Our Daddy & His Son

"I am never ever going to play with daddy and his son."

I was talking angrily to myself as I stormed towards the dining table. In my irritation of another defeat at tennis court, I didn't realize my mother was already seated there, waiting for us to join breakfast. She gave me a stern look and asked, "Is this a way of speaking?" And I immediately realized my mistake. From the corner of my eyes I could see my father and elder brother trying hard to control their laughter. All of us knew that once again I had put my foot in the mouth by referring to my elder brother as "daddy's son".

My mother usually is a figure of poise and grace. She is also a strict disciplinarian. But fortunately or unfortunately I also have my father's blood running in my veins. And thus time and again his free spiritedness takes over. 

My elder brother is exactly like my father, except in his features, which he has taken from our mother. A perfect combination of the two, he is handsome, suave, charismatic, successful, confident. A complete charmer. 

I am not too bad myself. The only difference being that they know when and how to rein in their horses. And thus seldom get in trouble with mother. 

I quietly sat down on the table, my father and elder brother joining me. My mother was still upset with me for what she calls my 'inappropriate behavior'. In any other house this would have been nothing out of normal. After all, everyone knows about dad's bias towards 'his son'.

Even 'his son' knows it, and in some weak emotional moments, has accepted it. But like most obedient sons, he takes it as his moral responsibility to live up to dad's expectations. And that is why every time we fight, I call him 'daddy's son'. 

I know he doesn't mind me saying it. And dad loves it. But not my mother. She has always insisted that for her and our father, both the kids are equally important. I have no reason, not to believe her. But there is no fun in saying it. Isn't it? ;-)

As we settled for breakfast, my mother turned her gaze away from me and on my brother. And ah! what a relief it was.  

"Your father mentioned that you want us to meet someone." She asked my brother in a calm voice. 

Now this is serious. This is very serious. I could hear my heart pounding heavily. My mother was referring to my brother's marriage. And I know everything. I know the girl. 

She is a perfect match for my brother. A vibrant girl, intelligent and independent. A perfect match for the perfect guy. I had met her the first time, when she had just joined my brother's office. And even then I could spot love sparkling in my darling brother's eyes. 

I know for a fact that my brother has discussed this with daddy at length. And also that dad approves of it. 

However, there is one problem. This perfect girl has a not-so-perfect past. She has been through a bad marriage and an uglier divorce. 

My mother has always cherished and nurtured her relations with lots of love and care. I have seen her put in her heart and soul for her own marriage. Even our extended family and friends have always got their due love and respect. Probably that is the reason for her objections to my calling my brother as 'daddy's son'. And that is why we are scared that mom may not be happy with the 'divorce' bit. 

All these and many more thoughts started running in my head after my mother asked her question. I looked at my brother. He was as calm and composed as mom. And then very confidently he uttered the name.  

There was complete silence in the room.  Three pair of eyes were stuck at one blank face. My mother was looking at her empty plate. And when she did look up, tears rolled down her cheeks. 

My heart sank. I looked at my brother. He was equally disturbed. He was all set with his list of reasons and arguments. All set for a heated debate. But tears, he was not prepared for them. And thus sat there struggling to find words. 

It wasn't long before my mother spoke again. "I know what you are thinking. But there is something you don't know.

Twenty seven years ago your father, much against the wishes of his family, married a girl with a troubled past. And that is how I came into this house. 

The only difference is that I came with a ten-month old son."

Silence fell.

That day none of us spoke. 

It has been three years since that day. My brother is now happily married with the girl he loved. And all of us are eagerly awaiting the arrival of their first child. 

I still tease him as 'daddy's son'. And nobody minds it.

Maa Durga & Mommy Me

As a kid I always admired goddess Durga, or more fondly called Maa (Mother) Durga in larger part of the country. I was always awestruck by her majesticity & grandeur. Dressed in her bright red attire & matching ornaments, her godly brilliance radiating on her face. Holding all kind of weaponry in her ten hands (astra-shastra), and yet that peaceful calm on the face.

But it is only in last two years that I have actually understood, and thus admired & respected her strengths with a new found devotion.

Take today morning for example. I left home to drop my two year old daughter to school. As I stepped out of home, I was holding my bag, her school bag, her water bottle, car keys and the glass of milk she was still finishing. In addition, she decided that today her big teddy & pink dolly will also accompany her. She even picked up her purse from the table near the door. Experience has taught me that managing this entourage is not a mean task. Hence I tried arguing with her to leave some of it behind. But at the end of the discussion I realized my only two options were to either make her cry, or to comply by her wishes. Needless to say, I chose the latter. And as expected, by the time we reached the car, in addition to my initial luggage, I was also managing her purse & dolly, while she was struggling to keep the teddy above the ground.

No wonder Maa Durga with her ten hands is now my source of inspiration & strength.

Since this is my daughter’s first week in school, the school authorities have requested me to be around allowing her time to settle. So last couple of days I have been sitting outside, fiddling with my phone & books. And all these days, I have seen another toddler struggling with his new environment. His mother, due to circumstances not known to me, can not be available for the settling-in period. Every day I see the child, howling his lungs out, crying for his mother. The school staff takes turn in trying to pacify him.

Seeing him I am reminded of only one fact, even ten hands together struggle to replace two hands of a mother.

Coming back from school, I headed straight to the kitchen, where most mothers spend almost half their time. Now, for anyone who works regularly in a kitchen would know that it is nothing less than a factory work-station. Modern gadgets equip you for easy and quick food preparation. But one needs to match their efficiency levels if you want to achieve results. However, in my kitchen, these days fun starts, like today afternoon, when my daughter decides to lend a helping hand. And she insists on making her presence felt in all areas of work. From doing the dishes, to mopping the floor, from operating the micro-wave to pushing the gas knobs. And the best part comes when she tells me –“Mumma, you go. I am doing. You go. You sit.”

Oscillating between my work & her antics, and simultaneously preventing the mess in the least & mishaps at a max, I really wish god will bless me with at least a couple of more hands.

There is an African proverb – ‘It takes a village to raise a child’.

I am only hoping for a couple of more hands to work with, and at least another tongue to help me in answering all possible questions of ‘Tell me What, Why, When, Who, Where…….’

P.S. – Daddy, come back soon.

Daddy from Mars, Mommy from Venus

Almost thorough out my childhood I have heard my grand-mother crib, what does your grand-father know about kids. He didn’t even know which class they were studying. He never bothered. Well it wasn’t totally true. I know for a fact that he worked overtime to pay off the school fee of four fast growing kids. Even though he didn’t inherit even a single penny from his father, he managed to leave behind sufficient for each of his kids, to give them a steady start in life.

I was brought up by more involved parents. Single child of two professors, I never had any dearth of their time & attention. They did co-operate with each other, shouldering responsibilities of household and the little me. But the roles were clearly divided. Getting me ready for school was my mother’s job, while my father took up the responsibility of dropping me off. They even went together for grocery shopping. While my mother hopped from one shop to another, buying the necessary stuff, my father patiently waiting holding the bags.

Things weren’t very different in other households. I have seen similar equations among my cousins and friends, & their parents. For all our demands and pampering needs it was mommy, for pleads and fights it was mommy. For permission it was daddy. Even now, when we are all grown up and have our own kids, we chat with our mothers daily on mundane updates of day’s events, family gossip and other stress-busting talk. With dads we discuss.

But things are different in the modern world.

All these years I have seen my elder brother, himself a senior executive with a fast paced job, get both his kids ready. From the time they were spoiling their diapers, to today getting them ready for school, it has always been his job. A job he has willingly and vociferously taken. He claims he does it better than their mother. And honestly I can’t disagree. Not that his wife doesn’t contribute. She has her roles of active & participative parenting clearly defined. But those roles are no longer confined to home. From school to coaching classes, from homework to project submissions, she is with the kids throughout.

At my neighbour’s home mornings are chaotic. With two small kids getting ready for school, both parents are running around the house. While the mother helps them in bath, father prepares the school uniform. Then when the mother rushes to the kitchen to pack the lunch-boxes, father helps the kids with comb, shoes & accessories like batches & napkins. And when the pick-up bus arrives, both parents stand together smiling & waving to the kids.

In my own house, my two year old, yet demanding daughter, needs both her parents to be with her when going to bed at night. So on days my husband is back home in time, he is dragged away from his tv, to sing lullabies for the darling daughter. In last two years, there is no aspect of parenting, from diapers to future financial planning, which we have not shared as a couple. Even now, while I am busy pressing my laptop keys, she is peacefully sleeping in her daddy’s lap.

Seeing her like this, I am forced to believe times are changing. Since the times of my parents, grand-parents, great grand-parents and their ancestors, men have come from mars & women have come from venus. Maybe they still do. But parents today belong to this earth.