“How do your children get to school?” She asked

“They take public transport”I replied.

“What time do they have to leave home?” She asked

“They leave at 7 AM” I said

“What time do they get up?”

“About 6 AM”

“My god, isn’t that too early?” She looked at me as though I have committed the biggest crime ever known to mankind by getting my kids to get up 6 AM.

I didn’t know how to answer a question like that. How is it so bad if your child gets up early in the morning? ( Millions of kids around the world get up at crack of the dawn to get ready and catch the school bus)

“Is there a direct bus to school from your place?” She asked

“No, they get off at the bus station and then walk 2 km to their school.”

Actually, most of the kids walk from the bus/train station to school. They all have a meeting point where those who came early wait for the rest of them and they walk together. In the evening, all of them walk together again to the station.

The mother that I spoke to was none too happy about her child having to get up very early or having to walk to school from the station every day.

That brings me to the point..Does it really harm your child if they get up early or having to walk a bit?

I wanted my children to learn responsibility, time management and be independent..I also know their school bag is very heavy, now they even have to carry their laptop to school each day..My mother always complained that my parenting style was  thumpiyeyum kondu kallu eduppikkuva.. 

Am I being too harsh on my kids?

This particular market also had a seller selling all sorts of junks and antiques. I do love collecting antiques. My point is, if I put 10$ in the bank, to double it, I will have to keep it in the bank for at least 18 years and I am hoping to find something that is cheap now, but will appreciate and will give me a higher return than if I had kept the money in the bank. I also want to give my children things that they can sell if they ever need quick money ( like the gold watch the Mangalorean’s grandfather gave his son when he went to England to do Medicine)

While looking at all the junk the trader had, I came across a brass vase with dragons on it. My son is born in the year of dragon and I collect dragons for him. The dragons on this vase were added after the basic vase had been cast and I knew it required a skilled craftsman.

Digressing a bit here. Brass has been used in prehistoric times, Romans perfected the art of casting brass , however the technique called lost wax method was first used in India as the archaeological evidence in Harappa suggests.

Lost wax method.

I noticed that there was a stamp at the bottom of the vase, but I really didn’t want to investigate it further, because I didn’t want to show my enthusiasm to the seller. He wanted 20 and I am still an Indian !! Eventually, we agreed to the price of 16$.

I couldn’t wait to get back to my car to check the stamp at the bottom.

It has a Xuande mark, but I don’t think it is a Ming dynasty piece. My bet is 2 centuries after Ming Dynasty.

Either it is a beautifully made fake or it is an original.. But either way, It was money worth spending because similar ones are going for 300$

http://www.ebay.com/itm/MARVELOUS-CHINESE-BRASS-DRAGON-VASE-MID-TO-LATE-1800s-/220326029154

I have not forced you to read my blog. But, you are still doing it under your own volition. I approved your comment to my last post because it seems that you are so worked up with your jealousy and will not stop and keep creating new id’s and leave spiteful comments.

I am so sorry to say that you are wasting your time.

I am posting your IP..that over the past few months you have used to post comments under various handles.

Please stop wasting your time and mine.

Divya Unni
dunni_20xx@xxxx.com
64.191.xxx.55

Divya Unni
dunni_20xx@xxxx.com
71.171.xx.96

Deepa
cooxxdeexx@xxx.com
64.191.xxx.55

Shaanu
ishakulkxxxi@xxx.com
71.171.xx.96

That being said,this post is a wish.. this is something I wanted to tell someone and didn’t, because I knew I wouldn’t have been able to get my message across.

An ex classmate of my son is under psychiatrist care. The journey from a happy child to someone who doesn’t want to live didn’t happen overnight. It was progressive and much as I hate to say this, his mother is the main culprit.

His mother came to me and introduced herself 3 days after I registered  my children in the school here. She had already heard about my son being placed in advanced maths program. ( clearly news travelled faster than the speed of light). She told me her son is ‘gifted’. For me finding another gifted child is something I consider a blessing. At least my son would have a friend who is like him, I thought. ( Yaya finds it much easier to talk to me as both of us are very similar, whereas my son finds it very hard to accept that I really don’t find maths  exciting!) I invited them over for tea.

The entire conversation when the mother came over for tea revolved around how smart her son is. He knew all the capitals of all the countries before he was 2, knew to count up to whatever number before he was 3 etc etc. She wanted to know my son’s achievements age for age.

I didn’t teach my son to count or the capitals etc when he was 2. I was expecting his sister then and we were busy building twin towers with lego building blocks. My main job  around that time was to collect my shoes, his shoes, his drinking bottle etc from the neighbour’s house each evening when they returned from work. My son loved tossing stuff over the fence. We also had two chooks, Henny Penny and Cocky Locky and he and yaya chased them around the house. We baked cookies, read a million stories and when it rained, they played in the rain. But I didn’t teach them to count or the alphabets or anything like that.

Digressing a bit here, Perhaps the one thing that I think I did differently was to ask Yaya when she was about a year and half “What do you see?” I was printing colouring sheets for her and one had a red apple and I asked her “What do you see?” She replied “apple” and I told her “No, it is a picture of a red apple with a single green leaf”.  I was reading an architectural book about Oscar Neimeyer ( famous Brazillian Architect) at that time and he  had said, don’t do what I do, see what I see” and I felt, I should show my children what I see..because when I saw the picture of the apple, I saw a red apple with a single green leaf, both halves of the apple was symmetrical, something you will never find in real apples, I also noticed that the red colour was full, where as you will never find a pure red apples in real life.. I know I sound silly, but this is how my brain works.. Yaya and I used to play “what do you see” after that. Something I didn’t do with her brother and sister because both weren’t interested.

Then she wanted to know what books I am using to teach my children. I told her, I don’t teach my children anything and the only thing I ever did was to send them for a few months to Kumon. I explained to her that my kids were attending an inner city school in Canada and were going to skip almost a year when they moved here and I was concerned that they might find the transition difficult. Apart from  the extension program the school provided, kumon was the only other program my children did.

The next week her son started going to Kumon.

Every exam, she would ask my son about his marks. ( something that really bothered my son) She became this shadow that followed my son all the time. But that wasn’t the main issue..What she was trying to do was to create her son to be like my son. Everything my son did, so did her son. She pushed and pushed her son. She was relentless. But her son was struggling at school. He begged my son “please don’t tell my mom that you got A when she asks”. The mother even went to the school district to complain about the teacher who gave the students a surprise test without prior notice. ( the very same test my son got his first B)

I understood she didn’t believe me when I told her that I don’t teach my children at home, when another friend wanted my son to join the indoor soccer team and she told her that She is positive that I will not let my son join the team because I am forever teaching him at home and won’t allow my son any free time.

There is a big difference between gifted and non gifted children. Gifted children don’t need to be taught, they pick up things on their own. ( Yaya taught herself to read and write, whereas her sister learned to read and write at school)

Every parent want their child to be the winner, but to create an ordinary child in to a ‘gifted’ child is the biggest disservice you can do to that child.

I wish I could tell the mother, “your son is not gifted, he is smart, but not gifted”

I am well read and I think I am a good mother because I think before I react.

I have been a teenager once and I understand what my daughter is  going through.

However, there is a line that divides a very sane loving mother and one that would want to shake the child and get some sense in to her..

My mornings are awfully busy and I always ensure that I pack a healthy hot lunch for my kids. I had baked almond cake yesterday for tea and thought my youngest might like to take a slice for lunch.

“Baby, would you like me to pack a piece of almond cake for lunch today?” I asked, while I was packing three lunch boxes.

“What do you think?” was the reply.

What I really wanted to do at that moment was to hold her really tight and tell her “my question has an Yes or No answer and you will not answer my question with another question” I also wanted to throw the whole bloody cake in to the bin, because I baked it for her, knowing how much she loves almond cake and the only reason I asked her if she would like to take a piece to school is because she usually has a fruit and a small bar of chocolate as dessert and if I was going to send cake, then I won’t pack the chocolate.

It is really not hard to say yes or no, instead she chose to give a cryptic answer.

Obviously, I didn’t pack the cake for her lunch. She asked me what do I think and I think she has been pretty rude and doesn’t deserve a treat.

I feel that my child is walking dynamite that is already lit..like a thotta pottunna english motta.. She gets mad at me if she can’t find her basket ball shorts and when I find it in her closet that she already searched, she still gets mad at me because according to her, I hid her shorts in her closet. ( She is the one who hangs her clothes in her closet) There is no rationality here. I can argue with her till the cows come home that, it is she who hung her clothes in her closet and I will still end up as the horrible mother who hid her daughter’s shorts in the closet..

Of course I know she is hormonal and I should be more understanding.. I have realized that there is really a limit to how much understanding I could be..and it is scary.

As I grew up, there were many things one learned to do as part of the initiation in to a teenager. if a boy liked you, he would rub his finger across his upper lips. I was not supposed to look at boys, amma would have killed me, but still I managed to steal a few glances every now and then and  I felt so funny, when a stranger rubbed his upper lips to let me know that he likes me!

Then there was tan tadang..I think it was actress Lizzie who initiated the tantadang craze. Boys used to say tantadang, as we walked to school everyday.. But eventually, it all progressed to pure Winking. You liked someone, you winked. Plain and simple. I was in 10th std then and all my classmates ever talked about was boys. One particular day, a classmate who lived very far away from school, came to the class with one eye partially closed. “What happened to your eyes?” Everyone asked. She replied very casually ” This boy got in to the bus near my home and you know it takes an hour to reach the school. This, she points to her partially closed eye, is what happens if you wink for an hour”

I have never winked at anyone until then. Everyone else talked about their winking episodes. I really really wanted to know how it feels to wink at someone. I didn’t have the guts to wink at my neighbours..( mostly because if Amma came to know, I would have been history and apart from kappalanga, there weren’t any good looking ones worth the effort)

Saturday morning I had maths tuition. The way to the teacher’s home is through innumerable by-lanes and as I was walking, I found this dude walking in front of his house holding his book and reciting something like “rama killed the snake, the snake was killed by rama” In other words, he was studying. But I did notice weeks ago  that he has been studying every time I walked by. ( kala valu pokkumbazhe ariyamallo!). Just as I reached the gate to his house, he stopped studying, and we looked at each other. It was the perfect moment and my upper right eye lid did a quick trip to meet the lower eye lid that was on its way up to form a perfect wink.

I was expecting thunder and lightning..at least that was what my friends made me think would happen to me when I winked at a boy..But I felt nothing. I was disappointed. Winking isn’t for me, I thought.The episode was forgotten before I reached the math’s teacher’s house.

The very next week, as I walked to the math’s teacher’s house, I noticed that there were way too many people in front of our Hero’s house and then I heard him say ” Ammey, eval aa enne kannadachu kaniche” (She is the one who winked at me). Our hero had roped in his whole family to mock and humiliate me. Being Methran Thambi’s grand daughter, I did walk holding my head high. But I felt so betrayed. It was just a wink.  ( Amma did find out about it and gave me a lot of grief as well)

When Yaya returned from Spain, she told me “mom guess what happened?”

“What ?” I asked

“We were visiting a museum and I found this hot security guard. He was really hot and I winked at him and told him “marry me” thinking that he won’t know English”

“And?”

“Turns out that he is an Exchange student from US and he asked me if I am an American after hearing my accent”

“And?”

“And what? It was so humiliating mom, I really didn’t think he would know English,and I spend the rest of the tour hiding from his sight”

I know I am supposed to say ” how could you do that? How can you wink at someone?” Perhaps, I should have slapped her couple of times like my mother did?

Instead, I closed my eyes like Boban and Molly and remembered, I too was once a teenager..this is another part of growing up.

But until now, there was one thing I never found anyone writing about/asking advice. Last weekend , I found this in Courier mail.

My sisters are beautiful, rich. successful and well known in their fields of work. I remember going for shopping with my younger sisters to Suria KLCC. It was a few months after I gave birth to my son and I had already quit my job.  My sisters are a head taller than me and I was the size of the mini elephant after I gave birth. It was not just my roly poly stature that bothered me, As we walked in to MNG shop, with me pushing Yaya in her pram and my sister younger to me carrying my son, in the eyes of the shop attendants, I didn’t exist. They exclaimed “how cute” the baby is ( the one my sister is holding, which happens to be mine) and I was relegated to obscurity. I think, they assumed I was the maid.

And then the horror of all horror thing happened. My youngest sister asked me, “Chech, do you want to buy anything?”

I looked at the price tag and noticed that it was just a few cents short of the cost for a full tank petrol. Three tshirts = petrol for a trip to penang and back. That was not all. The shop attendants looked aghast, that a frumpy old woman like me wants to wear MNG and I felt like the fox in the Aesop’s fable, staring at this beautiful top  ( grapes) that was too small for me and I shook my head and said “No”.. My sisters bought clothes from that shop and paid the equivalent sum of my monthly mortgage that day. Before I had kids, I did wear designer outfits, once I had my children, my priorities changed, but it still bothered me..that I am such a loser.. I felt my sisters planned their life well, they knew what they wanted and got it.

My youngest sister’s 21st birthday was spend sky diving at Victoria falls..her birthday gift from her boy friend. My 21st birthday was spend trying to pass final MBBS exam without failing. I had internals that week and didn’t even think of celebrating my birthday.

Sometimes, I find life is very unfair and I am a colossal failure..

But then I think..”there there, you are not alone”

The next hour, I heard a lot of mumbled conversations from the kitchen. I imagined the mess I need to clean up. Then I heard someone opening the pergola door..”dear lord, there goes my flowers” I thought.

Truth be told, I also made a silent wish that my children won’t douse the sandwich they are making for me with tomato ketchup.  First thing in the morning, I can’t eat half a bottle of ketchup, but I can’t break their heart by not eating what they loving make..so I crossed all my fingers and wished fervently !

The hardest thing to do is to lie down in bed and pretend to sleep. I really wanted to read or at least play words with friends. But I didn’t want to spoil the surprise..And so I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep..Every now and then I could hear the youngest coming to check if I am sleeping and I closed my eyes really tight and hoped I will pass the inspection..

Eventually, the moment arrived and all three came to my bedroom and jumped on my bed and wished me Happy mother’s day. I got up from my deep sleep, with all the shock and surprise I could muster, fluffed my pillow and sat up on my bed and got ready to eat my breakfast in bed.

“Mom, I set the table” Yaya said

I felt bereft of the one thing I looked forward to each mother’s day..even though the sandwich is full of ketchup, it is the breakfast in bed i looked forward to the most. I am a creature of habit and I wanted my breakfast in bed.  With a heavy heart I got up from my bed thinking that how fast my babies grew..and how everything is changing..

My house is in the shape of an inverted L with my bedroom on one end and the dining hall on the other end, and as I walked to the dining hall, I passed by the kitchen, I was expecting to see flour on the floor, meassuring cups strewn every where, milk bottle kept opened etc..and I was suprised to see that my kitchen looked exactly as I left it the night before.. What is going on, I asked myself.

This is what I saw on the dining table.

My kids organized a high tea for me..Yaya baked the scones, my son made my favourite egg salad sandwich and baby made my favourite cucumber sandwich. They bought the cupcakes and lemon slices from coles and smuggled it home when I was away.

They used my fine china..the cycle like thing at the back of the photo is my mother’s day gift..it is a plant stand. The tea pot that is hiding behind the cake tray is what Yaya gave me two years ago. Flower vase on the right of the cake tray is filled with Chrysanthemum flowers from my garden ( plant was given to me last mother’s day and I haven’t killed it yet)

And to prove that I no longer can pout my lips and show a very sad face to get what I want because it is my special day, Yaya gave me this card.

She didn’t clean her room, but that is OK..I had the best mother’s day ever..

I remember going to Chengannur house with my father and as we were walking on the bund road, Appa noticed his teacher walking towards us. Appa, stopped walking, unfolded his mundu, held my hand firmly and told me to behave and then moved to the side of the road. This particular bund road was wide enough for a bullock cart, but still my father stood to the side. His teacher was a very old man and yet he wielded such a tremendous power..to make a 6 foot 2 tall guy to stand like a little lamb ! Appa greeted the teacher the traditional way by folding his hand and said “namaskaram, sir”

I can still see the joy in the teacher’s eyes. And they talked, not like friends, but as a teacher and student. After we said good bye to the teacher, as we walked home, my father told me about how strict this teacher used to be and how many times he caned my father. I was 6 years old and I never understood then how you could respect someone who physically hurt you. But my father did. He even paid for his teacher’s medical bill another time when we went home.

A few weeks after we moved to Canada, the school had a Pyjama day, where the students came to school in their Pyjamas. I wasn’t sure, how to handle that, so I packed spare clothes for Yaya in her school bag for that ‘just in case’ scenario. But the biggest surprise was, as we entered the school  we were greeted by the principal..and he was in his pyjamas. It was such a shock for me..Until then, the teachers in my life occupied a space that was bit above human. No teacher of mine would ever wear pyjamas to school.. even if it is a pyjama day.

Yesterday, Yaya had musical at school and halfway through, the Principal and the teachers came to the stage dressed like rock stars. The principal wore skin tight leather jeans, wig etc and did a gangnam style dance. She is in her 60′s. ( I swear)

I am actually very confused..Why is it that my teachers never did anything different?

Souring milk to make butter was considered a waste in chengannur house, as milk was to be used only to make coffee or yogurt and any excess was to be sold.  whereas my maternal grandmother loved to make butter at home because she used the butter to bake cakes..(cake was considered a luxury in chengannur house!)

My earliest memory of my maternal grandmother is  of me sitting on the kitchen floor, which I wasn’t allowed to do normally as only servants sat on the floor. But in this particular occasion, I was allowed to sit on the floor as my grandmother was worried that I would fall down from the bench while she the churned butter. ( perhaps, she knew that I never sat still and she must have been more concerned about the pot than me!) The pot that held the soured milk didn’t have a flat bottom and to prevent it from toppling over, Ammachi kept it on top of a ring made of coir. At some stage, there was a rope holding the pot, but I can’t remember how it was tied. The reason I liked sitting on the floor was because,every now and then Ammachi would stop churning and scoop a bit of butter with her fingers and give me to lick. Her butter churner was plastic and I think it would have been a red colour one when she bought it. Over the years, it faded and became a very pale pink colour paddle and the handle was very oily.. after she finished churning the butter, I got to lick the paddle clean ! But it wasn’t just the butter that made me cherish those moments. It was the songs. Ammachi always sang songs while she was cooking. My favourite was

Alappuzhakkaran Keshavan Angiley,

enikkoru kudam thoda venam..

neram velukkumbol, muttam adikkumbol

koode adikkana thoda venam..

ammayi ammayum, njanum pinagnumbol,

koode pinangunna thoda venam..

This was a very long song.. I don’t even know if thoda was the right word..It is meant to be the huge/heavy   earrings older Malayalee women used to wear in the early part of 20th century that used to make the ear lobes stretch and touch the shoulder ! It was supposed to be very fashionable at that time.  I remember my great grandmother with a huge hole in her ear. I don’t remember if she wore the thoda all the time because I only met her once and I must have been about 3 or 4 years old and she wasn’t wearing a thoda then. I do remember seeing the thoda in my grandmother’s jewellery box years later and the places where the gold was worn off, you could see the black lead filling. I assume eventually the thoda was melted and made in to something else.

So, does any of you know the Keshavan angiley song? I have asked so many of my family members, none of them remember the song..