independant thinkers and their parents

'... so ma, what you're actually saying is this,' my son said, 'you brought me up to be a free thinker, questioning popular thought, looking for my own answers, finding my own truths, but that's only with the rest of the world... not with you, right?'

what can i say, the boy is right!

who is this alien in my child's body?

32 tries later, i managed to get through to the exchange. i gave my chellam's roll number and dorm number; the call was put through.

we chatted a bit about what was happening in her life and mine. then 'ma, send me my red strapless bra please,' she said.

'why kanna? didn't you take enough underwear with you?'

'ya ma, but i went shopping with atha for clothes for my birthday and got a dress with wide shoulders. i need a strapless bra.'

so we got into a discussion (that's a nice word for what actually happened) about spending money on things she already had (two sets of clothes to wear on her birthday specifically, plus at least a dozen more because the others were 'worn and ratty, and just not the kind of stuff i like anymore'), and protests that she didn't have enough, and finally ended with the darling daughter saying her evening was ruined with this phone call, and did i really have to call and ruin her day.

how do we get from being the rock in our children's lives to being adults who they think are only set to ruin things for them? here on one side, is a child who thinks she is completely misunderstood and hates her parents, and there on the other side are parents who can't understand why they can't ever do anything right, who feel hurt at the insolence and disrespect dished out on a regular basis, and wonder why the children can't see how much they are loved.

i don't understand my daughter any more. nothing works. this will pass, everybody tells me, but will the scars fade? or will both of us look back heavy hearted, with one wishing she was born to different parents, and the other missing out on the togetherness that could have been, the closeness she never had with her own mother?

today most conversations with my chellam leave me in tears; wondering how things got so bad; longing for a child who loves me back the way i love her.

i wonder what she wants.

happy and gay, naturally!

'... so i told the school authorities that it was only natural for her to be interested in boys at this age, and if she were not, now that would be un-natural and abnormal!'

i was telling my son about the 'we wish to bring to your notice that your daughter is interested in a boy, so please counsel and discipline her.' email i got from school.

'ma, please, you're going to give the wrong impression,' my son protested, and quite vehemently too. 'why don't you just stop for a minute and think about what you've done....' the words rolled on, but i didn't pay too much attention.

'maybe he's right...' I told myself, 'the school is conservative, which is why i got that email in the first place... i hope they don't take it out on my chellam ...' when random words my first born was saying started registering in my mind, bringing my meandering thoughts to a screeching halt.

'... and you know what. you've just indicated. very clearly. that being attracted to the opposite sex is normal. and being gay is un-natural and abnormal!'

what? when did i ever say that! i protested. i never meant that at all. i was only talking about how attraction between the sexes is normal among teens. and anyway, even if i did indicate that, what did it have to do with chellam and her issue?

'raja,' i said firmly, after trying to get him to get back to my point, and failing to cut through his indignant support of homosexuality, 'this is not about gays at all. this is simply about my making a point to that stupid school that teenagers are hormonal and will be attracted to the opposite sex. i wasn't talking about homosexuality. it didn't even strike me to talk about it. now let it go.'

he let it go.

we've had this conversation many times, and it always worries me. 'what if?' my mind asks. i've got nothing against homosexuals, i've always said, not giving voice to the thought that homosexuality was ok as long as it was not my children who were that way. hypocrisy? alright, i'll admit to that. but i'm not ready to face any other kind of reality.

does every mother go through this? wondering about her son's sexual inclinations when he makes statements like my brat just did, and in that particular tone? when there are no girls in his life, and when there are too many girls in his life, and no 'girlfriend'? when he chooses deep purple curtains with silver grey flowers for his room? i must confess those curtains are super chic, but an 18 yr old 'straight' boy's choice?

'since when are colour and design gender specific?' he counters when i tell him that choice of curtain is 'gay.' oh god, i cringe just to type those words... did i actually say something that goes so against my policy of be and let be?

'are you?' i've asked him.

'no, but what would you do if i were?' he replies with his own question.

'well i won't be exactly thrilled about it, and it will be tough to accept it, but if that's what you were, i guess i would deal with it.' i say, 'eventually.'

i'm not happy with the direction that particular conversation went. but is there anything i can do about it?

yup. nothing. so let it be. for now.

two girls, one history

long ago, a little girl locked herself in a dark store room, threw herself on a stack of old cotton mattresses, and sobbed as if her heart was broken. she had discovered, and there was no doubt about it, that something she had suspected for years, was true - her mother loved her brother best. actually she wasn't even sure her mother loved her at all. 

'i wish i was never born in this family,' she wept, and her tears soaked wet stains into the musty cloth under her, 'i wish i had the guts to run away from home, i wish i was dead.'

and finally, when there were no more tears left, just deep deep pain, she swore that when she had children of her own, she would love them all the same. 

that girl was 11 then, or maybe 12.

back then she had cried for the little girl she was. now the pain is for another girl, just like her... a little girl who cannot see that a mother might not love both her children the same, but that did not mean that she loved one more and the other less.

sweet child o' mine

me, at dinner, trying to educate my daughter on the delights of my  music, 80's rock.

chellam, cutting into my rapturous speech on the boss - oh i know rock. it's your pink floyd and guns n' roses and *andha kaalam bands like that.

me - (ignoring the andha kaalam reference, and quite impressed that she's actually knows some names) yes kanna, when we get home ill give you some of their music to put on your ipod.

chellam - sure ma. by the way, this guns n' roses thingy, are they like, as good as...mmmm.........  justin timberlake?

me, lost for words. completely.

now to find a wall and bang my head on it till pain takes the sound of those words away! 

* andha kaalam -literal translation:- those days. 

implication:- stuff you like to think fondly of, which has no relevance to my life in any way.

football games and report cards

we were out at dinner last night, and got into our mullum malarum for the day.

'football was a good thing about my day,' my chellam said, all smiles, 'when they audition, i'm going to be selected for the team.'

pointing out that auditioning happened for plays, and trials for games, i asked if her game had improved; the previous year, she had been kicking more air than anything else.

'ma, i'm one of the best, okay?' she protested. 

'in my class...(pause)

in my section...(pause again)

among the girls...'(long pause)

and then she laughed, 'my section really sucks at football. all the best players are in A & B, but in my section, i'm the best.'

then came the where the 'nameless hot place did that come from!' comment that left me speechless...

'hey, but how would you know what i'm good at, anyway? you only notice the red marks in my report card!'

no, i'm not going into details about the hours spent on the football ground cheering her on, or the zillion other thing that make me an involved, enthusiastic, cool, caring, sensitive, and totally awesome mom, but amazing, isn't it, what the view looks like from the other side?