The reason behind today’s blog post is the movie ” English” Malayalam movie. There is a scene in the movie, where the father goes berserk and screams and threatens his teenage daughter with physical harm, if she doesn’t tell them where she is going and with whom.

If there is one word that could have saved me from making a lot of mistakes when I was a teenager, it would be “trust”. It was something my mother lacked totally and I found myself in difficult situations because the one person who should have trusted me, wouldn’t.

My mother’s dream was to see her daughters getting a professional degree. Her idea was that, she was the puppeteer and I was the puppet and she decided what I can or not do, while my job was to study and get the degree.

Party invitations were part of normal life in a professional colleges. Ideally, I would have liked to tell my mother that I was invited to a party, but then again why would I do it when I know  she wouldn’t  allow me to go? There was never any valid reasons why I shouldn’t go, it was Amma’s decision and it was final.

Often, party meant, few games of dumb charade, some dancing and if someone knew someone in Army or Air force, then a bottle or two of alcohol ( to be shared with 30 to 40 students!) and food. While my mother assumed that party was another name for orgies and drugs, things like that only happened in her imaginations. None of us had the money to buy drugs and imagine the chances of having physical acts of intimacy in front of the party giver’s family. ( You had dark corners in the campus for such things)

The lucky girls with smart parents were safe, for their parents or brothers came and picked them up after the party. I couldn’t go back to the hostel after the gate closes at 9 pm, so I bought a platform ticket and lied my way through ( Often used George’s name and title for extra power and protection) and spend the night in Railway stations. I would have been safe in my own home, but my mother didn’t get that. She thought, she was too smart and was in control and that her daughter was safe in the medical college hostel. If only she knew the truth. If anything had happened to me, everyone would have blamed me, for I disobeyed my mother and attended a party. Would anyone blame my mother that she was the reason why it all happened? All she had to do was to allow me to go and I could have got a ride home from one of my classmates and would have been home by 9.30 pm.

So the question of the day is this ” Why do Indian parents want to control every move their child makes?”

I am sure many of you who have been reading my blog has a mental picture of me, and I am sure you would love to see how I look. Today is your lucky day.

The last assignment before the term holidays for my son was to do a power point presentation about his family in Spanish. He also had other assignments to do and wasn’t feeling well, so he postponed doing his Spanish assignment to the very last minute.

On the day his assignment was due, while he was in the bus (on his way to school), he worked on his assignment. He had a photo of each member of his family and he had to write a description in Spanish. Somehow, he accidentally deleted my photo. Quickly he send me a txt asking me to send him a photo of me. Unfortunately, I am still using a brick ( old Nokia) and I had given up of trying to figure out how to use it and didn’t see the txt.

In the evening, Yaya was giggling a lot when she told me ” Mom, please ask toothless to show you his Spanish assignment”

“Why?” I asked, which resulted in massive episodes of laughter from all three of my kids.

Obviously my curiosity was piqued.

Apparently, there were visiting dignitaries ( student exchange groups) from foreign countries who were given a tour of the school and some were in my son’s class while he and his classmates were presenting their assignment. My son had a photo of each member of his family and talked about them in Spanish and when it came to his mother, this is what he had.

After not getting a reply from me, he decided to draw a portrait of his mother. He didn’t forget the henna highlights 🙂

Thelma is 80 today. She is celebrating her birthday with a game of tennis and a lunch at the local tavern.

Her daughter’s house has a massive pool, but Thelma never goes for a swim, even on the hottest day because she  can’t swim. But she has won many competitions for sailing. She loves sailing even though if she ever fell in to the water, she will drown.

Many of us don’t take a chance in our life because we are afraid.

Be like Thelma.

Away until Monday

Have a jolly good weekend

S

I was 10 years old when my aunt had her first born. The entire 9 months of pregnancy, she consumed herbs and spices, some of which were shipped from Kashmir ( it looked like popped corn, but  dissolved in warm milk) and Iran ( pure saffron), so her unborn child will have ‘fair’ complexion. My aunt is well educated, but nothing stopped her from trying for a child whose skin colour would be her most redeeming quality. ( unfortunately, genetics had the upper hand !)

My room mate, the daughter of two senior doctors used fair and lovely every single day. She hated her dark complexion and was desperate to become fair, so when it was time to find a suitable partner, she could fit the criteria of the required “fair complexioned” girl.  (How many of you remember the ad that was often at the back page of all popular magazines in the 80’s and 90’s that showed about 14 photos of the same person whose skin toned lightened from very dark to very fair after using fair and  lovely? I have often wondered if India ever had an advertising standard that companies had to follow.)

But the best was my mother.  As soon as I gave birth to Yaya, the first thing Amma checked was the baby’s earlobes and she walked quickly to my bed (still in the labour room getting the stitches) and told me “Karambi aa” ( she is a darkie)

Yaya came after 5 years of wait, my first born and Amma’s first grand child, but somehow her skin colour was more important. When I held my darling new born baby for the first time, the only thought I had was ” She is perfect” . I don’t deny that I was not worried after hearing Amma’s comment, for I felt my baby will be judged for the rest of her life because of her skin tone.

Yaya and baby are the opposite when it comes to their skin tone. Yaya is moderately dark and baby is  extremely fair and I am glad I don’t live in India. Imagine all the taunts Yaya would have received and how much she would have been compared to her sister’s fair skin and mocked. I have always been mindful of the barbs Malayalees are known to inflict on the dark skinned and have ensured that no one ever calls Yaya ‘Karambi’. I also made it a point to tell Yaya from the time she was little that she is beautiful ( She really is) and have the best complexion in the world, for she can wear almost any colour clothes ( it is true) and that she won’t suffer as much as her sister does every time they go out in the sun ( no freckles, no sun burn etc).

When I saw the news article about Ms Nina Davuluri winning the Ms. America 2013, I was so happy.  I hope her victory will give hope and confidence to all those who feel they are judged for their skin tone.

In 1994, after I graduated MBBS, I learned the hard way how useless an Indian degree is. I  wanted to do my master’s degree and every single University ( in Canada, US and UK) denied me admission only because my basic degree was not up to their standard. And then there was the international student fees, I never understood the rationality behind calling me  a person from third world country, yet making me pay exorbitant fees in the ten thousands, yet the students from first world paid fees in the thousands.

Two things I learned then. One, I will never let my children suffer because of where they studied, two, I will never pay International student fee for them.

The best way forward was to migrate and the migration agent wanted 10000RM as fees. As a government servant, I had to work few years to save that much money. so I opted to apply directly without using an agent. This was before internet era and there was no one to help me. I chose Australia because it was closer to Malaysia, I have family here and I was worried about winter in US/Canada. ( I had never seen snow then)  The application form had to be filled in manually and every mistake I made was costly for I had to get a new form photocopied. I then had to get all my documents certified true and I remember the gleefulness on the China man Commissioner of oath near my home. My salary then was 1350 RM and he charged me 250RM to certify true all the documents. I do remember that application form to migrate to Australia was kind of elitist. There were two pages for you list out all the club membership you have. ( Malaysia’s 5C’s of success, Cash, Car, Credit Card,Condo, County Club membership)

Along the time, I applied to migrate, I also got admission to do my master’s degree in England. I informed the Australian High commission In KL and they transferred my file to England.  A week after I completed the degree, I got a letter from the High commission, letting me know that my application was denied because my degree was not recognized in Australia. When I called them to let them know that my master’s degree is from England and is recognized in Australia, they had the audacity to tell me that ” you didn’t have your master’s degree at the time you lodged your application” That decision was so flawed, because had I had a major illness after I lodged the application, they would have denied the application, even though at the time of lodgement of application, I was hail and healthy.

There are certain things in my life, I keep a score. I can never forget spending 250RM to certify true the documents and scrimping through that whole month. And I was determined to live in Australia.. ( after all I am Methran Thambi’s grand daughter).

Today, I am an Australian Citizen. I don’t feel any patriotic love for Australia, but it felt good when the officer at the DIAC ( department of immigration and citizenship ) asked me “Why don’t you put your children’s name in your application, so they too can get their citizenship?” I replied “Nah, they are not interested”

At one time, they didn’t want to give me the Visa and now they are offering citizenship to my children.. How the tides turn.

Growing up in India, I ate rice for lunch and dinner every single day. When I went back to Malaysia, like the rest of my family, I opted to cook traditional breakfast items for dinner and only had rice for lunch. There was no time to make dosai or appam in the morning before leaving for work, instead, I cooked them for dinner. But I couldn’t survive not eating rice for at least one meal a day. A plate of rice with a bit of dhal, pappadam and pickle defined who I was. If I had gone out for some fancy pansy lunch devoid of rice and dinner was not rice, just before going to bed, I would eat a small serve of rice, not because I was hungry, that little bit of rice was needed to make me feel alive as a malayalee.

I have not had rice for the past 2 weeks and it has not bothered me at all. Even if I felt the cravings for rice, there isn’t any in the fridge either. 20 years ago, if someone told me that there will be day I wouldn’t have a container of cooked rice in my fridge, I would have laughed my heart out.

If I tell my kids on Monday that today is onam, then they will ask for the angpow ( kai neettam) and that will be it.  They don’t think it is a big deal to have a sadya.. They don’t understand the joy of getting onakkodi..the wait for the reduction sale in Seematti and hoping against hope that Amma will buy me a new dress/pavada and when she didn’t, the envy I felt seeing my friends in their new outfits. Onam was about thinly sliced banana chips fried in coconut oil..( not the chunky chips available at the Indian grocers made by ‘grandma’ that looks like banana chips but taste like plastic) Onam was about visiting family , They don’t understand travelling in a very crowded bus from Kottayam to Chengannnur and even though you can hardly take a breath while being packed like sardines in a can, you are not angry, because it wasn’t the journey, but the destination that mattered. ( while  here, my children wait for the next bus or the one after until they find a bus that is not full because they don’t like anyone encroaching their personal bubble)

As the years go by, I am becoming less of a Malayalee, but on Onam day. a part of me can be seen walking on the bund road, holding my father’s hand, looking at all the athapoos in front of the houses, giving way to Thomachan who is carrying his prized ethakkula  on his shoulder from the market for those last minute upperi  and swaying side to side balancing the heavy load ( or was it the kallu he drank the night before?), imagining all the goodies awaiting me at home, wondering if Kutten  got the oonjal (swing) ready?

To those who still keep the spirit of Onam alive.. I envy you.

Onam Ashamsakal.

My son’s bedroom is next to the living room and anytime I have a visitor, the first thing I do is to close the door to his room, so no one sees the mess. Anything that you can think of can be found on the floor of his room. I have tried everything to get him to clean his room. Nothing worked.

Few weeks ago Yaya came to me holding her piggy bank and asking me if I could take her to the bank. She saved the 2.50$ that I give her every Friday for tuck shop and wanted to deposit the 60$ in to her bank account. Yaya is saving money for her gap year. It didn’t occur to my son until that moment that he too would have had 60$, if he didn’t spend the 2.50$ I gave him.

So I did what any smart mom would do. I offered  25$ each week  to whoever is keeping their room very tidy. Yaya decided to take up my offer. ( She also found a cockroach in her room and I convinced her that cockroach only lives in messy places. She is terrified of bugs, so that was another reason she decided to take up the offer)

On Saturday, while they were eating their breakfast, ceremoniously I gave Yaya her 25$, making sure my son saw the 25$…And the look on my son’s face was priceless. Needless to say, the past 4 days, his room is very clean. Nothing on the floor ( I told them, I will deduct a dollar for each item on the floor and 5 deductions = automatic disqualification).

I was never in to monetary rewards for good behaviour. But sometimes you got to do what you have to do. ( I  make regular deposit in to their account every month, so technically the 25$ is from that)

Yesterday, as I was driving home with the older two after their basketball practice, out of the blue Yaya asked ” Mom, what if I want to marry a Muslim boy?”

The last time, the same topic came up for discussion and her brother was the interviewer, I didn’t handle the issue well. After all, I am ( ok la not any more, so was is more appropriate) a Malaysian and I have seen the effects of non Muslim marrying a Muslim.  And the effect on their non Muslim children in the first marriage. ( http://www.ndtv.com/article/world/malaysia-court-dismisses-conversion-of-three-hindu-children-to-islam-397160) As I wrote in an earlier post, someone I know who married a muslim girl  was not allowed to attend his mother’s ( suriani Kristiani) funeral by his wife’s family.

But then I thought about it and felt, I am being unreasonable.

So this is what I told Yaya.

Ideally, I would like to have a son in law who will eat what I cook and I will not be very happy to change the menu to suit one person when the rest of the family consume non halal food. I also don’t know how you will cope wearing burqa, if the boy is an orthodox Muslim. However, all that is not important, what is really important is for you to know that from the day I gave birth to you, to my final breath, you will always be my daughter. It will not change because of whom you married. If you are willing to change who you are because you love someone, then perhaps, you found the right guy..who is worth changing for. And I will stand by you, because at the end of the day, it is your happiness that matters the most.

I do not deny that a part of me wanted to scream and say, please, please, please don’t marry a muslim boy…but the sensible one in my head kept saying “your child has the right to live with anyone she wants to”

Sorry, No update today.

My youngest is away on a school camp. The same camp older two went when they were in grade 6.

I am not sure what is with mothers and their youngest child..When Yaya went to the camp, I missed her terribly, same with my son. But with baby, it is not just missing her,I feel so lost, like a part of me is missing. Although the older two are home and are their usual self, my house is so quiet. No one is there to talk to me in Italian accent.. No one is taking an hour long shower and I can’t complain that someone is emptying the pacific ocean and killing all the whales. There aren’t a million drinking glasses in the sink. ( She takes a new glass every time she wants a drink, the concept of washing a used glass instead of taking a new one each time has skipped her completely) No one is singing all the latest  songs at the top of her voice. I miss sitting outside with her at night to watch the sky, especially the next few days. ( if you are in Southern hemisphere, you will notice the moon crescent is in the bottom like a U, not the usual C, shape because of the earth’s tilt and the light the moon receives from the sun)

6 years from now, my youngest will leave home and go to whichever country she is planning to study. When my children were little and the life I had known prior to having them vanished, I had promised myself that I will do all that I missed out  when they leave home. I was going to sail around the world, visit all the places I had wanted to visit, learn a new language..after all I am a firm believer of Gibran’s poem on children.. I have to let them fly out of my nest…But, if I can’t function a week without my children, how am I going to spend the rest of my life without them?