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.

and some days, they are perfectly horrid!

4.45am - "BITCH GET IN MY CAR" i jerk upright and flail around blindly. damn, there's somebody in my room, and from the sound of it the foulmouthed idiot is trying to kidnap me or something!!

chellam says sleepily, 'ma, can you shut that alarm off, i want 5 minutes more please!' 

what the hot place downstairs??? that is her morning alarm? and what's it doing going off at 4.45 am anyway?

5.45am - jerk upright and flail around blindly. please god don't tell me i overslept. first born had to be at the golf course at 6.00. damn, i overslept. dash madly into his room, apologising profusely, only to find him under the covers. 'don't worry ma, coach smssed saying it was ok if i was there at 7.00' 

oh, and you never thought to let me know?

walk back to room with mood meter inching toward 'annoyed' 

discover chellam is still sprawled across the bed asleep. so much for that 4.45 alarm. wake her up, get under the covers and try to grab some sleep. nope, not happening. too much adrenalin rushing around for that. remain under the covers, eyes closed, forcing myself to breathe slow and deep. not working.

7.00am - back from the golf course, pick up breakfast for chellam from the kitchen, and take it up to her. 

chellam 'maaa, whydyu get TWO idlis!!' 

whiney tone actually triggers a sharp shooting pain that goes all the way from the back of my teeth through my eyeballs, and right into my brain! i mutter something about ungrateful children and a mother's stupidity, slam the plate down on the bed, and lock myself in the bathroom.

mood meter is firmly lodged at 'pissed off' and the day hasn't even got to it's feet yet.

8.15am - driver calls. he's not coming in to work, his wife's sick.

8.45am - maid calls. she's not coming in to work, her father's sick.

mood meter points to 'ohh myyy gorrdddd' hopelessness

wash down my morning's handful of antibiotics, steroids, tummy protectors and decongestants with a glass of hot water, and throw in some paracetamol for good luck. that flushed feeling could be the onset of insanity or the fever coming back.

the day passes in a daze of phone calls, instructions to the other maid who at best functions like she checked her brain in at the gate before walking in through my door, a meeting with a dear friend. we spend more time gossiping and less working. thank god for small mercies.

mood meter tentatively hovers around 'happy'

5.15pm - turn into my lane and find chellam running out onto the road bare footed, in her school uniform shirt and the thin knit shorts she wears under her uniform skirt - she might as well have run out on the road in her panties! yell and scream that she might have the body of a lumbering 16 year old but her brain is still stuck at 10.

the handful of leering drivers and watchmen looking on have their entertainment quota for the day filled. barely manage to stop myself from turning around and screaming 'and whatreyou looking at? yeah, you, and you, and you!'

8.30pm - get my ass kicked in scrabble, but the company is worth every point i lose, and then some, so it's ok.

9.30pm - come home to find that brat female offspring of mine has been on the computer, on facebook and some stupid thing called 'restaurant city,' knowing perfectly well that the computer is out of bounds on weekdays, and especially so now because exams are going on. sms records show message activity. do i even need to say that we have a 'phone turned in before dinner' rule?

lose it. completely. mood meter zooms to 'insane woman yelling madly, loud enough to be heard down three streets, arms flailing about, spraying spittle all over the room, and eyeballs in serious danger of falling out of her head'  

'ok, if all you do is break every rule i set,' i yell, 'fine, no rules. but don't expect me to do anything for you either. you can't have EVERY BLESSED THING your way!'

she throws a tantrum back, and stalks off, fat tears streaming down her face, saying she needed some peace and quiet to study in. 

right, and i was the one getting in the way of her mugging up her math equations!

mood meter quietly gives up trying. there's nothing in it's experience to describe this.

9.45pm - mom calls, and makes the mistake of asking about the children. she gets an earful. and then she actually says 'don't be too harsh with her, poor thing, it's that age! children are so sensitive these days.' and goes on to tell me about an 8 year old who was accused by her teacher, in front of the class, of stealing a classmate's pencils, and the child, feeling humiliated, went home, poured kerosene over herself, and set herself on fire!

thank you ma, that makes me feel so reassured, and hello, where was all this understanding about 'that age' when i was growing up? i mean, i remember dad actually taking a belt to me, and you watched without saying a word. didn't i go through 'that age' too?

but what's the point. i can't say all of that, and she's only trying to help. i don't even bother to check the mood meter.

10.30pm. talk with mom done, i turn the radio on to 'quiet storm' put my head down on the dining table, and wish i could cry. my eyes burn. i don't know if it's from the fever coming back, or the emotions roiling inside. the voices of barry white, and sade, and seal flow over me in songs of love, and slowly lead my reluctant emotions to a place where it's still dark, but not an acid in the gut dark. this is a more bearable curtains drawn in a cool room dark.

11.15pm - first born calls, asking to be picked up from work. 'i'm hungry ma,' he says, 'can i have some dinner as soon as i get home?' i heat up some quiche, fill a bottle with vegetable juice, and leave. the car's sun roof is open, the warm night air flows through the windows rolled halfway down, soft rock plays on the radio. the road's blessedly empty.

12.30am- dinner's done with. everything's put away for the night. the children are both in bed. 

i look at my handful of medication, the steroids, the antibiotics, and everything else, and feel like throwing all of it away. the prickling behind my eyelids comes back again.

i want my darling husband here. i want a sane, sympathetic adult to talk to. a warm body to hold. somebody to stroke my back, and smooth my hair and ask if i need something. i need to put my head on his shoulder, and have him drape his leg over my hip; to hug him close and fall asleep not knowing where he begins and i end. 

but he's hundreds of miles away, and i won't see him for 3 weeks, wishing we were a 'normal family' with mother and father and two children sitting down to breakfast every morning, and discussing the day's events every evening before children are tucked in under the covers in their rooms, and mom and dad curl up in each others arms to sleep, is not going to help. heck those kind of families probably don't even exist!

like that old eagles song says, i need to 'get over it' if not now, by tomorrow morning at least, when the alarm will go off again at some unearthly hour, to some awful noise that passes off as music, by some ass whose mother should have washed his mouth out with industrial strength floor cleaner years ago.

dear god, tomorrow's a new day. please, let it be a better one.

admit it, you love my brother more!

'mmmaaaa?' 

how well i knew that honey dipped tone;  it meant my chellam wanted something i wasn't going to want to give.

'yes chellam?' my eyes remained glued to the computer, hoping she would believe i was working and leave me alone.

no such luck; she pounced. 'can i take tomorrow off?' 

aha! she had exams coming, and wanted to stay home, listening to taylor swift, pretending to study.

'you're not supposed to guess so easily,' she pouted, 'what if i was sick or something! i could be, you know!'

much coaxing and cajoling and smiling and sweet words, accompanied by promises she had no intentions of keeping followed.

'i swear i will study.' she said. mmm yes, and i was next in line for president of the country!

'it's not happening chellam,' i repeated, now on auto pilot, 'not unless you fall down the stairs and break your neck,  or something.'

foolish words, but no sooner were they out of my mouth than she ran up the spiral stairs, slid down three steps, and clutched at her neck, moaning and groaning in a manner that would put a ramsay brothers ghost to shame. 

eyes flashing up from the computer screen, i checked quickly for damage. none, thank heavens. i hadn't threaded my eyebrows or upper lip in 6 days, and god knows i wasn't prepared to face super bright emergency lights in the hospital! 

finally, fed up of trying to convince the 'heartless adult', she rose from this pretend swoon and, voice quivering with outrage, declared, 'you don't love me. you only love my brother. otherwise why would you let him get away with all sorts of things, and yet be so mean to me?'

oh god, i wasn't about to feed that monster tonight! instead, i asked her, and very nicely too, i must say, to go to bed, and get some sleep.

furious that she could neither have her way nor argue about it, she snapped, 'just admit you love him more, ok? just admit it ma. life would be so much easier!' and stalked off to her room.

i had thought these very thoughts 25 years ago, but never had the courage to say it to my mother. did i believe it was true then? yes of course, and it had hurt like crazy. did i still believe it? till a few years ago, yes. then i stopped thinking about it. i didn't make comparisons anymore.

later that evening, after her brother came back home from a movie, i sat with him at the dining table, and we spoke about what happened.

'you say i make you out to be the villain of every fight between you and your sister, and take up for her raja, and she says i love you more. funny how differently both of you see things, isn't it?'

'yes ma, and you know what, you can't change my mind,' first-born said, looking up from his mushroom dosa, 'and you can't change hers either. there is no winning this particular battle ma.'

and therein lies one fundamental truth of raising more than one child- each believes the other is loved more. talk about parenting being complicated!