paid leave from work - it is for the sake of the well-being of the society as a whole, not for the new mothers and their young kids alone.

This link (How America fails new parents and their babies) to a Tedweb talk argues that the paid maternity leave to new moms in America is very short.

The scenario is not very rosy In India either. I was of course lucky to have got longer paid maternity leave than what is mentioned in the video. But with no facility of creche-at-workplace, I could not continue and quit soon. When I went back to work, this break did not go down well with my new employer (ambitious women NEVER do that "mistake" because they know going back after a break is an uphill task) and I had no salary negotiation power obviously. There were two kinds of guilt I suffered from during those days - the guilt of having had left work for two years (it didn't help that my new employer and my parents, relatives and friends silently ridiculed me for that) and the guilt of dumping my little son in a  creche with no warm-up period for getting himself acclimatized to the new environment. No wonder he changed overnight and was seldom understood by caregivers. It was a fight with my emotions and feelings of guilt that I fought alone. Sadly, the world neither listened nor empathized.

Many a time the media projects a working woman who has worked her way up in the organization, after having sacrificed many joyful family moments, as a strong personality. This has slowly but surely changed societal attitude towards women who have reluctantly quit jobs because things were not working out at all for them owing to scant or no support system for decent childcare even after their valiant efforts. They are taken as faint-hearted or unambitious or over-attached to their kids (ironically even by many working women). The aftermath of it is that such women blame themselves for no offence they have committed and also that many women who have hung on to their jobs after attaining motherhood have quickly silenced their strong urge to speak up and ask for a decent period of paid maternity leave from the employer, all along convincing themselves that it is a good thing that they are not being sentimental and that they need to continue to be strong.

The need of the hour is - understanding and cooperative employers. Women too need to recognise the emotional trauma they are going through. They need not put up a brave face when they are actually crying inside. They need not go around telling themselves and making the world believe that everything is almost fine at home-front and will soon be fine. They need to know the psychological damage quietly occurring to themselves and their young, vulnerable kids. Working women turning mothers need to speak up boldly without any feeling of guilt about the turmoil going on in their  minds. They need to tell openly that they deserve a longer paid break from work to bond with their young kids who are the future of the country. For this they need not feel that they are asking for a favour.

The world is changing. Higher the emotional quotient the better the person fares at workplace. And for that, the person himself or herself should have enjoyed a stable and secure infancy in the relaxed company of an empathetic mother with loads of time to share with her kid and with no tensions from thoughts of how to bring back financial stability to the family or equally disturbing thoughts of how soon she can join the workforce again with a decent salary without getting significantly exploited for having taken a break for her young kid.

Quit job or not, women have proved time and again that they are strong, much stronger than they are believed to be. 
A woman who does not quit a job is strong enough to face her tough boss and work through the day even after a sleepless night next to the infant. 
A woman who has quit her job is strong enough to do many chores at home even after spending long hours on demanding and stressful childcare through the day and night as well as face the silent ridicule of friends and family and ex-colleagues for having kicked a job because she believes that bonding with the infant does matter a lot which she is going to cherish decades later. 

It is time women stood up for themselves and pointed out the true picture to the society.
It is time women who have not suffered because they have reasonably good support system (parents/parents-in-law/dependable nanny/excellent creche) for satisfactory childcare empathized with each of those women who have suffered and are suffering (either by quitting great jobs or by being forced to ignore certain emotional needs of a young child because of stressful, long-hours jobs they continue with).

It is time men stirred in their cosy office chairs and thought about this.


It is time employers (men and women) listened and did something.

Women who have suffered with their kids and have managed to be still there at the workplace and have broken the glass ceiling could bring this burning issue to the table and get it sorted out. They probably wouldn't like their daughters to go through all that hell that they themselves or many of their colleagues long back had gone through.


Is anybody listening?

Women! Go, get inspired here...40 Years After Women Went on Strike in Iceland, Here's What Gender Equality Looks Like


Wednesday, November 25, 2015

To give time when the child needs it and wants it is not so easy after all

It is a very personal decision....to quit or to not quit a job when the baby arrives.

For some parents, the company of the child matters more than the paychecks [and the rewards (freedom and glory) associated with it], though the latter is definitely something important to them, particularly to women who have toiled and worked their way up in the workplace. It is just that they would miss being there for their children when the kids need them emotionally if they (usually moms) continued with their jobs. They would miss it more than the paychecks. They had to make that tough choice because both were impossible to attain at the same time. They also know that focused attention to the child during the week-ends cannot usually make up for the time they can afford to spend with the kids over the week.

Can a child be expected to wait to share her deep wounds till the time of return of her parent from the workplace? A child often does not even realize that there is someone out there whom she can turn to for that emotional support. Having said that, I'd add that a mother need not and should not solve all emotional problems faced by a child. Just the reassuring knowledge of her physical presence makes the child forget many such wounds. A relationship builds over time and it cannot be bought by gifts. Neither can it be created overnight nor can it be created through time spent with the child when the parent is free instead of when the hurt child needs the parent.

As a counselor, I have had many conversations with people. Over the years I have gathered that people who grew up missing the solid emotional support and love of a permanent family member know completely and deeply the value of it all and try their best not to let their children too miss it.

I have also seen kids who manage it well under supervision of old grandparents or nannies or the creche. Without any major hiccups, the mother rightly does not feel the need to quit her job.

Again, it is a very personal matter and I have seen many stay-at-home moms taking up long-hours jobs to tide over the depression they went through just as I have seen many working moms quitting jobs because they could not battle the guilt arising from not being there for the kids when they needed them.

The parent has the power to take decision and the child has to obviously adjust accordingly. The crucial decision to quit or not should be well-thought-of and an educated one, taken over a period of time and after some analysis of one's mind and circumstances. Whatever is the decision, the decision-maker has to face the consequences boldly and the family members too can be explained in advance. So, when a working mom ceases to be one, she has to be mentally prepared for a not-anymore-so-good lifestyle and for being dismissed by society as unambitious or complacent about life (unfortunately that is the societal attitude). A working mom  has to accept it if the child turns out to be less sensitive to others' feelings than a child who has a mother around to share her feelings with. Often, moms decide to wait and watch and keep noting the overall growth of the child without the mom around and accordingly take a decision. All children are not equally strong emotionally and cannot be expected to handle challenging situations in life with a degree of maturity that can be expected from the adult parent.

A child is the parents' responsibility first and it would be good if the parent takes an educated decision, without being swayed by pressures from society, parents, relatives, friends and media. One may well keep in mind that every child is different and so the needs too are different. Children are the future citizens. We can expect an empathetic society later with more confidence when the feelings of the children are empathized with, as much as is possible and is healthy. Most of the time, the parent can empathize most.

Decades later, the parent has to face the adult child and it would be good if the parent can do so with satisfaction and pride and not guilt.
You may also visit The Hindu's Just for kids .


Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Ever thought a short-cut to memorizing drab facts could exist...

A taste of a different kind of learning through Bloom's taxonomy-flavoured questions!

It was during a brief stint as a teacher in a school (I had to quit for a family emergency situation) when I had my first brush with Bloom's taxonomy. Put simply, it is a kind of thinking encouraged in certain schools in the world through skilful questioning. It helps to develop comprehending, analysing, recalling, applying, synthesizing and evaluating skills right from the early years. When these skills are routinely developed through questions flavoured with Bloom's taxonomy, learning turns into an enjoyable experience and memorizing of essential information begins to happen easily and spontaneously. Learners begin to see for themselves how a topical learning is actually being translated to real-life learning that can be implemented!

Encouraged by the responses of parents of some students and some colleagues then, much later I took time out of my busy schedule of parenting two kids and part-time voluntary counseling, and came up with this question set. If it stimulates you, you may drop a mail with your thoughts at sdapara@gmail.com. A sample file for downloading as a .pdf document for the images too to be visible -



Thursday, October 29, 2015

Madikeri trip was an eye-opener

It had been months of captivity at home with the shackles of mid-term exams of the kids not allowing me complete peace of mind for sometime. So when it all ended and the annual festivities of Durga Puja began almost immediately, my mind, revelling in the joy of visiting puja pandals scattered across the length and breadth of Bengaluru, also pined for the refreshing calm and rejuvenating quiet that only a hill station can offer. There was sudden sickness at home and my long-held desire to run away for a weekend-long respite from the city I've been calling home for much more than a decade almost came under the threat of getting nipped. However all was well just before the long-awaited weekend arrived and a Friday morning saw us driving away towards Madikeri in Coorg district of Karnataka.

Before long we were zipping forward merrily on the highway, soaking ourselves in the special charm of a morning away from the city unfolding before four pairs of hungry eyes. The cloak of negativity recently built around me from frustration at being unable to realize where exactly my heart lay amongst a set of part-time constructive activities I have been engaged with and a series of unflattering recent experiences involving me directly and indirectly fell off from me gradually. The freshness in the air and the sunshine streaming in gently and generously acted as the perfect balm for our jaded minds and exhausted bodies. With a sumptuous, nutritious breakfast from the famous Kamat Lokaruchi in our satisfied stomachs, our car took us through cities and villages and towns and finally on the hilly road towards our destination, gifting us with long stretches of views that our thirsty eyes feasted on actively.

Oh! The temporarily-forgotten beauty of paddy and sugarcane and millets growing in fields flanking our winding path, joy of watching azure sky looking down at us and horizon of forested hills began working their charm slowly on our nerves! What is this magic hidden in these treasures that swiftly replaces the exhaustion and pessimism in the human minds with freshness, vigour and the-usually-elusive peace of mind? I assume it is because our race, uncountable years ago, originated in the forests. The sky was the roof, the trees formed the walls and the kitchen depended on forests and rivers. It is another story that, our ancestors , harassed by the unpredictable weather and threatened by wild animals, got fed up of the regular picnics and changed their way of life. To speak honestly, even now life in the hills is actually not as thrilling as it would seem to city-dwellers, what with the lack of many basic amenities and the excitement of malls and cinema that most city-dwellers cannot think of missing for long.

We had dared to travel without any advance booking but found a decent homestay in less than an hour of careful search. Tea-session over before five, we were free from having to think of our tummies till eight and so, no longer satisfied with charming view of forests through our room windows, set off on a stroll. Through narrow paths adorned with plants and trees, rich with leaves and flowers of varying sizes, shapes, colours and shades, our eager feet took us by a stream and to nerves-and-eyes-soothing stretches of vegetation that grew denser, darker and quieter by the minute. The next day was spent in driving down to Abbey Falls, watching and listening to the waterfall rapidly rushing down mammoth rocks and trudging back again to snatch a glimpse of Raja Seat.

In this three-day-two-nights trip, the icing on the cake was Mandalapatti. On the last day, after an hour-long drive that made half of our family extremely giddy and almost made us all consider giving up and returning to our temporary home, we reached a place from where only jeeps ferry people to the "best" point there for a "breathtaking view" (as the Internet said). My daughter and I, the "easily-feel-giddy-delicate-darlings", preferred to trek in the hills nearby while my son and husband took the rough ride to the "best point". So, while those two were gifted with a precious-thirty-minutes-stay loaded with awe-inspiring panoramic view from the last-accessible-hill, we two were delighted and fully contented with self-paced walk along the rough road alternating with trek on the hills rising next to us. We had the freedom to pause, absorb the beauty of the nearby hills - some carpeted with grass and some crowned with forests, and the lure of the faraway misty bluish hills, admire the beauty of never-seen-wild flowers on our way and contemplating on the changing, enthralling views.

Later, we exchanged our stories of walk-pause-relish the sight and the silence-resume walk-trek-walk AND quick-and-rough-jeep-ride-followed by -breath-taking 360 degree view from the last hill that could be reached there.
Almost simultaneously, I couldn't help but compare the 
feeling of relaxation we were immersed in during the hours we spent in the homestay, watching the forests on the rolling hills or listening to birds' calls with rapt attention AND the feeling of excitement we were awash with every time we went to a new unexplored point in Madikeri!

It was right then that this dawned on me very suddenly - this journey of life too is like this! Some of us prefer to keep galloping and some of us prefer a self-paced walk. The former love to run towards difficult-to-reach-targets while the latter enjoy walking, running, pausing, relishing every bit of this life journey, resuming the walk, sometimes sprinting, and on the whole cherishing the whole set of experiences of everyday living. 

Where does your heart lie - in the charm of sometimes-slow-sometimes-fast journey or in the thrill of arriving-fast-at-the-faraway-destination? Both have their own basket of unique gifts!

(The snaps are not in any particular order).


Sunday, October 25, 2015

Bengal and Himachal in Bangalore, India in USA

A festival that was part of childhood is part of youth, part of our mid-life, now an integral part of our life – that special something that helps us recreate Bengal away from Bengal, Himachal Pradesh away from Himachal Pradesh, Gujarat away from Gujarat and so on, somewhere within India or somewhere as far as Europe or America or Australia.
Just the other evening, did you see a mother having a very late lunch at a Durga Puja pandal with her family and within a few hours biting into an egg-roll and then again a vegetable chop and also a plateful of momos and later biriyani? Well..who was she? None other than me in Koramangla. It was also another mother in BTM. And yet another mother in Whitefields. And someone in Ulsoor…Someone in Jaymahal…Someone in Sharjapur…it doesn’t end. What were all these ladies doing? Celebrating Mahashaptami of Durga Puja with their families obviously, with ‘good’ food – food that is always looked at with suspicion except during these tumultuous, chaotic, quick five days of Durga Puja when the kitchens shut down and ‘khichri’ and ‘aloo bhaja’ and ‘chutney’ taste better than the best dishes of the world and diabetic husbands get a free run. When ‘tantuja’ cotton scores over silks and when the young mother turns a blind eye to the little children missing their afternoon nap because puja-pandal-hopping becomes the priority.

The sweets (‘rasgullas’ and ‘bonday’) and ‘samosas’ have to be eaten from different stalls at the different pandals at the oddest hours. The images of Goddess Durga and her children (Lakshmi, Saraswati, Kartikeya, Ganesha) across pandals have to be offered prayers and their beauty with the innovative themes behind the pandals have to be compared and discussed! Durga Puja has been an essential part of childhood for all these Bongs and despite the years rolling on, the enthusiasm hasn’t died down. The festival celebrated with vigour during childhood brings us face to face with childhood once again with love and without a trace of regret of those years gone, because Durga Puja is something the Bongs identify themselves with. This major festival is something we link ourselves with since we grew up with it as a part of our life every year.

A festival brings back some beautiful moments before us to relish, to get nostalgic, to greet yesterday’s children as today’s youth, to realize the years have rolled by but the festival hasn’t lost its charm. The spirit of celebration slowly seeps into the children to help them relive these days after three decades when they in turn will be celebrating with their children, maybe together, or maybe over phone or maybe over the Net or who knows over what (with technology taking giant strides, anything could be possible)!

Whether it is a Bong celebrating Durga Puja, a Punjabi celebrating Lohri, a Tamil celebrating Pongal – a festival helps us remain firmly in touch with our beliefs, our culture, and the little things we grew up with, that all became part of us and no matter where we are in the world, we don’t feel rootless and find our own ways of living each day of the festival. It could be capturing the white beauty of autumn’s ‘kaash phool’ growing abundantly in far-flung Europe for sharing on Facebook with friends in India or worshipping Durga Puja in USA or freaking out on ‘samosas’ and ‘jalebies’ and ‘shondesh’ or watching dance dramas enacted on stage or listening to Rabindrasangeet sung by ladies in their fifties or tapping your feet to modern Bong songs belted out by some new band from Bengal even if the music is louder than the song, or Mahalaya songs filling the Bong home with endearing tunes or top honchos from MNCs taking off from work to serve “bhog” to the endless streams of visitors to puja-pandals.

A festival that was part of childhood is part of youth, part of our mid-life, now an integral part of our life – that special something that helps us recreate Assam away from Assam, Kerala away from Kerala, Gujarat away from Gujarat, somewhere within India or somewhere as far as Europe or America or Australia – through rituals, through traditions, through food, through greeting friends and relatives, through oblations, through prayers, through wishing and bonding. That’s how a festival runs across states, across countries, across continents and across generations. It’s something that helps us feel and stay rooted even as we grow as global citizens. It’s something the children today will imbibe as their parents did decades back and instill, in turn, into their children years later.

A festival is a parent – a balm to the stressed-out mind, the link between childhood and the rest of the life - as it helps the present to bond with the past. It is a strong thread that binds me with my grandparents who raised me and parents too and would bind me with my children. 


Years into future, when my children could be in far-flung places, it is a festival that would ring the bells and would prompt us to get in touch. It is a festival that would help them get in touch with their roots, even if for a day. And it is a festival again that would bring their childhood back to them once again, year after year. The memories would bring tears of joy and nostalgia - happiness and sweet sadness. It would be a mix of rays and rains.


Wednesday, October 7, 2015

At a Rehab Centre - Why do they throw away a life that was going hunky-dory?

When one life begins to change, there are other lives too entwined with it that change. 
There could be a distressed mother waiting for her only son to give up drugs and substance and take charge of life. There could be a distraught father in his twilight years hoping his alcoholic son would again rise from the well of despair and bring stability and warmth to his life.
Let us not turn away disapprovingly from someone just getting up on his feet again after valiant efforts. Let us create a positive-thinking full-of-optimism society.
For some parent, when it keeps 'raining', a warm, encouraging smile from us when the adult child 'rises' from a life of nothingness and despair, could be the 'ray' of hope.


The first part of this series appears at A basketful of experiences at a rehab.

Most of the time an addict is conscious of his folly and yearns to return to his previous way of life. In the regular group counseling sessions at the rehab centre I visit now and then, I’ve come face to face with facts that are as much startling as they are thought-provoking.

A score of us sat in a circle in the dormitory. It was the routine group counseling session that happens every day of the 365 days of the year. A young twenty-something surprisingly shared very matter-of-factly how he is assured of a life of “a bed of roses”, of course only if he allowed his love for alcohol to be replaced by love for work. His father, a rich, successful builder has chalked out everything for his son to follow and flourish. The young man knew if he didn’t mend his ways soon, his would be a from-riches-to-rags story. His voice had the desire to become “clean” and a tinge of helplessness. A nice guy from a nice family, his good manners from a good upbringing showed in the sessions.  A silent struggle raged on inside him as he couldn’t nail any event or anybody as a pretext for having fallen victim to alcohol. He wasn’t keen to know when he would be allowed out of the rehab. Nor was he sure about how much self-control he would have then to be at an arm’s length from liquor bars. It’s because even a single visit to the liquor bar would mean going-back-to-square-one. With a decent education behind him he knew the chilling truth that life doesn’t give chances indefinitely to an idler and that time was running out.

It was a group counseling session and I talked about transformation. What was over was gone, and was no longer in our hands. Instead of mulling over the past, each one of us has the power deep inside to stop looking back and be fiercely determined to stay positive and do something constructive with our life. Having an ambition is a healthy sign, but let that not lead to a great hurry to do things too fast, so fast that your dream cannot materialize and you give up and go back to your old ways. The mantra is to take things step by step.  He was one amongst some of the score of counselees seated there in a circle who began thinking about what I said gently but firmly. On one hand there was a bright future as a builder and on the other there was this bottle he was slave to. His was a clear case of how an idle mind could wreak havoc on one’s life. He was sure about not wanting to “end on the road as drunkards do”, but wasn’t sure of how he could tame his mind.

The rehab has its strict schedule of making the inmates follow a routine every day, 365 days of the year. The day starts as early as five, ending before ten in the night. In between meals, there would be time allotted for tasks in the kitchen or elsewhere, group counseling, individual counseling by counselor/psychiatrist, medical check-up, self-introspection and diary-writing, brief interactions with other inmates, confrontation with family as and when applicable followed by introspection in isolation and yoga, not necessarily in that order. There is no special treatment accorded to anyone. It is indeed a humbling experience for those who come from the higher strata of society. But that is how it is meant to be. Whoever comes there as an inmate, has to go through the same regimen. That is how it is supposed to be an eye-opener for all, particularly for the ones who have it all but throw it away for the sake of alcohol or substance.

When I left the place, I had this uneasy question in my mind – Once he is out of the place, who would win in this tug-of-war - His conscience that is still talking with him or his carefree, lazy self that is threatening to overshadow his inner self? But I was glad that he was still very clear about reality and conscious of his tendency to forget about it all suddenly. This strict timetable would take care of him and give him the badly-needed jolt to begin taking charge of his life without his “Dad” having to run around looking for ways to bring him on track. 
A new world is beckoning him. He would work on himself, I knew somehow.


Tuesday, September 29, 2015

To compare or not…

How many of us like to be compared?

Through experience, as a mother and as a counselor, I’ve learnt this extremely significant truth – More often than not, comparison erodes our self-esteem. It does not spare children either. When the going gets tough the trick is to take it bit by bit and just keep moving. When things go swimmingly, compare one’s present with one’s past in the relevant area.

Here goes a real story of how years back comparison was about to spoil it all when good sense prevailed over a mother.


My eight-year-old rushed down the steps in his swimming costume, a mass of energy and enthusiasm, my husband in tow. After an hour, the father returned, looking happy and satisfied. In three days the smile vanished! Within a week my son began coming home with a glum face. What was going wrong?!
“You’re not following Sir’s instructions properly,” the father grumbled to which Dev said meekly, “But I am.”
“He is not concentrating during the class,” my husband complained the very moment I opened the door to the duo next day. My little daughter Vini had been keeping me busy and so I didn’t really know what was going on in the pool. Forever patient with his children, I had no reason to doubt my husband was wrong in judging Dev’s efforts to learn the art of swimming. I didn’t take it very seriously though, and said some words of encouragement. But I thought he didn’t really need that because he was most likely not focusing enough but would be compelled to do so by the trainer soon. There wasn’t any significant change in the next few classes though. Time was running out, because there were to be around twenty classes in this session. Now I felt I had to be a little firm.

“Why aren’t you observing Sir’s movements? Why don’t you be a little sincere sometimes at least?” I asked, peeved. This was because he indeed was a playful boy and his school report card often mentioned that along with his good qualities. “If you aren’t interested, you can pull out,” I said almost angrily, for what was so tough about learning how to swim at this tender age (when the learning curve is at a high in almost anything), that too when a professional was there to teach? He is just not being sincere enough, both of us concurred. Dev’s scowl disappeared as he said “OK, I’ll pull out”. Now that was not something I had seen coming because it was he who had got fascinated
watching his friends swim. I became quiet, hoping he didn’t actually mean to stop midway through his training. 

Nevertheless the comparisons began.


“Riju has learnt quite a number of tricks, why don’t you?” Understandably, the father was frustrated because he was the outdoor games kind of man who had a good sports record during his college days. Dev winced at the comparison.
THAT WAS IT.
At this time or in this case, this comparison won’t help, it’s only making
matters worse, I felt. He was no longer looking forward to the swimming
classes and worse, his confidence in himself was dipping. (Was it a mother’s
sixth sense?) And I could not watch this silently.


Monday, September 7, 2015

Only if he had got paternity leave

My friend’s mom had told me how decades back her husband had participated in the caregiving of their infant daughters that was a blessing considering that she had no parents or in-laws near her to bank on. (It was possible because of her husband's job profile and the unbiased mind he owned). The scenario, strangely, is not like what it was in her case even today in India, particularly when the husband is working in the IT. Paternity leave (for a reasonable period of time) is still a new concept!

Gender equality as a topic of debate has been there for quite long by now, like feminism. Without going into all that, doesn’t it sound right when we hear of a new father doting on and caring for his new-born as much as the new mother is?

My husband was the pillar after my son’s arrival to the world. Suffering from colic, my first-born routinely cried and screamed, turning red, as I clenched my fingers and thought hard if there was anything we could do to alleviate his pain, tormenting me every time his face was racked with pain. It was my husband who began taking us out in the car, baby and me, driving round and round the neighbourhood during those times (colic pains visited our son mostly after sundown) and miraculously the crying would stop, providing the much-needed relief to my frayed nerves! All thanks to Internet where he had searched to come up with such novel ways of handling colic attacks. And when within a week, our little Dev was found to have dust allergy with even the cotton mattress inducing severe cough, it was the father again who sat sealing the mattress inside a plastic cover with stitches all along the border, till the wee hours of the morning, I supplying with only little help, intermittently.
The new father, delirious with happiness, would definitely have loved to lend a hand in the regular baby-care matters like feeding and preparing his feeds (Dev could not suck properly initially and often ended up being half-fed by me), only if he had got paternity leave. My husband made up though by religiously dedicating the evenings to baby-sitting no matter how tired he was after the long drive from his office through traffic-congested roads.
When my daughter was born, the born-again father was now a much busier man, but managed to give me enough support at the hospital and once again, after a gap of six years, devote the evenings to the new baby with the same, familiar dedication. And this time he even played a mother to our son (who felt more left out than thrilled with the arrival of a sibling, a girl to his dismay) by taking him out and treating him to zoo visits and restaurant food just the way I used to before I got heavily pregnant with our little Vini. Well, that was definitely a big leap from the times of my mother-in-law whose husband visited her at the hospital two days after their first child was born, lest he earned the label of ‘a too-doting father’ from their neighbours!

When a baby arrives, a father is needed as much as a mother is – not only for the baby but also for the new mom who too needs to adjust to her new life as much as the baby needs, in fact even faster.


The rest is in my book Rays and Rains (e-book available at a much lower price).


Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Success of course, but what else along with that?


Today, most of us are obsessed with success. We are motivating the kids (as teachers/tutors/parents) to put in their best and succeed. We are delighted when they bring in the shining scores, and secretly, but briefly, feel guilty when we see them regularly sacrificing their play-hours for tuition classes. We hope that delivering to the best of their abilities becomes a habit for them. 

How do we teach them now to put in their best, but without being exploited, when they would be working as executives some years later?

The story of two brothers!
“I told Ron to erase his ‘e’s for they resembled ‘i’s. He refused after two unsuccessful attempts,” Minnie, my neighbor said resignedly, adding after a short silence, “Paul would rub his letters even ten times whenever I told him to.” Ron and Paul are her two sons, five years separating them.
Ron is a happy-go-lucky, bold six-year-old who comes across as a precocious boy, speaking his mind and not hesitating to shout at his closest pals whenever they don’t see eye to eye or whenever his tank’s tap of patience (quite tiny) runs dry or whenever his opponent in a game, the two are playing, is slow. Bright that he is, his age is too less to help him understand that he is gifted and most are not.
His brother, Paul, eleven years old, has always been the industrious, quieter kind of boy who is happy with his school books and outdoor sports. Overly sensitive about praise and criticism, he goes all out of his way to please his parents, keeping his calendar blocked for five different hobby classes for the five week-days, if his mother thinks it necessary. He doesn’t seem to mind the grind he goes through and the free time he is denied, things his peers and friends are unfamiliar with, all because he knows very well how all this makes his mother happy. He is not the one to break her heart in the smallest way.
What do you call this? Is it obedience? Respect for parents? Or is it that he doesn’t have a mind of his own? Or is it a desire to be better than he can be? Or is it a great desire to stay in his mother’s good books? Ron’s only drawback is – his over-confidence. Paul’s is – his hypersensitivity. Ron believes he is always the best. Paul believes he is not doing enough if he is not excelling in whatever he does and mopes about when his performance doesn’t keep him in the top bracket. Ron doesn’t care about stress. He is never stressed-out. Paul is often stressed-out – he takes too many things in his plate and tries to juggle them all with panache.

It’s a little too early to predict what future holds for each of them if the two brothers continue to be what they are. Certainly, childhood is moving a bit fast for Paul. But how does that translate to real life? How do you think he’ll handle expectations of people around him?



Monday, August 24, 2015

It began filling a home years back...

Have you found your child very hyperactive? Did you try exploring with your child what could keep him or her happily engaged as well as calm down over time? You better be prepared to be surprised to see how such an activity can help your child no longer be an annoyance to the teacher.

Here is a mom writing to her son about her experience when she began to explore and how she discovered some truths…

My dear son,
You may not be aware, but every day when the sun is down and you are back from your play-session, I cannot wait for you to settle down with your keyboard. If you are wondering why, it’s because evening-time is not only the time of your daily tryst with music, but also mine. You have been an active child right from your infant years, often loving to test my endurance limit by playing pranks and fidgeting around when the need is to focus and study. I have tried everything, from coaxing to explaining to admonishing, to make you sit a little longer with your books, but they have yielded only temporary results. It would have continued on this note, had it not been for my chance discovery of your love for music. Of course, the first credit goes to your Computers teacher who observed you and came up with the suggestion to involve you in a hobby activity that calms you down.

I can still recall how you sat still, interested and observant, as your music teacher gradually introduced you to the world of *“Saa-reh-gaa-maa” (equivalent of Do-re-me-fa) and how your eyes gleamed and your face shone with a newfound passion when your fingers set about mastering tune after tune every week. Well, to say I was surprised would be an understatement. I was clearly amazed at how music was playing its magic on you, moulding you, and changing you. Yes, changing you slowly. You just seemed to be transported to a new world where even small noises wouldn’t be distractions for you anymore. 

As your rendezvous with tunes continued, there was something I discovered about myself too - I too have a deep love for music and that it runs deep in me, maybe a little too deep for even me to be aware of it. If music calms you down, it soothes me. If music helps you kill boredom, it rejuvenates my tired mind. If music helps you get focused, it is something I can no longer do without. What is it that sowed this love for music in me? My schooldays rushed back to me as scenes of songs being played out from our school piano went flitting by before my eyes.

There was the song “Peace is flowing like a river…” that helped us unwind after grueling English lessons. Then there was “We shall overcome….” That charged us up and helped us put in our efforts for preparations when the exams came calling. “When upon life’s billows you are tempest-tossed….” let us know that life is not a bed of roses alone, there are thorns too and when the thorns prick, we can think of the roses that we had admired.

Love for songs, love for music had secretly grown in me decades back. Today, as the notes keep floating down to me from your room, I feel blessed – not only for these blissful evenings that you gift me with, but also because I’ve discovered my intense love for music.


Monday, August 17, 2015

Why are children far away from India being exhorted to rise up to the challenge of Indian children habitually staying far ahead in the race?

How much should we retain from our time-tested methods of learning vis-à-vis how much are we actually still holding with us against this great wave of ‘modern methods’ of learning? 

How much should we absorb from the new, modern method of learning that seems to sweep many Indian parents off their feet, without letting go of the proven Indian ways of learning?

While facing the teacher during parent-teacher-meetings, how much are we ready to accept our children’s flaws as we keep nodding fondly at their strengths being highlighted? How much grit do we have to face the truth and do something about it?

Here goes the story of a boy and his mom....

My son became a Fourth Grader and strangely did not want to contest the election for the post of prefect in his class this time. He said he had had enough of it. Chatty that he always has been, the duty of keeping discipline in the class came as an unwelcome item in the list of responsibilities. There were noticeable changes in him that year and the next. Even the way his teachers looked at him was different now. Their eyes did not light up when I attended usual meetings with them for them to brief me up about his progress. His comprehensive profile was mediocre. Something did not seem to be right. Was it a mother’s sixth sense? I gave repeated visits to the school to get reassured by his teachers. They hinted that he is a bit lazy, not forgetting to add that he has very good application skills. “He does get carried away by the pranksters of the class, but is a gem of a boy.”

They did not mention that he could do much better than he was doing. Some almost hinted that I was being a too concerned mother. But something inside me told the red signals were showing and I had to take notice of them. It took me quite some time to realize that teachers had not been forthcoming enough about the transformation in him. It took me a year to realize why this was so. 

My one-year stint as a teacher in a school put things in perspective. In a bid to not hurt parents’ feelings, teachers today are far more polite and do not readily talk about a child’s shortcomings. Moreover, to keep boosting the children, they speak about their strengths, while merely mentioning their weaknesses. Sadly, if your antennae are not ‘up’ to catch the subtle messages they pass on, you miss something important, something that could direct your child right towards the goals you and he have envisioned.

When I look back at my days in school, I can’t help but admire the way my teachers did not mince words. They were not worried about if what they said hurt their pupils’ self-esteem. Bitter words do hurt, but only for the time-being, and help in the long run, provided they are taken in the right spirit. Were my parents hurt if some not-so-encouraging remark was made about me? Definitely they were not. They were concerned. They immediately reprimanded, if necessary. Did my parents doubt my teachers about their opinion of me, if my teachers felt I wasn’t doing my best? No. Were my parents any different from other parents? No.

The rest is in my book Rays and Rains (e-book available at a much lower price).
Rays and Rains


Friday, August 14, 2015

A quiet, sensitive daughter, feeling disconcerted by her mother’s responses to certain incidents, wouldn’t open up …

Sunaina was dismayed that her daughter Nila has been hiding vital information from her for long. Recently she found Nila's highly expensive gold ring in a corner of her house very unexpectedly. What rattled her was the fact that Nila hadn’t spoken a word about it to her though she was aware of its sudden disappearance. Feeling confused, she shared with me how helpless she felt when she saw her daughter did not share her own feelings and fears with her at all.

The complete story:

Sunaina was distraught that her daughter Nila had always been hiding vital information from her. Dismayed, she poured out her feeling of helplessness as she narrated how she had spotted Nila’s highly expensive, newly-gifted gold ear ring in the corner of a room of her house one morning very recently. Nila, married and settled far away from her home in Bangalore, had come down to spend a few weeks with her parents.

Sunaina has been a working mother all through and has never been able to spend sufficient time with her daughter. The regret remains hidden somewhere inside her that surfaces for a while whenever she narrates to me any incident of her life that leaves her wondering why, at different points of time, her daughter didn’t speak up and share her worries even when she was right near her.

As I empathized with her, I asked her how she responded when such unpleasant events occurred, unexpectedly, in her life. She fumbled for words and so I helped her analyse her own behavior by recalling if she had given herself to outbursts of anger or had become very tensed or nervous. Slowly, through a series of questions from me and her replies, she realized that the anger and acute tension she felt and showed on such occasions had caused huge discomfort to Nila in turn.

By nature quiet and not expressive, Nila had kept the news of the loss of her ear ring to herself instead of sharing it with her mother. Sunaina thought Nila knew she would lose her peace of mind the moment she would hear about it.

Here was an opportunity for Sunaina to look deep within herself and to think about her responses to certain events in her life. She felt she needed to work on herself when it came to expressing her anger with something or somebody. Also, when it came to facing a particularly challenging situation, she indeed would benefit if she knew how to face it better, she felt.

Considering she is mostly time-starved, I gave her a few simple and quick tips:
·        *Keep taking deep breaths.
·        *If possible, leave the place, where the event has occurred or the person whose presence is causing you discomfort/tension, for a while.
·        *Get busy doing something simple, preferably with your hands.
·        *When you feel a little calm, you may return to taking up the issue that was bothering you deeply.
Sunaina no longer complains about her daughter. Now she knows what tools she possesses to deal with a situation, the kind of which had her at its mercy in the past quite often and wreaked havoc in her fast-paced life by impacting her relationship with her family suddenly and swiftly now and then.
(I came in touch with Sunaina  when I was having a session with an old lady who was mourning the sudden loss of her doctor brother, much before Sunaina approached me recently for help.)


I'm glad if my post has touched you. Since I have the constraint of returning home well before my daughter is back from school, I cannot give myself to counseling as much and also as often I'd like to. So maybe your sharing of my experiences with my counselees, with your friends, and you asking them in turn to do the same, could compensate for that a little bit at least.



Monday, August 10, 2015

Water, not too much, not too little, at the right moments, for every sapling within my reach

The thought behind the birth of my creation “Rays and Rains”:

Very happy was the potter,
In her hands she held the soft clay.
She sat down in earnest,
to shape it into a pot within a day!
Later she left the wheel aside,
for it wasn’t really very soft, the clay,
She has begun shaping with her fingers,
and learning many truths along the way.
It’s quite tough, but she won’t give up and go away,
for she knows, with efforts, it will be a pot some day.
It may be perfect or maybe not,
“I enjoyed it and did my best”, one day
the potter would proudly say.

A little of a potter and a little of a gardener - that is how I feel about myself now. Whether it is my daughter, my son or any of my young counselees, every time I interact with each one of them, I know I'm touching a sapling. The sapling is growing. If I pour too much water over it, it could droop. If I pour only a little, it could get stunted. If I pour the right amount, but at the wrong time, that too would impact its growth.

I am a mother. And I am a counselor.

Every morning arrives with a golden opportunity for me to spray water, not too much, not too little, over each sapling within my reach, at the right moments.


The rest is in my book Rays and Rains (e-book available at a much lower price).
Rays and Rains
Reviews


Tuesday, August 4, 2015

A basketful of experiences at a rehab centre near B.G. Road, Bangalore

The second part of this series features at Why do they throw away a life that was going hunky-dory?

As a counselor and as an interviewer….

Life can indeed take strange turns at the most unexpected moments for inexplicable reasons for someone. This truth has been staring at me from time to time whenever I visit a centre for rehabilitation of addicts to talk to the people there as a part of my counseling journey. My sessions there with people from different backgrounds give me a view of a different world – a world unknown to most people around us. At the centre, some of the inmates are alcoholics, addicts and into substance abuse.
Why does someone veer off the track he was walking on and allow himself to go astray and ‘fall’ before the public eye? What are his internal struggles? When he finally does pick up the pieces, and aim to come back on track, how do people around take it? How does it in turn affect his morale?
My own conversations with some inmates over a few months and a recent interview with the chief official there gave answers to many questions that have hovered in my mind and many minds for long.
The following questions and answers carry the essence of my talks there as a counselor and the conversations as part of the interview (I've kept it shorter and simpler through editing). The answers carry answers to multiple questions, though not in the exact order in which I asked them during my counseling sessions with the inmates and during the interview of the chief official.

Why and when do they start going astray? Is there a usual trend seen amongst them? Is it linked with the economic background etc?
It can happen at any age. Nowadays, even boys in their teens are falling prey to this habit. Some of them are school-dropouts. There are middle-aged men too. They are a few old people too. People from different economic and social sections of society come to the centre. They can succumb to the ‘disease’ without any logical reason. It may have triggered from a failed relationship or a failed marriage. It can be owing to being unemployed and idle. It can be because of influence of friends going astray.

Under what circumstances do their relatives come to get them admitted here?
When they get violent or act in an extremely unacceptable way under the effect of alcohol/drugs/substances, they even hurt their near and dear ones mentally, psychologically and physically. Sooner or later, sometimes in the very next morning, it is all flushed out of their mind. They are in no mood to believe how unreasonably they have behaved and how much hurt they have caused to their near and dear ones repeatedly over a period of time.

Sometimes they get alienated from their family and friends which brings about a quicker ‘fall’. They lose focus completely and literally do not know what to do with their life because it is already in a mess.
It is under these circumstances that they are brought to the centre.

What is the mental state of the addict during admission to the centre?
When the addict is brought in for admission, he is consumed with resentment and anger. If he is a father, he still loves his child and is thus furious that his wife, with help of family, has taken the audacious step of keeping him away from their child. He does not realize that he has been a nuisance to and a burden for the family instead of having been a support.
If he is a young, unmarried man, he is extremely annoyed and bewildered that he has been left behind by his parents here.

Does his mental state undergo any change over time? How does it undergo change? How fast or slow is it?
As he begins to follow a schedule in the centre, away from alcohol/drugs/substances, he begins to feel better in every way. His appetite returns. He sleeps soundly. His mind gets clearer. He is again able to think logically. It dawns on him that there can be a life without alcohol/drugs. The truth glares at him – he has been irresponsible. He begins to feel that he has let his family down. He has caused them misery to no end.
Then his ego begins to overshadow the thoughts. It provokes him to think that he is not the culprit, that he had no option but to resort to drugs/alcohol because of certain events or certain unreasonable people in his life.
There begins a struggle in his mind between his new self and his ego. And there begins a transformation. It is a very difficult stage of his life when he realizes that he should mend his ways, but does not have the courage and determination to. This process of self-introspection, realization and transformation happens at its own pace. Some people leave the centre at the end of three months, while some take more time.
But for people who have been brought by family under some condition (as a sort of bribe), the transformation does not usually take place. When they go back to their familiar environment, and see that the condition is not being met by the family, they tend go back to their old ways.

How does the centre help the inmate go back to the normal way of life?
A rigid time-bound schedule from early morning till night ensures that every inmate follows a routine. A good healthy diet throughout the day everyday helps him feel healthy from inside. Regular health checks by visiting doctors and psychiatrists and face-to-face sessions with visiting counselors give a boost to his mental health.
After some days of staying ‘clean’ at a stretch, when he is feeling much sober, his family visits him. This is termed as ‘family confrontation’ during which he interacts with his family and understands all the more the huge ordeal his near and dear ones have gone through again and again, owing to his addiction.
This is followed by a solitary confinement when he is suggested to self-introspect.
The next stage is the group discussion, when he is given a forum to share with the group his past and how he feels about it and how he intends to pick up the pieces of life to move on. The other group members too, do the same. Since during family confrontation before the self-introspection, some other inmates were told to be present as mute spectators, they too act as witnesses during the group discussion. This does not allow him any room for telling lies about himself or the circumstances under which he took to alcohol/drugs.
When the realization finally comes to him that now the time has arrived to mend his ways and he finally feels he can and should begin working in that direction, he has dealt with his ego at last. He is given permission to walk out of the centre when his family comes to pick him up. (Sometimes there is a relapse. It could be because of the fact that he was brought here in the first place under some condition that is not possible to satisfy, which he realizes, when he is out again.)

I'm glad if my post has touched you. Since I have the constraint of returning home well before my daughter is back from school, I cannot give myself to counseling as much and also as often I'd like to. So maybe your sharing of my experiences with my counselees, with your friends, and you asking them in turn to do the same, could compensate for that a little bit at least.