daily tidbit 22

Recently, outside our neigbourhood shopping mall, there has been this huge clown attraction for kids- one that Nadi took an instant comaraderie to because as he says it, “Mama, Nadi ko taaown hieee kiya”. The clown in question has huge air filled arms which flap in the wind as a greeting that Nadi takes to be aimed persoanlly to him. So now every single time we cross that dratted mall front, (which is about 4-5 times on an average active day) we are required to park, get off, spend atleast 20 mins to half hour paying homage to the clown. And God Help us when the clown isnt there- then we wait, take rounds and make up stories to where he really is. Sometimes he believes us and other times, there’s no respite until something else equally captivating grabs his fancy.

The F word and other less important stories

What would you do if your 2 year old suddenly ran around the room with “f—, man” on repeat? If you were a normal human being you would want to melt right there of course. I stared in horrified fascination at the clear diction, the appropriate use of the word (the light had just gone in the middle of his favourite TV show) and wondered who and where the hell he had picked this up from? I sincerely wish I could get on the moral high horse and say he has never heard me say the word. But he has. Once. Apparently that was enough, because of the strength of which the feeling erputed from me. By nature, I am not an abuser. K is. And we had many a conversation in which I expressed my dispeasure at it and warned him of dire consequences if Nadi ever picked up foul language from him. You can imagine my mortification when it turn out I am the corrupting influence. The first time I heard him use the word- I looke dat him and asked, Nadi what did you say? And he looked sheepishly at me and mumbled, “Fudge, man” I looked hard at him, trying to fgure out if I heard wrong and turned away, and clearly heard him pipe up behind me “F— man”. I turned around and got the cutest grin from him. God Help Me I thought. My next attempt to foil the bid was to blank at the episode. A few days later randomly, he must have remembred it and suddenly went on repeat again. Twice, thrice and I studiously, achingly kept a stright face when, I must shamefully admit, all I wanted to do was laugh because this is SO not the problem I envisioned with a two year old. A minute later, seeing no reactin from me, he moved onto the next game and all was well. I stay on my toes these days, hoping he doesnt suddenly recall his fun word in the middle of an adult/ family gathering. My friends thankfully, are so much more…liberal. Some downright supportive even of his ability to make such good use of a word I had really hoped he would not learn till he was 25. Ok, 15.

I was going to relate some other stories also but by doing so, I will take away from the somehwat comic horror and impact of this story. I realize for now, I am still reeling from this and I need to let you guys reel/laugh/judge/enjoy/ shake your heads at me for a bit also.

green for faith, victory and pakistan.

All I want to say is we so needed this today. Jeevay Jeevay Pakistan, Jeevay Jeevay Pakistan. (in the different slower tune Dada sings it in)

daily tidbit 21

Nadi has decided that he does not want to go to school- instead he will “”dwive zhooo“” to “offish” like Nana and Abba, where he will work on the “lappop” and watch Baby Chef on “tubeyou” with his “beefcashe“. But since its so hot here these days, he has decided  pants are not necessary to complete the corporate look.

my family and the art of distance

“How do people do it,” I asked H,  trying to reason out this sense of hollowness I  felt right around the heart/abdomen area when kay jetted off to NY last Monday. “How do they say goodbye to sisters, siblings, family so easily, so grown-uppily? I feel like I am making such a big deal about something that seems to come super naturally to everyone. How does family manage to live apart and be ok with it?”  H, being H, gave me an answer that perhaps, was the best one given my current state of mind, “But jam, what I dont get is  how you guys have managed to live so close together for so long without killing each other!”

They say distance and absence make the heart grow fonder…but no one ever really tells you how much distance. I love being around my family yes, and they are the biggest source of overbearing love and forced support I have in my life but there are so many times when I just want to run far away to be on my own. The me space where I can do my own things, where I can bring up Nadi the way I want to, mistakes and all, where I can think feel and act in isolation without needing to take into account and consideration all the myriad other feelings that inevitably get mixed up in the equation.

The last week of May was evidence to this turmoily fact. To support kays publishers and her own book launch in Dubai, my whole family decided to make a trip of it, especially since it also preceded kay going away to NY. The last time the 5 of us actually travelled together was in 1991. 18 years ago. So, to say that I had my apprehension about being in a confined country with everyone is an understatement. With 4 women of extreme opinions, my dad who still thinks we are 10, 7 and 4 (therefore he gets to decide our day) and Nadi who has totally his own agenda regarding his comings and goings, it didn’t look like it would be very…peaceful.

It wasn’t. It was a clash of agendas from the word go. Shopping wise, food wise, people to hang out wise, when to go where wise. Everyone had something to say. And it usually didn’t match what the others said, which eventually led to one person being sulky on some level. The first two days and a pattern was set and as I began to despair of this family holiday thing ever really working out, suddenly on the third day, there was a shift. Suddenly everyone seemed to be working in tandem again. The plans were flowing smoother, everyone was laughing more and caring about the silly details less, plans falling through were being met with giggles and other plans being made. Suddenly, it was lieke we relearned how to be together, giving each other space while still in close proximity.

One thing I learned out of the trip was that we need to learn the art of growing tolerant, even and especially with our special-loved ones. We need to learn when to let go of the bigger things and when to hold onto the smaller things. I won’t say the flareups ended with this. I won’t even say that we have learned our lesson and this won’t happen again. But I will say that there is simply nothing like family when it comes to truly having fun and the closer they are in heart, the better it is in combating the distance. Bon Voyage toots. May the force be with you.

what’s in a name?

Nadi has recently developed a stronger sense of identity. From being a baby he is now Nadi or Naddu depending on how affectionate he is feeling towards himself. And of course, it is still much in the third person. Nadi play. Nadi eat. Nadi go. Its all about the Nadi…k loves playing this game with him, but this time it had an unusual result

k: Nadi what is your name?

N: Nadiii

k: what is your full name?

N: Nadiii Wyne

k: Very good. Do you know your full name is Nadi Khalid Wyne?

N cocks his head and smiles impishly…

k (again): Nadi whats your name?

N: Nadi Abba Wyne.

making time to turn two with a splash

The week before Nadi’s second birthday was insane, both socially and workwise. Farewell dinners for kay who is off shortly on the grand NY adventure, some birthday parties not to be missed, and lots of work deadlines to be met especially since the day after his birthday, we were going on our trip to Dubai to attend kay’s book launch. And as the law of travelling and excitement  has it, things just snowball before a trip. It’s almost as if in anticipation of the relaxing fun week I had ahead, the before-math had to be as crazy packed as it could be. “Why do you want to have a birthday party for Nadi in the midst of all this?” asked a well meaning friend. He could not understand why looking and sounding as harassed as I did, I was trying to have the party the evening before we left also. “It’s not like he will remember, is it? And you can have a nice peaceful evening at home, packing and wrapping up and then really relax on your week in Dubai!” He made a great point really, all things considered. Why WAS I going insane trying to do it all? A pool party even for merely 6 toddlers and their parents is a big enough undertaking- without the added hassle of the rest of the balls up in the air. Nadi wouldn’t rally remember or hold it against me, of course that I did not do soemthing fun for his second birthday, and yes it would be a much needed quiet evening at home.

The thing is, I later tried explaining to the same friend who has so innocently offered me advice, I realized you will always do as much as you want to. If I start cutting out on doing things that I only want to do that don’t really have long term merit or credit, life would definitely be easier with greater pockets of me time- but it will prbably be a life not so well lived. Loking back at the picturs of Nadi’s very fun pool party, I realized that that one extra bit of push and shove that comes from the people around you (k, m and m, kay, mom- thanks!!) to just go ahead and do something you don’t have time for, is what keeps setting the bar higher in terms of living a life that packed and brimming and really, just about the only way I think one should live.

(duas all around please)

letting live.

K and I decided way back, probably even before we had a kid or the semblance of an idea of a kid, that we were going to be make-your-own-choices kinda parents. In theory, at that time atleast, we promised each other that no matter what our children wanted to do, (and hopefully it would be rebellious within reason), we would be there to support them, even if through gritted teeth and clenched fists. We talked long and hard about it- and realized that we didn’t want to be those parents whose children stifle their personal quality in the hopes an efforts of making us happy. We want to be the kind of parents who celebrate every success, even if it isn’t on our personal agenda of what we hope for our children. 

Coming from a culture of big expectations especially where the child-parent relationship is concerned, it is scary to imagine that you can easily turn into any of those parents you have seen around you, stifling their kids- now grown men and women- under the pressure of what they should be doing for you. I don’t doubt that parents a lot of times do know best-  but I remain a strong supproter of living and letting live. Especially if you weren’t allowed that luxury. Children need to ake their own mistakes, figure out their own paths, and as much as meddling comes naturally to any parents, it is so important to let go, once in a while, allow them the injuries- of getting shocked by that switch they insist of stucking their finger repeatedly into or falling off the bed because they insist on jumping on it when practically swaying with sleepiness. Sometimes you just have to let the live their own lives, cross your fingers, shut your eyes and hope for the very best.

Having said that however, I am now going to eat my words just a little bit. Coming from a quasi creative family of writers, artists, designers and photographers,  in some ways, especially right now at the emulating stage, I suppose Nadi has no choice but to be curious and  interested in what we do. And even though, we still remind each other of the fact that we are perfectly ok with him, one day, doing whatever he likes with his life, it is such a funny high and thrill to watch him take an interest in things that matter and make sense to the lives we have chosen for ourselves today.

bring on the summer!

It can only be at his Nana Nanna’s house that the entire sitting area gets transformed into a mini water park area for Nadi’s beat the heat entertainment and fun. What next, I wonder? A pony? His own chartered jet?

Real Mothers (capital R, capital M)

A few months ago, one of my blog’s unfans commented along the lines of how I was a mother on the sidelines, not really bringing up my kid hands on and adding to the rift between classes by having “help” in the house- and yet STILL blogging about about how hard pressed I am for some k time or me time or time out from my work. I remember being momentarily irritated but then vastly amused at the presumptious nature of this comment and person who sat so firmly on her high horse deciding who was suffering enough to be a Real Mother. A similar comment thread on Mad Momma’s blog reminded me of that and even though I have already posted this comment there, I am reposting it on my blog to remind myself that there are mother’s of all kinds out there- most working damn bloody hard to ensure the best possible reality they can give their kids along with a few dreams. Nobody has the right to judge how she does it.

I think one of the most deplorable things in educated circles when you have to prove how you’re a mother because you cook or clean or do some kind of physical labour. What about if I just work bloody hard and earn well and pay someone else – who wants to make money too- to do the physical work so I can have some quality time with my kid? Why do I get judged on that? Is a mother MORE a mother because she has suffered more? Personally in my circle of reference the people I have seen taking on all the laborious work of cooking cleaning are the ones who are worried that their kids get the short end of the stick- so basically instead of pointing these long painted fingers at each other, if we actually stood up and smiled encouragement at each other for whatever little bits we give up to provide the other little bits, won’t we finally be making some kind of universal sense?