"By Us, For Us" - A review

"By Us, For Us" is a collection of stories by young children, presented by HP Write and Read, and Katha.  These stories have been selected from among many stories that resulted from creative writing workshops that were conducted for school children across India.  Prasoon Joshi was the mentor, and he was the one who made the final selection.

The book reached me by post.  As I unwrapped it and opened the book, I couldn't help thinking that this is the kind of book that is the ultimate argument for real books as against e-books. 

It is a gorgeous book.  The pages and the printing are of excellent quality. The font makes you want to just start reading.  And the illustrations are wonderful.  So colourful, striking, and that coupled with the beautiful, glossy pages, I just wanted to run my fingers over the illustrations.  In fact, I could spend hours just admiring the artwork in the book!  I think the HP Imaging and Printing Group have done an excellent job with this book.

As for the stories themselves, it made me smile to read them.  My guess is that the writers are between 10 and 15 years of age.  And the stories reflect that age.  They are filled with moral righteousness, a fierce commitment to save the environment and wildlife, and the urge to use recently learned words, facts and figures.  Some words are used in irrelevant places, some adjectives make no sense, and there are some weird noun forms of words like guiltiness instead of guilt!  Guiltiness is supposedly a valid word, but sounds weird all the same!  Enid Blyton influences, surprise endings, they are all there.  I can imagine myself in that age and I can now nod sagely, thinking of a Tween me writing in the same way.

Some stories are totally pointless, meandering, trying to do too much in two pages. Most of them are just fine, something a bunch of happy kids might have written in their spare time.  But there are a handful which are really good, and these are the ones that stand out immediately, and even make you think. 

These stories are suitable for kids of that Tween age, I think.  I tried to tell some stories to my 4.5 year old, but she didn't seem too impressed.  She looked at me with a "You call this a story?" look.  My conclusion is that these stories, though written in a childlike manner, by children, speak of very adult issues which don't really appeal to a small child.  But there are a couple of stories which are obviously drawn from personal experience, that appealed to my daughter a lot.  So, on the whole, if you are looking at the book for stories for very young children, I wouldn't recommend it.  8-15 would be the right age, I think.

Since the stories are meant for children, and since such an august group has brought this out, I had expected perfection, or something close to it.

But on the back page, it says, "stories with innumerable wit, humour and thoughtfulness..."   Innumerable is used only when you are talking about things you can count (even though you are saying here that there are too many to be counted, you have to be able to count them in the first place.).  Innumerable stars in the sky, for example.  Wit cannot be counted, nor can humour and thoughtfulness.  Innumerable instances of wit, yes.  That would be right.  "Oodles of wit, plenty of wit" yes.  But  not innumerable.  And to find this right on the back cover, was quite shocking, and I must say, unpardonable. (If I am wrong, I would be happy to be corrected.)

Result: Most of the stories are highly imaginative, funny, and sweet.
Price:  It is expensive, at Rs.375, but then, the quality of the book is like that!  Besides, "All proceeds from book sales will go towards helping Katha fund their education programs in underprivileged parts of the country."
Age:  Perhaps not suitable for children learning the language, but will be appropriate for kids between 8-15.   It is a great book for an adult if you are looking for a peek into the Tween subconscious.

This is a good initiative, and I hope more workshops are held, more children are initiated into creative writing, more books come out, and I do hope the selection gets better with each book.

Soldiers and doctors...

I am humming Saare Jahan se Accha.  And as always, Puttachi demands to know the complete history behind every song.  After I finish explaining the meaning,

She: Amma, is this in Hindi?

Me:  No, it's in Urdu.  It is very much like Hindi.

Do people in India speak Urdu?

Yes, many people do.

Do people in other countries also speak Urdu?

Yes, they do.  Pakistan, for instance..

Pakistan?  Never heard of it.

Oh.  It is right next to India.

Really?  Right next to India, meaning it is attached to India?

Yes.

Then we don't need an aeroplane to go there; can we sit in a car and drive to Pakistan?

Yes, theoretically we can...

Amma, please let's sit in a car and go to Pakistan.

It's not that easy, Puttachi.  It is a different country, you see, we'll need passports, visas.

So let's get passports and visas and go to Pakistan.

It is not so easy, Puttachi.  You see... (sigh) India and Pakistan are not really very good friends.

What do you mean?

They fight with each other.

Are they our enemies? Are they bad?

No, no, no, no, Puttachi.....

Do we also fight with them?

No, no (how do I field this without telling her "you are too young to understand?")

You mean soldiers with guns fight against each other?

(she is fascinated by armies so hoping the questions will move away) Yes.

(in thought for a while.) Amma, how do people become soldiers?

They join the army, where they are taught how to be soldiers.

You mean the army teaches them how to use guns and kill people?

(Talk about putting it in perspective!)  Yes, they teach that too, among other things.

Amma, why didn't you become a soldier?

I wanted to become something else...

Why don't you go and become a soldier now?

Now?  I am too old now.

(Anxious) Are you very old, Amma?

No, Putta, I am not that old.  But I am too old to join the army and become a soldier. 

Can I become a soldier when I grow up?

Yes, you can.

What I mean is, I don't WANT to be a soldier.  I am just asking that if I so wish, I CAN be a soldier.  Can't I?

Yes you can.

But you know, right, Amma, that I want to be a teacher, a mother and a doctor?

Yes I do.

First I will become a teacher.  Then I will get married and have a baby.  When the baby grows up, I will become a doctor.

Puttachi, do you know that you can even become a doctor and join the army?  Then you can treat all those soldiers who have been hurt while fighting.

You mean those who have not died, and have only got hurt?

(How does she know such details? I certainly haven't talked to her about it.)  Yes, those soldiers.

(Thinks for a while.)  Amma, I don't want to be a doctor in the army.  I just want to treat small children who have fever and cold.

Oh, you want to be a paediatrician like your Dr.X?

Yes.  No.  I will be a doctor who knows everything.  I will be a doctor of everything.

And will you open your own hospital?

No, no, I will go to a hospital that is already there, I will call all the doctors, and tell them that I can take care of all the patients, and tell them all to go and join some other hospital.

(Beware, docs of the future.  One-in-all Dr.Puttachi is going to put you out of jobs!)

After many years....

Yesterday, I got in touch with a high-school classmate on FB.  He wrote on my wall, "How are you doing?  Still leading the charge against all of MANkind? :)"

For a second, I assumed he must have mistaken me for someone else.  On reflection, I realized that yes, he was talking about the high-school me, and he's got the description of that fourteen-year-girl exactly right.  As I rolled about with laughter at my young self and the apt description, I remembered that yes, I was very firm and stern and vocal against what I saw as atrocities against womankind by that terrible tribe of men, and I made myself very clear about it.  Of course, I still feel strongly about the topic, but I no longer have that fire in my belly.

And I paused for a moment to wonder where that girl has gone.  It sounds funny, if I think of it, that I am the same person.  How different I was then, in so many ways!

Reminds me of something that happened a few months ago.  I had a little black book that I used in my teens, where I noted down phone numbers of friends.  Only the important ones entered the little black book.

I found this book recently, flipped through its pages, and was lost in nostalgia, until I came to an entry, "Prerana (Menaka's friend)"  [Names changed.]  Not only did I not recognize the name Prerana, I did not even recognize the name Menaka.  And Menaka must have been someone I knew quite well, to use her name as a reference for someone else.  I almost felt I was losing my memory or something.  I still have no idea who those two girls are.   But at some point of time, they were important enough to be included in my book!

I know how much people can and do change over the years.   But yet, I found myself making the same mistake branding a certain person by the impression I had of her in my childhood.  At that time, I perceived her as snobbish, and she always made me feel dowdy and insignificant.   I was never really comfortable around her.  After many many years, we got in touch again, and though she repeatedly extended her hand to me in friendship, I turned away with trepidation, the old ghost in me rising up and not being comfortable around her.  Finally, I realized that the problem was with me, and then I myself made the leap and connected with her.  I then realized she's turned into a lovely lady. [It could be argued that she always had been a lovely person, and I had not seen it. :)]  We don't get to interact too often, but I know now that she can be a good friend.

Everybody needs to be given a second chance, everything has to be given the benefit of doubt.  What say?

Defending other people's choices.

When bringing up an impressionable child, there are times when you are faced with not just defending your own choices to the child, but also explaining other people's choices.  And this has to be done without putting the other people in a bad light. 

Puttachi: Amma, X gave me XYZ chips today.  He told me that he will ask his mother to buy me a pack too.

Me: Puttachi, there is a reason why I don't buy XYZ for you.  It contains a harmful substance (MSG) which is bad for everybody, especially for small children.

She: Then why does X's mother buy it for him?

Me: Perhaps she doesn't know that XYZ chips contains that. 

She: Or perhaps she doesn't know it is bad for health.

Me: Perhaps.

She:  Then you should call her up and tell her, Amma, that it is bad.

That is the logical thing that will occur to a child.  But how can I handle this?  I really have no answer.

Another situation:

Puttachi:  Amma, Y's mother lets her eat a whole pack of chips at one go.  Why don't you allow me?

Me:  Puttachi, I believe that too many chips at once is bad for you.  If you eat only a few chips, you will have enough space in your tummy to eat healthy food.  And you know that chips don't have anything that will help your body be strong and healthy. 

She: Then why does Y's mother let her eat so much?

Me:  Puttachi, just like different people have different likes and dislikes, different people have different beliefs.  Some think it is okay to eat a whole pack of chips at one go, but I don't.  See, B's mother doesn't let her play in the sand, but I think it is okay.  It is just a matter of what one believes. 

She: (I'm sure, wishing that her mother had a different set of beliefs)  Okay Amma. But I can eat a few chips, can't I?

Me: Of course, dear.

I will not be surprised at all if she goes and gives Y's mother a lecture next time.  But that is not in my hands.

How do you defend other people's choices?  Or do you?

I am not Supermom!

A few posts ago, when I had written about some challenges I faced during parenting, one commenter had told me that she was glad to read that I face difficulties too, because she had seen me as a super mom/wife/woman.

I think it is time to set the record straight.

I don't blog all the thoughts that come to my head.  Some posts die before they come out of my head.  Some dither at the draft level.  A very few fructify into blog posts. 

And I am not one who cribs or whines in public, nor do I like washing dirty linen in front of virtual strangers.  So I refrain from speaking about many things.  That, perhaps, has portrayed me as this superwoman.

We all know that there is no such thing.  All of us, I think are in a constant state of effort to improve ourselves, whether we know it or not.  To do the thing that we think is best.  For ourselves, for our children.

Parenting doesn't come with a manual.  And to add to that, every child is different.  Besides, we will be deluding ourselves if we think that we are the only ones who have an effect on our children.  The fact is that we live in a society, and inputs and influences come from every direction.

As a result, we are trying to nudge our children in a direction that we think is best - in the midst of all these thousands of little pushes that the child keeps receiving every day, every minute.

And sometimes we don't even know whether what we are doing is right or not.  Is it going to hurt her in the long run?  Is this going to result in some other behaviour problem later in life?  We don't know.  We cannot possibly know.  So we always do what we think is right at that point of time.  Of course we have a long-term view at the back of our minds, but sometimes, we just cannot be sure of what is right.

I am also a victim of that uncertainty.  I have constant doubts about what I am doing, what kind of an example I am setting.  I know I am far from being organized.  What am I showing her by being lazy, disorganized?  It is too much effort for me to maintain a neat and beautiful home.  Yet, I try.  But more often than not, I fail.  I used to be proud of the house my mom maintained.  It gave me pleasure to see how my friends appreciated it.  I used to be terribly vain about my mother's cooking, my mother's sewing.  Even now, when I am at a loss about what to do in certain home-makerly areas, I have the confidence that my mother's magic hands will set everything right.

But will my daughter have that kind of feeling about me?  I am most certain that she will not.  Because I am a totally different person.  True, she might be proud of me in totally different ways, or she might not.  But, it bothers me that I am not setting a certain standard for her to follow.  It bothers me that I don't take her to too many new places, that I don't expose her to enough things. 

I am constantly told that my daughter is too soft.  My view is that it is better she is that than if she is insensitive and rude.  Besides, I feel that if I give her a nice, secure environment now, she will later anyway grow up to be a secure, confident individual.  I don't care if she is not aggressive.  It is enough if she is content.  But is this opinion right?  Is it wrong? 

Am I lax in my nurturing her, because I don't have any fixed structured timetable for her?  Do I have to make her write her alphabet every day?  Do I have to send her to classes, art/sports?  Am I doing the right thing in letting her be, for now?  I think I am, instinct tells me that this is probalby the best thing. But my brain sometimes thinks otherwise. It tells me that it might cause problems later on.   It pushes, prods, points me to other kids.  And sends me into a tizzy of confusion.

I am not some advertisement mom, who wakes up in the morning fresh and bright-eyed,and glides about my day, each hair in place, my clothes neatly ironed, who knows just the right things to do for my child, and does it smilingly.  Far from it.

If there is anything I have achieved, for myself, or for my daughter, it is only by rising above all this.  It is not because of what I am, it is in spite of what I am.

If you have also been thinking that I am a supermom who sails through parenting, be assured that I am not.  I have to make an effort too, sometimes more than I am even capable of.  Yet, all that matters is that I have my daughter's best interests in mind, and that, I feel, is enough to guide me in my way.

A peaceful end to a great year

We had a lovely week at S's mother's village, deep in the Malnad region. Crisp, cool nights and sunny, clear days, with nearly nothing to do all day. If anyone enjoyed herself thoroughly, it was Puttachi. She played with her cousins and the other kids, jumped, screamed, danced, and more than anything, ran. And she ate lots of bananas so she could feed the peels to the cows. She loved the cows, especially the little calf so much, that she would have even spent the night there in the cowshed if we'd let her. As it is, she sat down in some muck trying to hug the calf.

She fed puffed rice to the big fat fish in the river Tunga that flows behind the house, she drew water from the well, ate off banana leaves, and watched in fascination as they used a big stone mortar and pestle to grind food.

And I? I discovered timelessness. I now know what they mean by time standing still. Time refused to move. It would feel like its been hours since I awoke, yet, it would be just ten o clock in the morning. And it wasn't as if I got bored during those long, sluggish hours. I was very much involved in activities like looking at the sky. And for most of the time, I did not even know, nor did I really care what the time was.

But I'm glad to be back.

And I wish you all a wonderful year.

The Thirties

When I was in my early twenties, I had this dread of the thirties.  I don't remember why, though.

But the thirties have been good to me. 

I'm largely comfortable with who I am. There is no more a great struggle to accept myself, my failings, my looks - now I largely know (or think I know) who I am.  But yet, I'm still searching for myself in some way or the other - wondering why I can't get myself to be better at this thing, or why I cannot seem to persuade myself to go out and do that thing.  But compared to the twenties, I can say that my boat is far steadier now.

I've found a little niche for myself, and I'm no longer floundering about wondering what is happening around me.   I've learnt that there is something I can be good at - at which, with some effort, I can perhaps be better than just good.  Yet, I know that I have such a long way to go that any little progress I make seems insignificant. 

I can see that I am more understanding, more loving, and definitely far more accepting and non-judgmental than I ever was. 

I understand my family, my friends and loved ones better, and am more appreciative of their role in my life.

I've known my spouse long enough to know that behind (what I think are) his idiosyncrasies, there beats a sincere and loving heart.  Yet, I don't know him so well that he doesn't spring a surprise on me from time to time.

I love my child, and I know her well.  So I know where I stand in terms of nurturing her, and yet, there is so much I don't know, making every day a learning process.  Every decision is a fine balance - frightening, yet exciting.  Ultimately, very rewarding. 

Yes, the thirties is definitely a better place than the twenties. 

It happened in Puttachi-land...

Puttachi:  Amma, please draw me.

Grabbing a gel pen and the proffered piece of paper, I make a rough sketch.  I have no experience in sketching portraits, and this sketch looks only vaguely like Puttachi, but decidedly older.

Puttachi is in splits when she sees the drawing.

She: Amma, it doesn't look like me at all, but it looks just like you! 

S comes back from work, and Puttachi shows him the sketch.

S: (Grimacing) Whew, I sure hope Puttachi doesn't look like that when she grows up!

Me: *eyerolling*

_______________

Puttachi has an upset tummy, and I'm warning her not to eat the snacks they give at school.

Me: Please eat only what I have sent in your lunchbox.  Don't eat anything at school, remember, and don't drink milk.

She: *wagging her index finger at me sternly* I hope you'll give me buttermilk when I get home, or how will I get my calcium?

Me: Yes! *pumping fist*

Imparting awareness in nutrition - tick.  And the last part was said in correct English too!
____________

Puttachi:  Amma, am I taller or is X (her friend) taller?

Me: What do you think?

She:  I know I am taller than her.

Me: okay.  (Puttachi is taller, but I don't want to make these things an issue, so I don't offer any comment.)

She:  But X keeps telling me that she is taller.

Me: So do you tell her anything?

She: No, I don't.  I just let her think she is taller.  I know I am taller, so I just keep quiet.

If only she retains this wisdom even in the future...

My tech-savvy Ajji

I am a big fan of my Ajji.  A volleyball player in college, and a BA graduate in those days, she even has a published book to her credit ( a translation from English to Kannada.)  So she's always been that little bit ahead of everybody else.

And now, at 84, she has got herself an iPad, and she surfs and emails.  It is lovely to get her mails. And yes, she reads my blog too.

Quick, quick, quick!

After Puttachi gets back from school at about 1 pm, I have a total of just six hours with her before she goes to bed. In these six hours, we have to fit in two meals, one milk+fruits+junk session, and then of course she wants to play at the park, she wants a bedtime story, she absolutely has to do play-acting, and then - drawing/painting/craft/music - whatever she wants to do.

And these six hours are just not enough for everything.  Of course, sometimes we skip going to the park, and on other days, we end up not doing any activities, but even then, it is too short a time.

And this paucity of time is worsened by the fact that her mealtimes stretch on and on and on... she is a good eater, but she is a dreamer too.  Her mealtimes are full of chatter and dreaming with food in her mouth, and forgetting to eat because she found the edge of the tablecloth far too interesting....

And sometimes, at the end of dinner which has gone beyond her bedtime, she is so sleepy that a bedtime story is not possible.  And many times she has to go to bed with a puzzle unfinished, or a book half-read, or without having spent some of her excess energy running around in the park.

As a result, I have turned into this monstrous machine who goes on saying "bega, bega, bega..." (quick, quick, quick) - I keep urging her to finish, and get on with it... and I get impatient if she dilly-dallies - and at the end of the day, after I have tucked her into bed, I feel exhausted and miserable at the same time.

We do enjoy a lot of spontaneous play, and kidding around, we aren't missing out on that - but I get all worked up when she takes too long at a task, because that means we'll have to cut back on something else, or else the evening tea session will get too close to dinner, for which she might not have an appetite left - it is all a terrible mess.

The poor thing - I hate to hurry her like that.  I hope I find my balance soon.

A Disclaimer on the Feature

Now that the hoopla and hullabaloo of the feature in The Hindu is behind me, I must tell you all that I was quite mortified by the feature itself, and the size of the photographs in the actual newspaper.  Publicity is nice, but I wasn't really prepared for so much.

Besides, the article was riddled with factual errors. 

People who know me in and out said, "No way, Shruthi couldn't have said that!"

People who know me quite well said, "Shruthi said that?  Doesn't quite sound like her...."

And I am sure many others, for example those who read my blog, might have thought "Really?  But I thought...."

I could have let it go, but at least on my blog, I am compelled to set the record straight.

No, my name is not Shruti Rao, but Shruthi Rao.

No, it is not true that people don't interest me.  I love people, love to spend time with them.  I find them fascinating.  Too many people for too long tires me out, that's all, and I need to recuperate before meeting more people.   The article makes me sound like a misanthrope or an antisocial element, which I am not.  

No, the Story Lady is not my first story, nor my first children's story, nor is it my first story that has been published, or is going to be published.

No, I don't spend time only creating craftwork with Puttachi, and I don't think that it is the best way to interact with them.  It is just one of the thousands of ways to spend quality time with them.  And I spend time with Puttachi in millions of more satisfying ways.

No, I am not that into embroidery, not worth such a big mention, anyway.   That, and crochet, among other things, are things I experiment with off and on.

No, I am not a software engineer by profession.  I was, but not anymore. 

No, I am not just concentrating on writing my blog, while waiting for Puttachi to grow up.  I don't have any great projects on hand, but I am not sitting around waiting for anything. :)

That feels so much better.

Thank you all for the love and wishes you've sent me in all possible forms of communication. :)  I am overwhelmed!

A feature on me in The Hindu (Metroplus Weekend)

I'm in The Hindu! 

Here are the links to the entire feature:

One
Two

Also, because this feature gives an incorrect impression about me, please read My Disclaimer on this Feature.

Winter mornings

I love winter mornings in Bangalore!

They are so bright, so happy.   An unbelievable amount of sunshine pours  in through the windows, and yet there is a definite nip in the air.  Look outdoors and the world seems to be painted with such clear, firm strokes - no fuzzy outlines anywhere, like a photograph taken with absolutely clear focus.  Even my brain shifts into clear, sharp mode - and there is no place for lethargy.

I feel like running outdoors and feeling the sunshine in my fingers, and in my hair.  Every day is perfect for a picnic.

It's got to be one of the best things about Bangalore - these wonderful winter mornings.  

Puttachi rediscovers the moon

Puttachi goes to bed at 7 pm every day and sleeps until 7 am the next morning.  If we have plans for the evening, I make her take a nap, so that she'll be awake and fresh all evening.  But that doesn't happen too often.  So, for the past six months or so, she had seen the night sky very, very rarely.   She slept when it was light and got up when it was light.

So, now that it gets dark much before 7, she has rediscovered the moon.  Yesterday, she stood at the window just gazing at the full moon, and talking to it.  She refused to come to bed.  She told me that she never knew the moon was so beautiful, and that she'd made friends with it, and it had promised to talk to her everyday.

Today, I allowed her to stay up beyond her bedtime and gaze at the moon, since tomorrow is anyway a holiday.  She chatted to the moon for a while, and then came running to me and S.  "Let's all hug and cuddle and stand at the window and watch the moon together!"  She pulled us both to the window, S had to pick her up and we had to stand in a hug and watch the moon for some time.  She was so utterly delighted.

That emotion moved me so much.  I myself love looking at the moon, so I understand her being besotted with it.  But the desire to share that moment and joy with her loved ones - how wonderful is that!  And how wonderful is the moon that can evoke these kinds of emotions in little beings!

Watching my story come to life.

The award ceremony was great!  I received the certificate and cheque, but the highlight of the programme, for me at least, was the stunning show that the kids from the Parikrma foundation put up.

They started by announcing, "We are going to perform The Story Lady written by Shruthi Rao akka." :)

They were wonderful.  Such happy, bright, enthusiastic children!  It was a fun and imaginative take on my story.  They were true to the story, but adapted it beautifully for the stage.  The props, the costumes, the background music, the songs ... They had everything!  And such a spirited performance, really!

I stood there, immersed in the show, but at one point, I experienced this surreal moment, where I seemed to step back and look at the scene in front of me with a sense of wonder.

These 20-30 children, and their 6-7 teachers have probably spent weeks preparing for this.  They prepared the screenplay, wrote the script, composed songs, set it to tune.  They designed props and elaborate costumes, they cut and pasted and sketched and painted and got it all ready.  They rehearsed the play, they learned their lines, and then they travelled all the way from Hebbal in a big yellow bus to come here and perform.  And here was an illustrious audience, enjoying it, laughing and clapping.

And all this is happening because of a small story written by little ol' me!

It was truly awe-inspiring.  Overwhelming.  I became all emotional and teary-eyed at this point during the show.... The feeling that all this is so much bigger than I am.... not sure if I am making any sense,  but I can't name the feeling myself. I wonder how playwrights feel, and people who have their books turned into movies!  I wonder how J K Rowling feels!

Later, one of the kids came to me and said, "Shruthi Rao akka, your story, akka, very nice akka.  I liked it soooo much, akka!"

Thank you, little Chalapati.  You made my day :)

It was truly a wonderful day because of my family who was with me, S, Puttachi, my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins - so many of them had made it.  And my friends and blog friends who braved the rain to be there.... Thank you so much.

Another lovely thing is that my good friends had won the first and second prizes in the short story for aduts category,  so it was lovely to share the stage with them.  And another great thing was meeting Shashi Deshpande, who wasn't a judge for my category, but who enjoyed the show, and complimented me on the story idea.

A wonderful experience for me.  I'm grateful to Annie Chandy of Unisun, and to Reliance TimeOut.

Happy Birthday, Peevee!

My little sister turns... cough, cough... turns a year older today. This is a card that Puttachi made for S and me two months in advance, and I'm borrowing it to wish Peevee.

No, I don't know what all this is supposed to represent.

And no, don't even dare ask me what is written. Hapee Bart-A of course.

Happy Birthday, Peevee!  :)

Invitation

This is the invitation to the programme where I'll receive my award for the competition I told you about.

I am doubly excited because the kids from Parikrma Foundation are going to perform my prize-winning story. :)

The Analyst

Puttachi is a great one for finding loopholes in mythological stories and fairy tales.  Much of our storytelling session involves my trying to explain some things that cannot be explained. 

Yesterday, I was telling her the story of Rapunzel.

Me: ... So the witch took the baby away, put her in a room on a tall tower that had no steps or ladder.  Rapunzel's hair grew very long, And whenever the witch wanted to get into the tower, she called out "Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair."  And she climbed up the hair like it were a rope.

Puttachi:  Amma, how did the witch go in and out when Rapunzel was a baby?  Did Rapunzel have long hair even then?  And how did she understand what the witch wanted?  And how did such a small baby crawl up to the window and let down her hair?  How, Amma?

Me:  Well, until Rapunzel's hair grew long enough, perhaps the witch flew in and out on her broom.

She: Then why did she stop using the broom later?  Wouldn't it have been easier that way?

Me:  You're right.  Why do you think she stopped using the broom?

She: (thinks) perhaps it broke, or she lost it, or it stopped working.

Me: Yeah, perhaps.

And I continue with the story, and finish it.  But unknown to me, all this is still running in her head.  Hours later, I put her to bed, and come away, and all is silent, and I think she has fallen asleep.  Just then I hear a frantic call.

She: Amma, Amma, AMMMMAAAA!!

Me:  What?  What???

She:  I thought of another reason the witch might have stopped using her broom.....

***

Speaking about analytical minds, here's another funny thing that happened a couple of weeks ago.  I still have many tapes, as in cassettes, you know, from the last century?  And I even have a player to play them.

I am trying to play a cassette, it is not running.

Me:  (Fiddling with it and mumbling to myself)

Puttachi:  (who wants to be in on every aspect of my life, whether or not it concerns her) What, what, what, what?

Me:  (still trying to make it work) Can't play this cassette... I wonder.... what is happening... is the cassette not okay?  Or is it the audio system... I wonder....

She:  Amma, I have an idea.  Try and play another cassette.  If that cassette also doesn't work, it will mean that the audio system is not okay.  If that cassette works, it will mean that this cassette is not okay.

I find it very interesting that much of her waking time is spent in outrageously imaginative fantasies and play-acting, but when presented with some facts, she wants them all to make complete sense, all the ends tied up. I would've thought these two characteristics were far removed from one another, and wouldn't really go together.

Two roads ....

I read a couple of discussions in the past one or two months about whether a woman is happier being a mother. 

I think this is quite like Frost's two roads diverging in the wood.  You choose one and that makes all the difference. 

Five years ago, if someone had announced that Shruthi is going to be this patient, dedicated mother, who would find tremendous happiness in her child, and would be more than content to chuck a well-paying job to stay at home to nurture her child, and explore other avenues, I would have been the first one to laugh, and I'm sure  95% of the people who knew me would have laughed with me.

But nobody is laughing any more.  And this I got to know only after I had my child.  

What if I had chosen not to have a child?
- Perhaps I would have continued in that same dull job and gotten my brains fried.
- Perhaps I would have discovered that I liked the job after all.
- Perhaps I would have progressed to a people-management role and discovered that it was my forte, and perhaps I would be this top-notch executive by now.
- Perhaps I would have realized that that field is not for me and chucked it anyway to do something else.
- Perhaps I would have found my (once-upon-a-time) dream job that involved travelling all around the world.
- Perhaps I would have been very very sad.
- Perhaps I would have been happier than I am now.

Perhaps.

But who can say? The fact is that I chose this road, for reasons I don't remember quite clearly.  And the fact is that I have found happiness and contentment here.

Same with any decision in your life.  This field of education, that field.  This job, that job.  Marrying, not marrying.  Having one child, having multiple children.  I mean, what do you know?  How can you say ahead of time, that Option 1 will be better than Option 2?  Even after you've married Guy X, how can you be sure that you would've been happier with Guy Y?

Perhaps it is all about standing up for yourself, making yourself comfortable, and finding happiness in whatever you are doing, wherever you are. 

So no, I don't think there are no answers to the question - What are the right choices that lead to a person's happiness.

What do you think?

Thank you, Steve

I'm not sure if there's a term for people like me - not a technophobe, not a technophile, but more of a techno-okwhatever. Gadgets got smarter, but with every new advancement, my ability to get jaw-droppingly amazed only got dulled.

Until the iPad happened to me.

A more elegant, breathtaking device I've never seen. And very late, but very enthusiastically, I joined the legion of Steve Jobs fans.

Thank you, Steve Jobs.