How much is too much?

Its 11 PM. Working a night shift, I just published an Open Page article in The Hindu about “taming Teens”. That’s when it hit me – taming, what could have been an almost-offensive way to describe 5 years back, is a word all too subtle now to describe teens and its added baggage of parenting.

I love kids. I adore babies. But never had I felt the need to have my own. Why? Fear of parenting. My parents have always been the “cool” ones. My dad, always dressed to race ahead of his time, wore competition around his neck amongst his friends and mine, which delayed the age-guess games a lot. My mom, always the “worrier”, still managed to bridge my dad’s conservative way of thoughts with his rebellious daughter at the toughest of times- teenage. Having studied in a co-ed school until the age of 15, I found it queer to face instructions and the so-called-troubles of “talking to guys” from the nuns and sisters of high school. I could wear clothes that are termed modern now, barring show of too much bare skin, despite my Father’s love for traditional attire for his daughter. I was allowed to stay out till 9 PM until first year of college and until 11 for a little later after that. My parents had brought me up with the right proportion of letting me know how much is right and how much is too much. But how many of us know if we got the proportion for the tonic right?

As I asked this question at every juncture I got, my best friend said, “Children grow by themselves. We just need to be around.” Coming from almost a similar kind of household herself, I always wondered how she managed to keep her calm self. The thought of rearing kids seem turbulent to me, enough to keep my love for kids away. 

Teenage is worst of terrible woes. When kids think they own their mind, the world and their parents money in every rightful way. It’s an extremely turbulent time to get through and it’s never easy to fall down effortlessly. The age of bikes, bollywood, bodybuilding, tattoos, facebook- like of all. It could be an appalling thought for an all-too-conservative-household’s parents to comprehend any one of these. But it’s become the bare essential of life to know, and be a part of all these, lest you be left behind in this contest, thus also becoming “uncool” parents.

The daughter wants to stay back at school for extra classes and have night-overs with her gal pals;While, the son wants to ‘hang-out’ with his friends for a party. Beer is never out of the picture in both the scenarios. But how do you know for sure? Confrontation is going to throw them way off base and even further away from you. So, in turn, it is necessary to learn to bring that “blind eye”, for the better of your children, for the better of your blood pressure. It’s all not all that bad. So its beer. So it’s a couple of adult videos. And so it’s also one confrontation with the local cops. But, relax. It’s all a part of the learning process. If they don’t heed, they rebel. But, in the process they learn; in order to know how and what to teach their kids.

My 14 year old nephew thinks its normal to “do-it” if you are engaged to a guy/girl. As my jaw dropped from hearing it, I wondered if I could have explained the situation in any other way to him. But, I found myself in a dead end. Do I tell him it’s wrong to “do it”? Do I tell him it’s acceptable only in the right age? What if he asks me which is the right age? And using what words do I make him understand that love, lust and sex are not necessarily in the same category? He is 14 years old. If he doesn’t hear it from me now, he would hear a rather crude version from his friends in school. But learning about Birds and Bees is the least of parenting worries.

Back-answering and sulking become part of your life. I remember hearing complaint of my sulk. But like the angel I remember myself to be, I hardly remember throwing tantrums; which is why it’s important to be patient with the present sulking lot too. And also, with the future ones- because they hardly know that that’s how horrible they look when they sulk, especially the look-conscious daughters. There is when that fine line between parenting and being-friendly is drawn. It’s extremely daunting for a parent to hang in there, not belonging to either of zones. Respect seems eons away and you are not ‘in’ enough to be your son/daughter’s friend. But reaching him/er is important and so is coaxing him/er into confiding in you, what could be serious trouble. To strike a fine balance is the neutral of the job, even if you do step on to the wrong gear at first.

I look back at what I have learnt through these years, as a kid, as a girl and now as a woman. My parents did a fair job of giving me all that I needed, making me shed my inhibitions, draw that lakshman rekha and yet listen and heed to my wants. But I knew that I could take decisions in my life after I reached the age of 16. I din’t not have to worry about falling then. I thought it was unconditional that parents always got your back. But it was after I got to 21-22 I began to realise that the right to decide is not necessarily the exact similar to recognising a realisation. Realising that you are the sole bearer of what you say and do, comes from a large number of failures, insurmountable pain and heartaches, plentiful muck-ups and thus, having to face hard reality of facing defeat and rising up again.

Grasping on ever so tightly to ones kids is never going to help the parents. Least of all, it’s been proven that perfect parenting is a myth. It’s hard to please any human being at this day and age and children are no surprise in that department. Interfere only as long as you feel you may not butt into their life. It’s their individuality that you are robbing them off. A crisis to handle by themselves is exactly what they need to learn to know what is responsibility and how important it is to gain that trust from you. As life sails by, grades are numbers that matter in a very small way in the macro picture. And seeing red during school for a reason as trivial as this, as to not let him go for that sports meet/ basketball tournament and convincing her that dancing isn’t as important as social sciences is, is not worth the immenselg huge hole that they are likely to find when they are your age. Tighten that hold, but keep letting that rope go for as long as you reach the end of the rope on your side. That amount of time matters to them because that is the time they learn to grow out of their inadequacies, differences and thus become you, who has also tread the same path not too long ago. 

The Holiday That Was

Childhood was fun. But that’s old news. Still, that queer, unexplainable part of you that makes you reminiscence what’s left over of your memories. That’s what this is.

School days made you think you wanted to grow up sooner. It was a race within ourselves, to see more candles on that cake each growing year. Grown-ups watched their favourite tv shows whenever they wanted. They could take their bike out even if it was drizzling outside, not having to worry about facing anyone’s wrath by doing so. Eventually, they could fall sick and no one would scold them for it. And even after falling sick, they can still go on about with work as usual and not have to worry about staying in bed. Whereas, much as we appreciated staying at home and not caring much about missing classes or notes, we never liked to stay in bed just for attention.  Time was inching then. And we all hated it.

 20 years later, I wish there were lesser candles every year on that cake; also secretly thankful that there are still people going through the pain of getting me a cake- procrastinating the fear of facing a day when not many remember your birthday, leave alone year marking your birthday with a cake. Now, I have the TV all to myself. But I do not have the luxury of being that couch potato for even an hour. Deadlines, calls-to-return, chores, to-be-paid bills, routine-follow-ups await me, invading even those 10 minutes that I may get to myself.

In school, we worried about receiving homework in more than a couple of subjects that may eat into our precious time. Much as we see today as we look around, childhood, our days, wasn’t made of iPods/iPads/IPhones/x-boxes/PS3s’ etc. No. We had “outside”. The most anxious moments we had were when we had to ask elders “can I go play outside?” as opposed to “can I play with your iPhone?”

“Outside” gave a lot of perspective. Every single person’s perspective of “outside” varied. And, what was important was, we did not have to worry about moral implications then. Coming back from school around 4 PM, I remember having to gulp down a glass of milk and gobble up a plate of yummy food, carefully and thoughtfully prepared by my grandma. If I only realized how short-lived they would be, I could have enjoyed those better. But, no. I had to rush.

There was always a playground nearby. We walked/cycled/played/danced/sang there. A huge space divided by areas of interests. There was a corner, made to fill with lots of sand, where people could practice long jump. And, yet another corner, with a maze to climb, a section with a swing/see-saw, a more bigger corner with a goal post for the football lovers..and then the major part of the ground in the center with a pitch allocated for Cricket. Being a cricket fanatic country that we belong to, our interests in cricket started right there near home from as small an age as 5, not in schools- after class hours in the name of “cricket-coaching” at the age of 12 or 13. And if these varied interests weren’t enough, there was an imaginary ring, running around this ground, for people to learn/practice cycling.

I remember playing in each of these sections; my most used being the cycling one. During those days, having a cycle to call one’s own was considered extremely honourable. I wasn’t bestowed this honour during my early learning days. Once my snack time was over( cartoons running alongside), I ran out around 5PM to my friend’s place, who unlike me had a cycle. But life wasn’t so easy. I had to haggle for a chance to ride that cycle- the most harrowing experience as a child. And that chance came when your friend grew tired of cycling after a while. Now, that point could be anytime when she cycled her way along a 5-7 km stretch around the colony. So, what do I do to ensure that I got my chance? I run behind her, round after round, the numerous times she circled the residential colony, so that I may get my 10 minute sympathy ride. I don’t think I would have done this after the age of 15, because that’s when I began to know what words like ego, hatred, annoyance, jealousy, scheming, inhibition etc meant. When I ran behind that cycle, I dint know any of those. Neither did my friend. Life was peaceful then. One went after what one wanted. The wants were simple. Sadly after the age of 15, the going-after-wants took a more serious turn and the wants became complicated, worldly.

Construction time was fun. Anyone, constructing a house anywhere in the colony, meant that a lot of sand would be deposited right outside their house. And, there have been innumerous days when the whole lot of us plonked ourselves on that sand, oblivious to impure air, germs and worries of getting dirty. How much fun you had was directly proportional to how dirty you got. Back then, our parents understood that getting clean was just one wash away. And they dint worry about getting an anti-septic injection after each round of fun.

Holi was one such particular event. Days when there might still have been toxics in the colours. But, as life went by, we dint care. And when I say we-dint-care, I necessarily don’t have to feel guilty about it. Unlike now. Once we returned back from school, one friend would visit another – an act of a rather common protocol then. And once the second friend was coloured in various shades of holi powder, the two would set out to the third’s house. And by the end of the evening, there would be a whole lot of us, in different sizes, races, age- and of course, colours.
Holi in school was just using one colour though; the colour of ink from our pens- blue, on uniforms that were as white as chalk powder otherwise. Yet, we could still be addressed a decorous batch. We dint have to worry about suspension either.

There were these fairs in schools, under different names in each school for sure. And not to ignore the several days- teachers’ day, childrens’ day, Founders’ day, sports day, annual day, Literary Fest, Charity day…the list is endless. The fun part was- we were at school instead of at home(unlike now when these are declared holidays), taking part in a huge number of festivities, giving talks, speeches, rehearsed plays/roles, danced to learn all about culture, wrote articles by referring to a lot of books- fiction/non-fiction and what was special was- handwrote them using colour pencils, sketch pens, drew pictures and even painted the charts. Today, you have coloured charts to ‘stick’ pictures or printouts, carefully taken from websites. Websites, then, were under parental control, when one’s parents thought checking ‘History’ would ensure them of their child’s innocence. Today, however, a 4^th std school-going-internet-savy kid seems to know the option ctril+H. And uninstalling parental control/lock is child’s play.

I sympathize with kids these days. Their playtime is restricted to an hour, just an hour at the max, every evening. And that was when they dint have to worry about missing tuitions/coaching classes. And when they had extra homework/tests, this study hour usually eats into their playtime, unlike in our early days when playtime until sun set and light faded out was considered mandatory. Oh, we belong to a generation where video games existed too. Except, those were for after playtime “outside” or were to be taken full advantage of only on rainy days. We finished homework, studies for daily tests, watched tv during dinner and were in bed by 10.30PM. Falling asleep immediately was easy after an active day as that. My nephews/nieces find it unable to fall asleep before 12 at midnight as they lie awake in bed. Bedside reading has become a lost cause too.


For kids of today, that play outside, you see them playing by themselves, bowling to a wall or cycling around a residential campus, in cycles with attached training wheels- as there is no one to hold the back or give that push of confidence. Training wheels have taken over various walks of today’s child.

Kids these days are certainly more talented. They have learnt what they can from virtual apps on phones and from the internet. Which brings us to another worry- how much of internet is good for today’s ‘exposed’ kids.

Childhood etches out the person that you turn into. It’s an undistinguishable part of you that no other individual can take away. It’s yours to claim and yours to hold until the very moment that you breathe your last. Time that’s run by has never returned. It’s important to remember this on our way to not just deadlines; but also on your way to grow-up. Because we forget what it feels like, so easily in the hurry.  After all, no one wants to remember a submissive childhood. What we lose, is the immeasurable instances that we smile and laugh for- the very instances that will allow us to hold on to staying young, even as we grow old each day. It may come from seeing your dog lick you crazy, when you walk out into the balcony to do an errand and surprise yourself to a visual treat of a rainbow, when you are able to climb up three floors of stairs, pant and yet feel good about the sweat. It is when you spend half hour of your precious time to sit in the lesser-known-children’s park that you find around the corner of your street and smile at the toddlers trying to grab hold of their already withering-childhood. It is when you truly realize what makes your life beautiful- a holiday that never ends.

“All that glitters is not gold”
But, these memories glitter. And they are gold. 

My Blind Date

I did not realize that dreams can come true until I stepped in from the tarmac into the slightly posh- better-than-the one-back-home airport in Bombay. It was pretty big and I conditioned my mind to enjoy every bit and minute of my brief holiday, thus making my pace moderately slow. But once I claimed my baggage, I realized I was in a hurry to step out and see for myself if it was all true- the magic that I have heard the city is.

I made my way out and as I did, a wave of fresh air blowing into the airport welcomed me. I saw through the glass, at the waiting area for arrival, a familiar figure leaning on a pillar. I stepped out, looking at the person, fidgeting with my phone to call him. My eyesight was slowly getting accustomed to the night outside and as I confirmed who I thought I was seeing, I smiled. For, he stood still, motionless, making no move, with a smile on his face, his smiling aloofness a dead giveaway of the much awaited moment that this was for the both of us. I walked deliberately, smiling more confidently as I walked upto him, slowly, enjoying the painful rush to be in his arms, again.

My first impression of the city was when he did not have to go through the harrowing experience of the “auto-savari”. They either came or they did not. But when they do, they do not claim half of your hard-earned life saving at the end of the ride. As we got off the airport road, we took right to enter the Western Express Highway. And he showed me my first glimpse of the infamous traffic jams. We cruised up and down along the valleyroads of Bombay. I craned up, peeping out of the auto, to catch the end of every towering building. He pointed out that I sure would look a bit crazy to an observant Mumbaikar outside. I wanted to savour every bit of my excitement of my first visit to the city, which could turn to be my home stay in a year’s time. But I couldn’t hold back much of the gush as I saw the first “double-decker”. 

“Don’t call it that. Call it the BEST. That’s what they are known to be, here”, he said.

My excitement given away so easily, he offered to take me for a ride on BEST one of these days

With random names thrown at me, I figured I might never be able to comprehend the size of the city, with its names and its direction. But what caught my attention was how people were on roads. No, it wasn’t the road-rage/rash, which is the first thing a newcomer would notice about my city, back home. What I observed and failed to understand was the absence of road rage despite the berserk behaviour of practically every person on the road – a bystander, a lone walker, a group of drunken friends, a hurried two-wheeler, a luxury driven Audi or a lethargic-yet-racy bus. They all were set about with a mind of their own. It was the heights of disorderlinesssurmounted by huge traffic. Yet, none of these people lost their cool. And where there is absence of road rage, I astonishingly found out the magnanimous size of road sense in each of these people. It only strengthened deeper when I saw an orderly single line of a queue in a bus stop we passed. He explained that that was the ‘system’ of waiting here. I thought he was kidding until I saw it happen repeatedly in every stop. That’s when I thought, this was the first ‘system’ that I saw in place, which could have only got better with practise in time.

As we neared our stop- IIT Bombay, we got off the Jogeshwari-Vikhroli link road and passed the huge L&T corner. We emerged out of it to a round about of a lake. And that’s when he showed me. The beautiful PowaiLake and the end of a expansive campus. ‘Hostel 13’, his haven, was visible from right over there. And like he pointed out, Hotel Renaissance looked to be strategically positioned in such a way that whenever you stood along the curving line of the lake, you were opposite to it.

For someone with less-than-average eyesight, I was disappointed at not being able to take in keen details of the place. And I realized this more as we turned around the corner to enter the magnificent campus. If I liked the long, wide, rambling roads of Mumbai with its numerous flyovers and bridges, I liked the roads inside Powai campus better. The coolness of the campus greeted me and I already loved the college for the importance they had given to the spread of colour green. We rode up and down along the smooth snake-like entwining road when he said, “Hold your breath. Wait for it”, and pointed to the left of me. And I saw the most beautiful landscape, between the interruptions of trees with the helpful intervention of speed breakers. The other side of Powai lake, only more splendid, rendered by the stretch of the lighted city in its sparkling glamour. And endless skyline, the Hiranandani gardens. I couldn’t get enough of it, already.

Just as we reached the hostel, he hurried me into getting ready. 
“Wear something classy”, he said. “And we need to leave ASAP. With no reservation made, Leopolds could get very crowded into the night.”

 I changed into a white dress with blue strap and made myself up, the best I could, in the little time I got. Leopolds demanded classy from Bombay, the city shouldn’t complain. Because the place deserved it, I thought.

We took the local from Kanjur Marg. He told me the train would be less crowded at that time, esp since we were moving against traffic. As we headed along, he told me the names of each station, with its significance. I had learnt to memorize it with time.

Kanjur Marh -> Vikhroli -> Ghatkopar -> Vidya Vihar -> Kurla -> Sion -> Matunga -> Dadar -> Parel -> Currey Road -> Chinchpokli -> Byculla -> Sandhurst Road -> Masjid. And, “Pudil station -> CST”

Colaba was nothing that I had imagined it to be. It was only better. It was there that I felt I truly was in Bombay. The huge wide roads, lit brightly by the plentiful streetlights and abundant shops, sprawled ahead of me, not in just parallel or perpendicular direction. There were roads all sides of me. It was only fairly late and the roads were decently crowded. Having taken a taxi from CST, we stopped right ahead of Leopolds only to hear his exclaim how crowded it was.

 “Lets take a walk around, I will show you Bademiyan”. And I relentlessly walked along in a road that would unmistakably get called “T.Nagar madhiri”, back home. Bademiyan came and went. We kept taking the road adjoining the other. Until we reached what looked like a wide-front of a dark alley. Before I could crane up fully to look at the building in front of me, I heard, “that’s the Taj. And that over there, is the Gateway.” I was hugely disappointed at what I had imagined would be the epic moments of unravelling Bombay- sad about how the moment went past me, so trivial. I saw that that Gateway seemed cordoned off for the night and I remarked to him on how I wish I could at least go to that area to catch the majestic front view of the Taj Mahal Palace. The fact that the pigeons were missing was another childish disappointment.

“Lets go refresh ourselves at the Taj.”

“ Is it allowed?”

“Sure. Why not?! We do it all the time.”

And I knew we needed to refresh because no matter how charming you look when you head out, after one journey in Mumbai Local, you need a shower, for sure.

We walked in, and it definitely dint look like a stroll. I saw him walk across the lobby all the way over to the lift. It left me wondering why they do not have a powder room at Level Zero. It was only when my head felt dizzy inside the lift owing to its speed, I noticed that we were headed to the 18th floor- the Roof Top.

The reservation was for a table for two, sea-facing and a cosy corner, lit by just one candle. I had only read of such experiences in fiction. And that’s exactly why I was rendered speechless for at least 20 minutes. When I could recover vaguely from the exuberant shock of what he had planned for my eve, I felt choked. I could only call him insanely crazy.

Admonishing my repeated protests of the extravagance that he planned out so perfectly for me, we ventured into a full 3-course meal; ending with only a criminally sinful chocolaty dessert. The Food (notice the capital ‘F’, coz that’s what it deserves) needs a separate page.

We took a taxi from the Taj; we had to hurry to the Marine Drive to celebrate with friends, a couple of birthdays at the stroke of 12. The Marine Drive was an expected surprise, a promise kept for my first night in Bombay. We reached at 11.55 PM, when my mom called. Dismissing the call within 2 minutes, we sat there, facing the sea. I could not see the end of it. Marine Drive certainly knew how to hold its victim captive.

As the clock struck twelve, he turned around and said, “Happy birthday”. I smiled and put head on his shoulders. He kissed me on the head and we continued to look out at the sea.

It was the best birthday that I had ever celebrated, made so with purpose and love, by the dearest person of my life, whom I cannot seem to love enough every growing day. – My fiancé.

- And that enthralling, beautiful night was only the first of many more to come in this magical city of Bombay.