My Ammachi's Hut

Last night I dreamt of my Ammachi's hut

It was different from what I'd known it to be; 

Bigger, with a few more rooms,

And a backyard that stretched to beyond where I could see.

The front door latch was just as I remembered,

Strong and painted ochre red,

The door was open to the muddy front yard,

And the path that to the century-old church led. 

Beds and desks were nicely arranged

The rooms were orderly and neat,

Not at all like my Ammachi's hut - 

Small and thatched and beat. 

The backyard gate was wide and strong,

And it creaked as it swung by the wind.

But the trees and bushes were quietly still,

My heart felt heavy - like disappointment and sin. 

I felt something unwelcome in the air -

Probably a memory, a person, a feeling or fear. 

I locked the gate and ran over pebbles and bricks;

And locked all the doors in the house... it felt near. 

The moment the latches locked in place,

My Ammachi's hut became glowing and warm.

My fear dissipated and fled,

I felt the familiar calm. 

My Ammachi's hut, so thatched and small,

Smelling of firewood and jaggery sweet.

Was my joy and my place of rest,

Where imagination and freedom would meet. 

It's gone now, my Ammachi's hut,

Amid human sins and greed,

These dreams of my Ammachi's hut,

They make me happy and are all I now need. 

An Evening at the Beach

The young men enticing children to take horse rides - they themselves, with their taut bodies and princely posture looking regal. 

The group pf women - mothers, daughters, sisters, holding hands anticipating the waves. 

Older women sanctioned off to look after valuables and slippers; who, though some may feel sorry for, are actually happier there than at the sea.

The daughter who wanted to call her mother to the water, but was dissuaded by her brother. 

The sundal sellers moving on quickly from one customer to another.  

The myriad selfies that were taken, families, friends. 

The burkha clad family at the beach. 

So many new languages around me. 

Stylish women in sunglasses. 

The sky spread like thick, smooth velvet - greyish blue with tinges of pink like the faded mardaani on a woman's hand. 

The moon direct, staring at me, but with a softness that reminds of all the times that my mother was understanding towards me. 

The constant ding-ding of the soan papdi man - a shrill reminder of the buzz behind me. 

The group of adolescent boys who were behind me made me a little nervous. Don't know why. 

I'm constantly scared that a horse is going to go haywire and come running towards me. Any movement in my peripheral vision alerts me.

I feel like I'm sitting on a quilt. The sand is stuck on some parts of me. But, I'm not bothered because I know when I dust it off, it'll go. I feel like there's an analogy here about troubles and trials and whatnot. Maybe. 

The moonlight reflected on the waves makes me joyous. 

The sea is a vast grey expanse. 

The breeze - the cleansing breeze. I feel it wash away my cobwebs. I feel it unburden my lungs, straighten my shoulders. 

People are getting more and more comfortable with the ocean. The waves are now waist high and they're laughing. 

The policemen in their smart horses came whistling asking people to move away from the water. Within seconds of their retreat people were back in the water. 

What is it I smell? It's the ocean, I know. Is it the salt? Where did the salt come from? Does amniotic fluid have salt?

Of everyone, children seem to love the water more than life itself. 

Now almost the whole expanse is covered in moonlight. It reminds me of nights in Anilady* and Ayandur*. Ayandur mostly. Just thinking about those nights, those memories teared me up. Like how one would miss a dead parent..a good parent. Maybe those villages brought me up. Their mud roads, their down to earth people, the food smelling of firewood. And family. I was its and then it died. Now I'm living and I remember them on a night like this. 

Like that mole on my chin, there suddenly appeared a planet by the moon. 

The night sky expands over me. Tight and taut. I can't make out the details of the faces around me. But, I see that we are all one. Same calf muscles, same skeletal frame, same voice box, same pain, same grief, same joy, same beach. 

__________________________________________________________________________

While cleaning up my cupboard, I found a notepad from many years ago. I just typed out the notes as is (mostly) from notepad to blog! 

I remember taking it to the beach one evening when I was deep in the throes of exhaustion from being a new mom (might explain the melancholy). I remember walking around Madras, aimlessly, not knowing what to do or how to be without my infants on my arms - it was my first time out alone after giving birth. Life has moved forward and I can say with gratitude that I am in a place where I feel closest to God and better about life. 

*my paternal and maternal villages respectively

Agendas and winning

When my children were toddlers, I had a quote stuck on my shelf which read, “When we lose our agendas, everybody wins.” At that time I was just beginning to take tiny steps towards gentle parenting and words like ‘triggers’ and ‘childhood wounds’ were unfamiliar to me. But, this quote gave me some direction in my otherwise ambiguous motherhood journey. ‘Stop having set plans and you will not struggle so much with your toddler’ became my go to, to give my children more of a peaceful mummy and less of a yelling and disregulated mum. 

It’s almost eight years later; the paper I wrote the quote on was removed a long time ago. But, this morning, something happened that had me stand up straight and realise that the journey of the gentle parent is always an ongoing one, until we say goodbye to life on Earth. 

I was making chapatis for lunch today. Both my children show curiosity about what lunch I’m sending and after some episodes of ‘Ugh, sambar today’ and ‘eww, why kootu’ they were disciplined (gently, of course, maybe, probably) to not say these mean things about food I was making to nourish them. After that, my little ones (who now reach my shoulders), began wordlessly coming into the kitchen and inspecting the menu for themselves - without the grimace and commentary…haha! 

Anyways, I was in a hurry to finish things on time when my older twin asked me to make a baby chappathi. I was short on time and told her that it would not be possible. She was a little disappointed and walked away. But, after I finished my work, I had a little dough left, so I made two tiny chapatis and began roasting them on the tawa. I wanted to secretly pack it with their lunch and my heart felt contented imagining their surprise and the non-verbal way in which I would have told them that I loved them and that their desires meant so much to me. 

As I was roasting the secret chapatis, my younger twin walked into the kitchen. I was like, ‘oh no’. So I told her about my plan to surprise her and her sister, but now since she knew, she needed to keep it a secret. She agreed and found ways to keep her sister out of the kitchen. A few minutes later, I was outside, packing lunch, when my older twin walked into the kitchen and as she took her breakfast plate, she noticed the tiny, baby chapatis. She immediately asked, “Amma, is that for us?” 

So absorbed in my agenda was I that I completely forgot the whole purpose of me making those baby chapatis - to show my love to my children. Instead, I felt anger that my plan had gone kaput and was annoyed with both my girls for having found out. Thankfully, I’m in a place in my journey where I’m able to control (most times…not all the time) my outbursts and I just sulked quietly. That’s when ‘When we lose our agendas, everybody wins’ surfaced back into my conscious. And suddenly, I saw the quote, the situation, my motherhood and my growing children in a new light. 

The paradigm shift helped and I crawled out of my bad mood and was able to go on with the rest of the morning prep and rush with a cheerful spirit. 

It’s continuous and demands work, but the gentle parenting journey is the most Christ-like, God-like parenting that I can imagine. The grace I receive from my parent - my God, is the inspiration with which I offer grace to my children. 

Of Parents and Children

 

By the way....I've written a collection of short stories called, "Of Parents and Children".  

Here's the link if you're interested:

https://amzn.eu/d/6xvMLAv

It's an ebook and can be downloaded to the free Kindle app via the Amazon website. 

Giggles

Perched at the end of the pool lounge I watched a child wake her snoozing mother and ask, "Mum, are you sleeping?" I couldn't help but grin at this textbook 'child' behaviour. The mother, now woken up, slightly irritated, headed out to the pool. Her second child, younger, maybe two years old, ran behind her asking her to take her along. But the mother said that she wanted a swim (dad was also there, keeping an eye on the girls). The mother went for a swim after which dad and the older child entered the pool as well. The little one, however, annoyed at mom for not taking her along, refused to enter the pool. The dad - from inside the pool, at the edge - spent more than ten minutes convincing his little firecracker to come join them. She had her arms folded across her chest, chin up and her lips pouting in classic, strong, two-year-old adamance. Mum was watching from a little away. Finally, the little girl relented and jumped into her dad's arms into the pool. Mum, waded to where she was and held her. 

In a few seconds, the pool was filled with the tinkling sound of a toddler's giggles. Mummy was tickling baby under water, playing with her and making her laugh. Annoyances evaporated. 

That evening, while at dinner, I noticed a family of three - mum, dad and a pre-teen daughter - sitting at the table beside us. There were some serious conversations, maybe arguments, going on between mother and daughter. While I was busy attacking a pepper crab curry and golden fried prawns, I suddenly heard giggles. What was obviously a disagreement just a few minutes ago was now a full blown laugh attack - for both mom and daughter. It was contagious! I had to restrain myself from laughing with them - to preserve their privacy. Mom's face was pink from laughing and the girl's hair was all over her face as she tried to stop her mom from tickling her. They were in a mirth-ey embrace. And it was beautiful. 

Often with my own children too, I have observed that playfulness diffuses potentially explosive situations (where usually, I'm the one triggered into an overreaction); I mean, sure, I'd like to remember that every time and not in retrospect, but in the times that I do remember and consciously incorporate playfulness in the dealings with my children, life seems easier and less tedious. 

Yes, there's patience and benevolence and stepping away from the situation and deep breaths (all of these are important and they work beautifully when employed); and then there's giggles.  In the midst of anger, tears, irritation and a triggered mom wanting to practice and model calmness, but really getting ready to yell, giggles and playfulness can be that shower of cool rain on a scorching summer afternoon. 

What's important, again?

 Grammar is important. Spelling is important. The thought behind the words is important. Honesty is important. Integrity is important. Telling it as it is important. Saying it with kindness is important. Staying grounded is important. Giving flight to the imagination is important. Life is important. It need not be seriously important. Can be a little loose. A little messy. A little all over the place. Actually...that is life. 

The Good Ones

A couple of days ago my daughter came back from school with a drawing of the outline of India. I was convinced that it was done using a stencil, but to my utter surprise, she nonchalantly stated that she had drawn it freehand. It was a very good freehand drawing. She's only five.

This got me thinking of the time when I was in the 10th standard studying in Delhi - I must have been fourteen years old - when my geography teacher, Mrs. Jaya, asked someone to volunteer to draw the Indian map on the board. I loved Mrs. Jaya, and in my bid to impress her, I jumped right out of my seat, grabbed the chalk and proceeded to draw the map. I was pretty confident that it was a good one; Mrs. Jaya took the chalk from me, went to the board, drew a circle around the Southern Peninsula and said, "This part is excellent."

Back in my seat and now in a position to clearly see the 'map' in all its entirety, I right away knew that it was a piece of cr*p! But, I couldn't get over how Mrs. Jaya, despite the hideousness and inaccuracy, found something nice to say to me.

Some people are just born to build others up. Imagine them as teachers - healing hearts from broken homes, pumping love into low self-esteems and filling pained minds, ears and heads with kind and uplifting words.

Remembering with love and admiration all my teachers who did all of that for me.