My EO and Me...Same-Same

A couple of weeks ago, my EO came to me while I was on the comp (as usual...sigh!) and said to me, "Mamma, you and I are just the same. We both love to read, we both love salads, we both love acting, we both love music and singing... We are so same, naa?"

And like so many countless times before, he made me feel this extra-special kind of rush of love that only he is capable of making me feel. It makes me melt into the same pool of mommy-love that I had dissolved into the day he came into my world and changed it forever.

We had another incident soon after that, that brought out beautifully just how same-same we are and this happened right after his school closed post the unit tests. A friend had come over and all the boys in the house were playing, running amok, making noise and generally doing things that little boys do. Suddenly, the EO comes up to my room, all upset and ready to burst into tears. When I asked him what was wrong he said that the friend was fighting with him and etc. etc... I don't know why, but I didn't buy it...probably because of something he had shared with my mother and which she, in turn, had told me. He mentioned that he was feeling bad that Class 3 was over because they had had a lot of fun in class that year and he had enjoyed being in that class.

I asked the EO to lie down on my bed and he grabbed a pillow and started crying. I hugged him close, let him have his sob and asked him if he was feeling sad about not being in Class 3 anymore. He nodded. We talked about his class teacher who adored him, but thankfully didn't spoil him silly, giving him a dose whenever he needed it. We talked about his best friend in class who he'd grown really close to. We talked about all the fun things he had done. From his sobs and garbled words, I could make out that it was not being in this teacher's class anymore that was breaking him. I also told him that he could still see his teacher whenever he'd like, because he'd still be in the same school after all. I told him that his best friend would also still be there. I also reminded him that next year would have new surprises and fun moments in store, what with his brother joining the school :-)

My little boy's reaction brought back a long ago memory...

This happened when we were still living in New York. It was the last day of 3rd Grade. I remember sitting in the single seater at home, watching TV while DaddyDearest read the paper and MaaJanoni got dinner together. I suddenly started crying...I mean really, really crying my little heart out. I couldn't figure out why. Maa came running from the kitchen and the two of them tried to find out what was wrong when finally Maa hit the nail on the head -- I was crying for the teacher I was not going to see again.

Let me explain why she was so special...

That year, we came to India for a long holiday, while school in America was still on. Of course my parents took permission, but still, it was a really LONG time. By the time we got back, I remember hanging around in the school office for a while as they figured out what to do with me. The principal's secretary (I think) finally took me to another classroom (section), not my original one. I remember my teacher, Ms. Gordon, storming into that class, pulling me out and taking me to the principal's office where she fought to have me back in her class. From the little I over-heard as they debated and argued where to put me, I figured out that the school admin. had decided to shift me to a class full of 'weaker' students so that I could cope with everything that I'd missed and hopefully catch up by the end of the year. My teacher said that she was taking full responsibility for me and that she would make sure that I was on par with the rest of the class. Needless to say, she proved them right.

It's close to three decades since that incident and I still remember Ms. Gordon. I remember how she placed her faith in me and how she fought for me. She made me feel worthy and special and that why I will never forget Ms. Gordon of PS 33 Q, NY. Never.

And I hope my little boy never forgets a certain Ms. V.H. of SXCHS, his Class 3 teacher who made him feel so loved and special.

My EO and I really are very similar and I revel in shouting that from the roof-tops. We do have common interests and passions. We both love good food, and I mean the entire experience of it from the cooking to the smelling to the savouring of it. We both share an eclectic taste in music, running the entire gamut from ABBA to Rabindrasangeet to Rodrigo y Gabriele to Michael Jackson to Jashn-e-Bahara. Of course he likes him some Kolaveri and Chhamak Chhallo too...but then he shrugs his shoulders at my love for Genda Phool and Alanis Morissette. We love the stage and the mere thought of theatre has us salivating. We love reading and even have a common love there -- the Mahabharatha; I've read at least ten versions of it while the EO is already three down. He attacks my precious collection of Amar Chitra Katha with much gusto and I am always adding to the collection. He wants me to look up extra info on all his favourite entertainers (from writers to actors to WWE wrestlers to musicians) on Wikipedia -- this also happens to be a favourite past-time of mine! We can sit down with a book anytime and any where and we often do. We're both also very last-minute people and quite scatter-brained as well.

Then of course there's the sensitivity issue. We are both overly-sensitive and I hope in the long run this is something that he can work on. It killed me through my school and college years and it still does me in every now and again. I would be devastated to see him get taken advantage of.

And we both cried for our third grade teachers at the end of the year.

That's just one more thing that makes us same-same.

It's March 1st, 2012

In other words, it's my baby's last month in pre-school. His LAST frikkin' MONTH!!

This realisation has hit me hard and it's one of the reason's I've been so quiet, to the point of being depressed. My baby has well and truly grown-up.

I know, I know...he's five-years-old and quite definitely shed the tags of 'baby' and 'toddler' quite some time back...but...but...but...sigh...

He's still my baby, dammit!

Yes, my little one has got admission into Big School -- the same one his brother and cousin are studying in. The fact that he's secured admission there is a huge relief, of course. The fact that he's old enough to go there is a huge big bubble of sorrow, threatening to burst at various points throughout the day.

When the EO started Big School, it did wound me, but not like this, because I knew that I still had the cuddlesome YO to baby. Plus, the EO did Big School in two steps, hopping from one to the other with consummate ease and what killed me was being forced to take him out of Big School 1 to put him into Big School 2.

But now, it's going to be one giant leap for my little son. From the loving, sheltered, protected environment of his Montessori to the big bad world of an all-boys, old school. From being one of twelve pampered and adored students, he'll be one of 44, jostling for attention or giving up in the process.

It's not going to be easy. I saw how hard it was for The Nephew who went from the same Montessori to this Big School. He was depressed for the first six months and would cry about it every morning. My SIL later confided to me how much it broke her heart. The EO, thanks to his two years in-between Montessori and present Big School, was already seasoned in matters pertaining to big classrooms, many boys and fewer teachers, and so it didn't take too long for him to settle down. So, I am already steeling myself for what's to come.

Of course, temperamentally, the EO and The Nephew are radically different. The Nephew is a shy, quiet introvert. The EO is gregarious, chatty and makes himself comfortable wherever he goes. Their personalities being such, I'm sure contributed to how they took to this most dramatic change in their young lives. In this regard, the YO is very similar to the EO and so I can only hope and pray that it will stand him in good stead when he takes that first step into the giant school yard.

Of course he's also stubborn and sensitive...

And what is he going to do in those horrid Bengali classes? How will he cope?

In fact, how will he cope with so many new subjects?

How will he react to the strict levels of discipline? No gems and smileys and stars for hard work here!

And his handwriting is just not up to speed!

And speaking of speed! God, for someone who's Speedy Gonzales on the field, it's amazing how tortoise-like he can be when it comes to getting his work done on time!

Sigh...at least he's got the EO to seek out for a hug during break time...

Not to mention the fact that he'll be joined by two of his friends from this playschool over at the Big School.

Ok...I need to stop hyper-ventilating!

But, the fact of the matter is, in one month's time, my baby starts Big School. This is his last month in playschool. In one month, I will be mamma to two big boys.

And while the YO says he's ready and excited about going to his brother's school...I'm not.

Not yet.

Don't know if I ever, really, truly will be.

*breathe, breathe, breathe*

The Sesquicentennial Year

Monday, 9th May 2011 was Kobiguru's 150th birth anniversary. The spirit of the Bard of Bengal is well and truly alive and as each day goes by, it is obvious that Tagore isn't going anywhere. The man, his words, his works, his art, his vision have all become intrinsically linked to the collective consciousness of the Bengali psyche. It is almost as if he has been encoded into our DNA. This past one year has been a celebration to his life and work and the year ahead promises to be the same...not that that's surprising really, considering that Tagore's masterpieces are performed every year regardless. But so much creativity has been flowing in recent times and all sparked off by Tagorean thought, values and oeuvres. He and his works have been performed, celebrated, reinvented, recreated, reexamined, dissected, discussed, dissed even, under a microscope and from every angle possible. Many have been trying to portray his works in a new light, look for a new spark, present another viewpoint, 'contemporarise' him too -- the last one being quite redundant really, as his vision was far ahead of his times and he is still very relevant today.

The YO's school had a special homage to Tagore for their annual day concert, the theme of which was 'The World of Books" and my little boy, (apart from being one of the dwarves of the Snow White skit) was also part of the tableau that offered their respects to India's first Nobel Laureate. And on Monday, some of the students of EO's school were chosen to present a few items that they had been rehearsing for ever since school re-opened. Not just that, but the piece that the EO was a part of, had to perform again that evening for a special programme being organised and presented by the school alumni.

I am but one of millions of his devotees (I don't use the word lightly) and it heartens me to know that the future of Rabindrasangeet and Rabindra sahitya is bright and beautiful.

He Kobiguru, tomaare jaanai, koti koti pronaam.

Sports and the Elder One

So yesterday, Sunday, December 6th, was the EO's first Sport's Day in Big School.

Now, I know, as do you, that I am not the biggest fan of the EO's school and the 'old, traditional schools' in general, but they have one huge plus point. A point that is of enormous significance in my life in general. And that is TRADITION.

There is something about the way these schools go the whole nine yards and then some, when it comes to their events and special days. It's what kick-starts those old stirrings of pride in the four chambers of the heart. Something about the familiar grounds, experiences and yes, the school song just puts one helluva goofy grin on one's face. Yup, there is something about all that ceremonial splendour that touches the core of me.

So, yesterday, was the EO's first Sport's Day. And we were a big gang, cheering the EO and the Nephew on...my MIL (for whom the day brought back many, MANY memories of her two little boys and their Sport's Days on these very grounds), the Bro, my SIL, BIL-ly Boy, the YO and the Neice. The MIM was busy partying with models in Mumbai. Harumph!!! 'Nother story!! Ok, the party was on Saturday night. Geez!

Now the jocks in my family are basically the MIM and the Bro. They have drawers and cupboards full of medals, certs and trophies. Sport's Day was always THEIR day. That's why the Bro was sooo looking forward to watching his beloved nephew, while the MIM kept calling and speaking to me in whispers from his conference in far away Bombay.

What a grandiose atmosphere, in terms of energy, excitement and spirit. Wow! The bands, the colours, the march-past and the pledge...ooooohh! Thoroughly goose-bump inducing!

And what of the two budding sports-men? Little flash-back first. When the Nephew and the EO first started walking, they both had very unique and yes, hilarious individual styles. The Nephew would walk on tip-toe, his arms held out at each side for balance, with his thumb and forefinger joined together and pointing downwards. Dainty? Deliciously so!!
Now the EO, well, he had this rather wild swagger with arms flailing from side to side and a very stompy Bharatnatyam placement of feet. Kinda like tipsy baby gorilla meets sozzled Friar Tuck.
Seeing these two very unusual gaits, the SIL's younger brother christened the bearers of those swaggers, the French Barmaid and the Drunken Monk. Guess which one fit whom...

Cut to five years later. Said cutie-pies with the weird walks have evolved into pint-sized heart-throbs with even stranger running styles. My brother didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He finally settled on joining in on the belly-aching laughter.

The Nephew has finally managed to pin those arms down to his side now instead of somewhere mid-air. So now, he had morphed into the Penguin. My EO has taken on the mantle of the hoppity-skippity French Barmaid with gazelle genes in it's DNA.

But you know what, hopping and skipping aside, the EO had a blast! I could see the sheer joy on his face as he ran and to me, that was all that mattered!

The other highlight...my YO, despite being quite ill, participated in the visitor's race, little boys under ten. He was definitely the smallest and youngest in the line-up, but he finished the race. He finished. And he was so proud of himself. As was I.

I was proud of both of my boys.

Now it's time to teach them how to run.

Aaah! Father Time! What Showest Me Thou Next??

Yesterday, was a Special Activity Day at the YO's school. It was an activity day and I had to accompany him and take him from room to room where there were different activities centred around the "Five Senses". Each room was dedicated to a particular sensory action and the teachers in those rooms did corresponding activities with the kids. For example, in the 'Smell' room, there were three bowls of different flowers...jui, rajanigandha and tube-rose. There were three other bowls covered with white gauze and the child had to smell and identify the matching fragrances. In the 'Taste' room, there were five different types of things to taste. The 'Sound' room is where the kids literally had a blast! They banged on drums, kettles, pot and pans; went berserk with the maracas, bells and xylophone. There were different instruments from China and Africa as well!

My gregarious little imp stayed chipku to me during the beginning and wasn't very forthcoming at first, but after a while, he started opening up, taking part in all the activities with a huge smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. He 'chatted' with a few of his friends and did some semi-cartwheels with them before the slide show in the 'Sight' room, but all the while, he kept looking back to make sure I was there. Once his eyes would meet mine, he'd give me a huge, toothy grin and go back to doing what he was, content and reassured that Mamma was right where he'd left her. I'm always there baby and I always will be...even when you stop looking...I'll always be there.

I love going to the YO's school during Special Activity Day. I used to love going with the EO too. It gives me a chance to see him in his other environment, the one that I am not a part of. I get to see how much he's picked up, how he interacts with his 'peers' (such a grown-up sounding word!) and teachers. And most lovely of all, I get to bond with him, and delight over the things that he's mastered while he gets to preen and show-off. I can literally see him grow ten-feet tall when I shower him with praise and award him with a little applause. And that sight?...ooooff!!...phenomenal, I say!

I also get to meet one of the EO's teachers and she always wants to know about him and what he's up to. The warmth in her eyes as she talks about him is genuine and it makes me feel good...and a little wistful too truthfully; because it reminds me that not too long ago, my baby was here, having fun and loving it, and now he goes to some stuffed-up old school in uniform everyday, with a huge, heavy load on his back.

I also met the EO's first ever teacher there yesterday! She left soon after the EO 'graduated' from her class, to get married and have a baby. And yesterday, she was there with HER son, doing the different activities with him, as a mommy. We chatted for a while and I marvelled again at the passing of Time. My first-born's first teacher with her first-born!

How Time flies! How baby birds grow wings and fly!

Keep holding on to my hand YO, for just a while longer...I'm not ready to let go yet.

A Pathetic Kind of Pathos

Remember that mean Bengali teacher of the EO's? It looks like she's gotten under their skin good and proper, because on Saturday, after the Niece's birthday party was pretty much over, the EO was in the midst of a boisterous game with some of our friends' kids who had stayed back for some good, old-fashioned adda.

Now they're being really noisy and loud, and they were all in the thick of the game, when suddenly, the EO detaches himself from the group, sidles up to me and plaintively says, "Mamma, please transform me from Bangla to Hindi."

I would have laughed at the cute swap of words in his sentence had the pathos of his plea not gone straight to my heart instead. I asked him why and he said, "Because Bangla ma'am is so mean and Hindi ma'am is not mean. So please will you transform me to Hindi?"

My darling son! If I had the power to 'transform' you into anything I would have 'transformed' you from a six-year old into a six-month old...

This won't make any sense to you now, but chin up, this too shall pass...and hopefully sooner rather than soon.

And a Crappy Teacher's Day to You, B****

Saturday, September 5th, was Teacher's Day. The EO's school celebrated it on the 3rd, Thursday and as a gift to the children of KG and Class 1, declared Friday a holiday for them.

Thursday, I was also called into school by the EO's Bangla teacher. The meeting was not a happy one. Let's just say that she has "been in the teaching line for 28 years!!!", which probably entitles her to be cold and scary. It's also why she probably has that huge boulder on her shoulder about being right and therefore closed to the possibilities of logic and systematic approach to teaching. She spoke to me and two other moms and we realised that it was absolutely futile to say anything. She paces herself against the above-average students and doesn't really give a tiny rodent's behind about the weak ones! She then gave her assessments for each of our sons. She said my son's handwriting is pathetic...I agreed. She said he's always chatting thus never finishing his work on time...to which I added he's easily distracted as well as slow. She said he needed to work harder...to which I nodded my head since I was biting down on my tongue to not say what I really felt.

Two hours later, I got a call from school, informing me that the EO had a high fever. Went and picked my flushed son up and the poor boy missed out on the celebrations.

Over the weekend, I sat down with him and we made a lovely card for his teacher. The MIM told us to make one for the Bangla teacher as well. I knew it would be an exercise in futility, having met her and been charmed (NOT!) by her personality. But the MIM was insistent and so, more for his sake than anyone else's, I agreed. And so, we made another card and I even made the EO sign his name in Bangla.

So what happens when my son gives the cards to his teachers? The class teacher smilingly accepts and says, "Thank you baby!"

The vernacular lady says, "Teacher's Day tho shesh. (...is over)", and then she gives it back. SHE GIVES IT BACK, PEOPLE!!!!

Where does she get off crushing a little boy's feelings like that? Where do these people get their degrees from? How can they even be allowed near little children? Send them to look after the inmates of a correctional institute instead!

I felt so terrible for my sensitive little boy, the one who gets easily hurt and crushed, and I shuddered to think what her cruel gesture must have done to his precious, loving heart. But when I looked down at his face, he was smiling and the sun was radiating in his beautiful face and I realised that that was not the end of it. "So what did you do?"

He shrugged, smiled and simply said, "I told her, 'Kintu aami tho kichhu diye ni'* and I put it back in her hand and sat down." *(But I didn't give you anything)

Bravo EO!! Well done! I would have expected you to burst into tears, because well...er...that's your way. But hopefully, not anymore. You really are growing up, aren't you? May you always have the strength, attitude and personality to deal with unpleasant people and situations in this calm, smiley, sunshine-y, graceful way. This is my wish for you, my soon to be six-year-old.

Oh, and MIM? What does this incident teach you?!?! That Mamma's always, ALWAYS right!!

I've become that kind of mom...

...the type that screams maniacally, "Remember, write quickly, neatly, correctly!" to a car that's pulling out of a drive-way and carrying her 5-years-and-9-months-old son off to school where he has a class test waiting for him.

What was it that I swore when I was a little girl growing up? Oh yes, I remember...that I would never turn into my mom.

Sigh, when I'm crawling down the road to Mommy-Hell, I bet all my good intentions will be blowing raspberries at me.

On an aside: My not-yet-six-year-old has tests!! Bloody class tests and term tests!!! WTF?!?! He now knows the spelling of 'favourite'. Damn it, up until yesterday he used to say 'frayvrit' and now I've had to wipe out that bit of cuteness that used to give me so much pleasure!! He has TESTS!!! Tests that COUNT and will be used for ASSESSMENT!!!! Am I the only one who thinks this is fucked-up?!?

And All Is Right With My World...

Grief-stricken at how quickly the EO's taken to the new school, I kept asking him questions about his friends in the old school, just to see of he remembered. Of course he answered everything satisfactorily (not surprising since he met a truckload of them just last Friday, on the 9th at a now, ex-classmates birthday party).

While I'm glad there seem to be no teething troubles (touchwood!), at the same time I find it slightly distressing that he doesn't talk about his ex-classmates and ex-teacher. Especially her, since he loved her so much. "Has he forgotten everything and everyone already?", I wondered, heart-brokenly.

While playing with the YO and the Nephew this afternoon, he suddenly looked up at me with a smile and said, "Mamma, doesn't P Ma'am (present class teacher) look like M Ma'am (1st ever teacher in ex-school)?" My heart heaved a huge sigh of relief.

Seems I've been worrying too soon!

Double Century and School

Wow! According to my Dashboard, I have written 200 posts! How prolific am I?
(Of course a few of them are half-drafted and still lying somewhere as drafts...but 200, baby! Woohoo!)
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Well, today was the first day of Big School. While it went great for the EO and the Nephew, I didn't do so well.

Let me record from the beginning...

Seeing my baby in uniform, white shirt, long white socks, black shoes and dark grey shorts brought a tear to my eye. He stood there looking so handsome, so big, so, so, so not a little boy anymore. But then I saw the mischievous twinkles in his eyes and that heart-stoppingly innocent smile and the world that had suddenly tilted off balance, seemed all right again.

The Nephew and he were just so excited to be going to school together. For them, that was the highlight. It was as if they could weather whatever storm would make its way towards them...bring on the pressure, bring on the homework, bring on the bullies, they were together, nothing else mattered a bit. That's how much they were looking forward to going to the same school. May your love for each other just grow from strength to strength, my boys, my loves, my precious sweethearts.

Now while these two little boys seemed to be thrilled to bits, there were two sets of parents who were progressively getting more and more hyper by the second, "Where are you?", "Arre let's go?", "Where are the boys?", "Arre toraa jaabi ki jaabi naa?!?", "Chol NAAAAA!!!!" and the like.

At the gates, we were stopped and told that only one parent was allowed inside. The MIM and BIL-ly Boy were exasperated and we told them they could carry on to their respective workplaces if they so wished. Hah! Not a chance. They were happy waiting outside in the hot sun, thank you very much.

We were told to get look at the lists on the notice board regarding the boys' classes and registration numbers. We already knew those, but needed the roll numbers. When I managed to jostle my way through the hoards of parents, what should I see, but a parent grab the EO's class list and march away. I ran after her asking for a look.

Now, I am the most non-confrontational person alive. Only when I'm really, really, REALLY tense or livid do I make my presence felt. Now this woman was talking really rudely and said she had to take the list up to the office. I asked her to just show me the list once. She said, rather loudly, "NO!" and started to march away. Now, I don't know what came over me, but I caught her by the arm and said she couldn't do this. Then she said, "I work in the office. You can't tell me what I can do or can't do!"

Ever had those moments when you wish the ground would split wide open and swallow you whole. Yes, well. Definitely not one of my favourite moments. I'm cringing as I type this and I just wish I could rewind the clock and take it back. Where were the lightning bolts when you needed them?

I meekly went to join the throngs of parents. Found the EO's class line and deposited him there. Gorgeous little boys, each a vision of innocence and even fear, dressed the same, the only splashes of colour the myriad school bags on their backs, almost each of them advertising the wearer's favourite cartoon character.

After the boys were trooped off to class, the Junior School Prefect gave us parents a short little speech, told us the rules and some other important school stuff. After that was over, we were asked to wait. After all, today 'class' was only till 10 a.m.

The SIL and I went in search of our respective husbands. They were chatting with some other dads in front of the Cafe Coffee Day nearby. There were some moms there already. We started chatting with each other and the hour passed by really quickly. I was still in a haze over my gigantic faux-pas and was still wishing I was dead.

When we were allowed back in to pick up our boys, I first went to the Junior School office to apologise. She made me sweat a little (didn't need to try very hard, I'll admit), but ultimately accepted my apology.

I went to the EO's class and his teacher called out his name. I saw my little brat sitting in the last bench stuffing his face with the cupcake that i had packed for him, just in case. Seeing me, he crammed his already over-full mouth with whatever was left in his hand. I could see the crumbs being sprayed all over his desk and I could see him getting flustered with his own little mess. In the meanwhile, the MIM joined me, took one look at his little pig and nearly went into hysterics. We tried to sign to him not to hurry and that it was okay, we were waiting. He took out his napkin and started dusting his desk. Once satisfied with the level of cleanliness he had achieved, he put everything away and came to us, all smiles.

The car ride back, it was just the MIM, EO, the Nephew and me. The boys were highly excitable and kept tickling me from the back-seat. 'Tickling-tickling' is the Nephew's favourite game. I soon acknowledged defeat and asked them to chat with each other, which they did, laughingly and loudly.

In the afternoon, while I was putting the correct textbooks and notebooks into his schoolbag, I explained what was what. I nearly lost my balance when he stared using words like 'cool' and 'super' to describe his new texts! Well, we'll just wait and see just how 'cool' and 'super' the workload is going to be. My poor dear you. You have no idea what we've had to get you into.

The EO and the Nephew happily spent the afternoon, chatting away happily. I couldn't help but ask my son, "EO, don't you miss your old school? Your old friends? A little?"

The EO reassured me quickly and succinctly, "Yes!"

I decided not to ask him how much. After all, I missed it loads.

A New Year Brings New Beginnings

It's the Bengali New Year.

I wish for you all bright new beginnings, beautiful continuations and successful conclusions. May your children be happy and healthy. May your loves be strong and true. May your lives be full of purpose and happiness. May our world be safe and secure.
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And speaking of new beginnings...tomorrow is the first day of the next twelve years of the EO's life.

Yes, the Big School's gates will open to welcome a new generation. I hope the school's ready, because I most certainly am not.

Good luck baby. Make them fall in love with you!

And After Potty-Training

All of us moms (and many dads too) and I mean all of us, puff up with pride when our little ones look into our eyes with a certain expression on their face and manage to say "potty" before pooping their pants dirty.

We break into cheers when they finally learn to put 'two and two togther', that is to say, depositing the stuff in the toilet bowl where it rightfully belongs. Our teaching is successful and as parents we can start dispensing 'potty training advice'.

And we think 'potty training' has come to an end!

Sadly, no. There is something far worse and icky and a bit gross in store.

Teaching them to clean the place from where it comes.

'Big School' for the EO starts on Thursday. 'Bum washing' training started today.

My Baby's Growing Up While It's Christmas in Goa

Yes, I know. The title of the post is very intriguing, but read on and all shall be clear...

It started on a Monday morning, on the 9th of March, to be precise. The YO's school called up asking me to be at his school around noon with a certain amount of cash ready.

At the scheduled time, I was ushered into a room where other moms whose kids studied in the various pre-nursery sections, were assembling. I chatted with the few I knew and then the administrator walked in. She told us that our not-yet-two-and-a-half-feet-tall babies would be putting up a concert for us in school. There was a collected gasp of delight as we pictured our babies on stage. Just how adorable would they be? The concert was scheduled for the following week, on the 19th, Thursday, at 6 p.m. We had to send our kiddies an hour earlier so that they cold get into costume and make-up. The heme of the concert was "Celebrating India".

This was the first time the school was organising a concert where the pre-nursery children would be performing. The EO and the Nephew never had a concert, but they did in Nursery, and the Nephew was scheduled for his final concert in this school on the 24th (he starts the new school too with the EO). The Niece also starts a new school from the coming academic year, so it was going to be fun seeing her and my YO on stage.

We were then asked to go to our childrens' classrooms where we handed over the money for costumes etc. to the class teacher and she told us what songs our kiddies would be dancing to. My EO was going to be in a Goan Carnival Dance and a Christmas Dance. Aaaahhh! That explained why the little one had been singing Jingle Bells all through March! I thought it was rather late for Christmas hang-over to strike!

Well, 19th dawned soon enough. The babies didn't have school in the morning. We dropped them off at 5 p.m. Then, at 5.40, my parents, the EO, MIM, Mum-in-law, SIL and BIL-ly Boy went to school and took our places. The EO was greeted with lots of hugs from his once-upon-a-time teachers and he shyly lapped it up.

A make-shift stage had been made. There were chairs for the parents and low benches for elder brothers and sisters. The SIL and I managed to find two seats in the front which we swooped down upon, 'cause come on, we wanted a good look at our babies, even if it meant sitting away from the rest of the family. Selfish? Yes, maybe, but I don't care. Where my babies are concerned, I want to be able to drink up their sight as much as possible...without resorting to violence, of course! ;p I got a corner seat, but it was better than where we were originally sitting, so I can't complain too much.

The EO sat in front with a friend whose sister studies in one of the pre-nursery sections. The students of the Sr. KG (the Nephew's class) were also going to perform, to lengthen the program a bit. So, we had a lot of personal interest at stake!

And then, the show started! What can I say except that it was cuteness overload all the way! The Nephew was in one of the very first items. He was doing the bhangra and it was so much fun! It reminded me of the Bro; he was in a bhangra dance too, for his school concert when he was in the 1st Std.

Soon, the Niece came on and she was looking gorgeous in a colourful ghagra. The moment she stepped on stage, she froze and the SIL and I looked at each other. But, after about 30 seconds or so, she snapped out of it and did her thing! Well done, little one!

And then, the narrator took us to Goa. I could feel my heart pounding...my baby's stage debut! I could hardly believe it. And when he walked on, leading the line, wearing a silky white chirt and bright red pants, clutching onto sticks with colourful streamers, I got all teary-eyed and nearly forgot to breathe. My heart was pounding, but throughout the entire day at home, he had been threatening me that he wouldn't go to school, wouldn't go to aunty, wouldn't dance on stage. But when the music started, my little boy started doing the moves that they'd been rehearsing for a month. He had a shy smile on his lips and I noticed that his eyes were fixed on something, or rather someone. Following his gaze, I realised that he had locked eyes with his big brother, who in turn, was looking at him, all smiles and with loads of love, encouragement and pride shining in his eyes and wrapping it around his younger brother. That got me even more teary-eyed, witnessing, from the fringes, the silent brotherly bonding and love-fest that was going on in front of so many, many people who didn't have a clue while I was the only one who could see it, feel it, understand it and greedily soak up the memory of it to warm the depths of my soul.

After a few more dances, the Niece came on again, this time for a Diwali dance and no, she didn't freeze. She had a blast playing with the flower petals and scattering them all around her. That was just part of the dance, but she was having so much fun with that, she decided to dispense with the other steps and concentrate on the feel of the petals in her soft, fair hands. Two or three other girls had the same idea as well.

Soon enough, t was time for the YO's second dance, "Jingle Bells". This time, in addition to his earlier costume, he was sporting a red vest, a Santa cap and he was holding a tambourine-like instrument in each of his hands. Again, he came out, kept his eyes glued on his brother and he danced to the hilt! The lump in my throat magically came back again and it seemed bigger than last time! I couldn't get enough of the sight of him seriously and studiously recreating the steps that he'd been taught. He did the whole thing from start to finish, without faltering and by the end of it, I was ready to stand on top of my chair and scream myself hoarse, "Bravo, bravo!" I didn't, of course, but I did clap until my hands were sore.

The program ended with the Sr. KG kids singing "Vande Mataram" and the audience joined in as well. We gave all the kids and their hard-working, patient, loving teachers a well-deserved standing ovation. Their sincere dedication had made this colourful celebration of the best things about our country, a memorable experience.

The MIM had to go rush back to work, so I didn't get a chance to see him. But while waiting to pick up the kids, BIL-ly Boy sheepishly admitted to me that he thought another child was the EO and he misled everyone into believing the same. My parents, my Mum-in-law and gasp! horror of horrors, my MIM!!! I was flabbergasted! Hmph! He actually dared call himself the father! It was only when the YO came out leading the pack for the Goan Dance that MIM dear jumped out of his skin and yelled to the family, "No, no! That wasn't him, THAT'S him! That's YO! That's my son! That's my baby! My baby boy!" Yeah, well, he may have redeemed himself as a father in his own eyes, but I'm still in two minds about disowning him from that position!

While I was waiting to be called to stage to pick up my little star, my other love, my EO came up to me, his eyes aglow with love for his baby brother and he said to me, "Mamma, I want to go to stage and pick up YO, ok". In other words, he wanted to be the big brother that he is!

When the YO was finally brought to the stage to be handed over to us, the EO quickly ran up, grabbed his little brother by the hand and proudly told him, "YO, tumi khub bhaalo korechcho!" (YO, you did very well!) The YO looked up at his dada and excitedly exclaimed, "Aami Santa Koz koyechchi!" (I was Santa Koz {Clause!}) When his eyes caught mine, his smile grew bigger and his eyes shone more and he repeated what he had just told his dada, "Mamma, mamma, aami Santa Koz koyechchi!"

Yes my baby, I saw! I saw! And you know what? I'll never forget it!

So Long, Farewell...

Well, that's it folks. All good things must come to an end, they say. And so today, I say "Goodbye." This is one more closed chapter...



in my EO's life. Today was his last day in this school. From next month, he'll be going to that other school. I thought I'd be howling, but because of the viral he missed school from last Wednesday right up to and including this Monday. And then, to top it all, Tuesday and Wednesday were holidays. So, it was basically yesterday and today that the EO had. Not enough time for my hysteria build-up to happen, I guess.

Unfortunately, I arrived a little late to pick him up, and he was standing there with two of his other classmates and his beloved class teacher. She was looking grief-stricken. Now she loves my EO tremendously, and I know it's not fake. I can normally tell if someone's feelngs for my children is genuine or not, and her love for my son is as true as a freshly baked, chewy, chocolate chip cookie...soft, warm, tender and comforting. I felt for her, I really did. She got down on her knees to hug my EO and she had tears in her eyes. She looked at him and lovingly asked him, "Will you miss me?" My son looked deep into her eyes, gave a sad smile and nodded. She said, "I'll miss you more than you'll miss me." And then they hugged. Then she looked at him and said, "Whenever you miss me, just close your eyes and I'll be there." And as soon as she said this, my little boy covered his eyes, a corny-yet-glowing smile on his lips, and then moved his hands away with a flourish...in the same way we play 'tookie' or 'peek-a-boo'. That gesture, so sweet, charming and utterly innocent, brought a tear to mine eye, and his teacher and I looked at each other sadly.

I will be seeing her again, for the the parent-teacher meeting and we promised to exchange e-mail addresses then. I took a photograph of her with my son and two of his classmates who were still waiting to be picked up.

I then needed to go to the main building to submit a request for his TC. Now to go from the primary block to the main school block, you need to cross over a HUGE lawn. The EO took off his bag and started to hand it over to me saying he wanted to run across. I opened my mouth to tell him to carry it himself, but immediately shut myself up, remembering that he wasn't going to get this opportunity again.

It was a bittersweet moment, watching my first-born run as fast as he possibly could over the beautiful, grassy lawn as carefree and happy as should be every child's birthright. I stopped to stare at him running. It seemed symbolic for so many things, but I took it the moment for what it was...my little boy, grabbing an opportunity, making the most of it and enjoying the moment. When he got to the other side, he stood there with his hands on his hips, a huge, goofy, happy smile spread across his face, his eyes dancing with joy. And I savoured that image for a long time.

Goodbye GH School. You've been wonderful to and for my son, and I owe you much by way of happy memories and for embracing my son with love, learning, good manners, good friends and two great teachers (last year as well as this).

Goodbye and thank you.

Maa Saraswati's Blessings

Today was Saraswati Puja. A puja for the children, by the children. A day where the cheerful 'basonti rong' (the only equivalent that I can think of is 'smiley yellow') is worn without fail (hehe, there's just something so wrong about the words 'fail' and 'Saraswati Puja' on the same day!). A reminder that winter is fading and spring is buddingly close.

Childhood memories of generations of Bengali boys and girls, whether in Bengal, Bangalore or the Bahamas, are absolutely incomplete without recollections of this lovely puja. The red-bordered yellow saris; the fruits, especially the 'kul'; putting school books and pens near the feet of the Goddess and watching those piles of books get higher with every passing year; for the musically inclined or at least those learning some form of song/dance/music, the appropriate books/instruments and ghungroos would also find place near Her feet; the yummy kichidi and other veggie delights; the evening addas and sessions of singing and other cultural programs. Yes, there are many happy reminiscences attached to this Holy Day.

And today, was Saraswati Puja. It also happened to be the day the school list came out. Which list? The one where the names of the students who have been granted admission in 'the BIG School' is put out. The Nephew got in and the SIL and BIL-ly Boy couldn't be more ecstatic. They'd been working towards it ever since the boy was born! I kid you not! Not to mention the endless appeals and entreaties to the heavens above. But good for the Nephew, he did it. He'd been prepping for it for the past two years. And good for his parents. It's a thrilling feeling to get something that you've been praying for incessantly.

And my EO got in too.

Sigh. What a dilemma. I thought we were absolutely clear that even if the EO got in, he would continue where he was. The MIM even declared it after the EO's concert, because he was so-happy-and-proud-he-could-burst-into-song-tears-and-like-a-balloon. He felt his son was in the best of hands, in the right environment and that he was being nurtured the way a child of five should be.

But apparently, last night he began having doubts, and so when the call came at 6.45 from the school from his brother, saying that both the boys had got in, he nearly whooped in excitement. Then he got all sombre and said, "What should we do?"

Sigh. I was so afraid that this was going to happen. That his resolve would crumble. That he'd start to sway. That the pull of the alma mater would reel him in. That he'd succumb to peer pressure, patriarchal dictate and public opinion.

Well, to cut a long story short, we've decided to put him into the Big School. And I am so scared. So shit scared that each time I start thinking about it, I start trembling.

It's a good school, no doubt, one that needs no introduction, but it's one of those stuffy, old schools that haven't moved with the times.
There's a lot of heritage and tradition attached, but there is no touch of modernity. They don't mix the old with the new, they prefer to stick to the attitudes of yore; be it in their approach to education, be it in their approach to discipline.
The school makes you a part of history, you live the history, but in the school he's in right now, he would have been creating history, making history.
The school grooms fine young men, but they don't nurture the little boys that walk in wide-eyed, scared, innocent and vulnerable.

And it is this last bit that has me crapping watermelons, bricks and cement mixers.

My beautiful boy, with eyes that see beyond the ordinary; with a spirit that is as fresh as mountain water; with a heart that is a white dove; with a sensitivity that makes my soul weep...what will happen to him? Will they see the beauty of his spirit, the charm of his innocence, and feel the all-encompassing love of his sensitive soul and nurture it? Allow it to thrive?

The way his present school does?

I'm so afraid.

And yet, I'm allowing myself to be a part of this decision to change schools and put him in. To harden him and prepare him for the world. To teach him to fight his own battles. To learn that tears are meant for the privacy of your pillow. To be trained to survive.

And consequently, I will have to learn many things as well. I will have to learn to let go. I will have to learn to not wipe his tears anymore. I will have to learn to stand by and watch him fight his own battles. And the most important lesson of all, is that I will have to learn to harden my heart as I watch the school harden him.

I just hope it doesn't break him.

I'm so afraid.

And yet, this news comes on Saraswati Puja. A day where we celebrate the Goddess of learning and music. A day where education, be it of the bookish kind or the artistic kind, is elevated to a divine principle. A day where students pray for wisdom and learning. A day where they seek Her blessings in fervent hope that they can shine in school or their chosen field of passion...music, song, dance or art. A day where we can't thank Her enough for bestowing upon us the very fact that we were fortunate enough to receive a good education that has brought us to where we are today.

Maybe She's trying to tell me something? Maybe this is all part of Her divine plan? Maybe this is Her will?

Maybe, I should trust Her a little bit more.

And so I am. Maa Saraswati, I am putting all my faith in You. I know You won't let me down.

But in the spirit of truth, I will always think that the school he is in right now, is the better one.

Maybe, Your blessings will eventually prove me wrong.

I hope.

I pray.

"A Handsome Prince Came Riding By..."

Last night was the EO's school concert, put up by students from Nursery to Class 2. And it was wonderful!

It started off with a classical dance performance by some of the girls in the older classes to the Ganesh Vandana. They were lovely and graceful and as always, whenever I see a classical dance performance, my heart hurts a little bit and it just can't stop sighing!

Next, the Nursery tots put up a piece called "Friends Forever". The little babes were dressed up as various animals from the jungle. They parade around stage, wave happily at the audience and then they talk about Santa. They wonder who the big guy in red will pick to help pull his sleigh and they each start singing about their strengths. Soon, little Rudolph makes an entrance (this was the EO's part last year, but is was a closed door school show, so we parents didn't get to see it). He wants to pull the sleigh too. All the other animals laugh at him and say mean things and our tiny, shiny-nosed reindeer is very sad. Of course there's a happy ending...it's a Santa Claus and Rudolph story for cryin' out loud (not to mention there are more than 150 four-year olds involved!) So Santa arrives on the stage and asks Rudolph if he would like to pull his sleigh. Rudolph says yes, the other animals beg forgiveness and ask if they can be friends, Rudolph says yes again and there's a lot of singing, dancing and merry-making on stage. To say that the animals were adorable is obviously an understatement! We were witnessing cuteness overload on stage!

The MIM, my Maa-Janoni and MIL started discussing the vast reserves of patience these teachers have. After all, dealing with seven sections, each with 25 students in the class and making sure that all the kids are not just on stage but get at least 10-15 seconds of visibility time, is no joke! No sirree! Hats off to them!

After an impressive violin recital by one of the senior students, it was time for the Prep classes to troop on stage! Pa-pa-pa-pum-pum-pum!! This was it! What my little boy had been practicing so hard for, for one whole month! It started off with the EO being one of the contenders for the Prince's role. Now the EO is a fidgety boy, very restless. I knew it must have been a tough decision. But they saw the spark in his eyes and his class teacher took him under her wing and turned him from a fidgety frog to a galloping, swashbuckling, sword carrying, velvet-swathed prince charming. The entire Prep section was on stage, once again, that's about 160-180 students, and we were astounded by the perfection.

When it was time for the prince to gallop on stage, my eyes were glued to the wings. Maa-Janoni had already caught a glimpse of him waiting there. He took his entry a few seconds too early and realising his mistake, went back to wait in the wings again, for his proper cue to start. And then, the right cue and the dashing prince came galloping out and went round and round the enchanted forest. Looking phenomenal in shades of blue, I can't even begin to describe what I was feeling. It was so much more than pride and joy. The physical pounding in my chest was so real, so tangible yet so bearable I didn't care if I burst. He didn't miss a beat, a word, a step. His lines were clear, his enunciation perfect, his diction impeccable. This is why most of the teachers wanted him all along...because of his command over the English language. I am so very grateful that they kept the faith and didn't lose patience. That they polished his strengths and overcame his weaknesses and presented the work of art that I had the great good fortune of gawking at last night.

And when it came time for the kiss, we heard a nice, loud smooch being planted on the pretty princess's forehead. They were wearing lapel mikes after all, so we heard everything really well!

They were all adorable. And yes, I was an incredbly proud Mamma last night and I thought my EO looked particularly dashing, even though his cape seemed so long I was worried that he would trip over it. However, I am not the kind of person who'll say he was the best in his production even if he wasn't but just because he's my son. No. Unless it's true, I won't say that. And truth be told and all feelings of motherly pride aside, he wasn't. The child who stunned everyone with her acting prowess was the Wicked Old Fairy. She was brilliant!

The rest of the show comprised more solo and duet performances from senior students, who acted as the fillers while the props were being changed behind the curtains. Class 1 put up a very cute production of 'The Shoemaker and the Elves'. The Class 2 choir sang a wonderful mix of popular English numbers and an impressively harmonised medley of 'Purano Sei Diner Kothaa' with 'Auld Lang Syne'. The show ended with a lkarge group of Class 1 and 2 students dancing the garba and bhangra.

In the grand finale, all the lead characters danced onto stage doing the bhangra to 'Nach Baliye' from the OST "Bunty Aur Babli". Now this is another onbe of the EO's top favourite songs. Plus he loves to dance. So you can imagine how happy a certain little prince in an over-long, dark blue, velvety cape was! He started dancing so hard and having such a good time on stage, he soon left the others way behind and was stomping about merrily in front of the stage. He had to be pulled back in time for the curtain to come down on them!

This reminded my of the Bro, when he was way back in Class 1 and he did something similar...and that too, while dancing the bhangra! Maa-Janoni, Daddy Dearest and I keep talking about the similarities that the BRO and EO share. Once again, I was shown just how much!

After the curtain went up once again, we all stood for the National Anthem. And then it was truly curtains for a wonderful show, put up by the cutest, sweetest bunch of kids ever!

Congratulations teachers, staff and management. Your efforts were tremendous and they showed. And best of all, the little ones shone in every respect possible.

Thank you for this!

He Did It!

No, I'm not talking about Barack Obama, although yes, he did it too. And since I'm on the topic, I may as well get this out of the way. Obama was my man, my guy, my choice. Had I been in the States, he would have gotten my vote. In fact, I believed in him so strongly, I actually considered going to the embassy to find out more about over-seas voting.

But even without my vote, he did it. He won. As I knew he would.

However, I'm slightly wary now. What does this mean for India? After his remark about the Kashmir issue, I don't know what to think.

What does this win mean for the thriving BPOs and Call Centres in India? Does it spell doom for the IT industry?

I don't know. I can only hope and pray, that this man who I put all my political faith into, does not let me down.

But until then...I am slightly wary.
*****************************************
And now to move on to the little man for whom this post is actually intended...my YO.

Today, after endless prayers sent to the heavens above, I heard the magic words, "A****** can come from 9.30 tomorrow." Yay! Zippa-dee-doo-dah and zippa-dee-ay!

Ok, while I didn't hear the magic words directly since I had to pick up the EO from his school, they were relayed to me by the YO's ayah who was waiting with a beaming smile to tell me about my little one's graduation from the Crier's Section to the Non-Crier's Section. Well slap my back and call me Happy!

Since Monday, his fusses and tantrums had been losing intensity and there would be no tears in the car, on the way to school. The ear-splitting, nerve-fraying, heart-breaking "Mammmmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!" would start once we got down from the car and he would be taken from my arms. He'd be carried inside, looking at me teary-eyed, hand outstretched in my direction and shrieking at champagne-flute-shattering-levels. But according to the class teacher, the minute he'd enter class and be put down, the shriek would change to a sniffle and the sniffle to smiles and a happy-to-be-here-this-place-ain't-all-that-bad outlook. He's even been walking out all smiles now!

And so, they finally feel he's ready to start at normal timings along with the others. They're confident that even the two-minute wail will disappear soon enough!

My fingers and toes are all crossed, folks. Hell, I'm even typing this cross-eyed! ;)

Say a little prayer for us, won't you?

The Big Questions (or, At The EO's Interview)

(Warning, the following is a very LOOOOOOOONG post. Proceed with a cup of tea/mocha joe/bubbly in hand. I myself am horror-struck by its length, but I just din't know which parts to edit. I need all these details to keep the memory alive...)

Yesterday was a D-Day, of sorts. A big, old, important day in my young son's life. His interview at the 'Big School'.

And I have to say, the MIM and I were impressed. The EO didn't disappoint.

He was delightful, charming and the chatterbox that he normally is. Too chatty, if you ask me...and yes, the interviewer remarked upon that as well.

Now, I know I am sounding like a puffed-up, proud and boastful mamma, so, before you carry on reading, please do forgive me. I apologise.

I hadn't prepped my son for the interview at all. I only told him that he had to be respectful and say 'Good evening' when we walked in and to answer the quesions asked to the absolute best of his ability; if he didn't know anything I wanted him to be honest and say, "I'm sorry, I don't know." Of course while telling him this he did ask me seriously why he should be sorry if he didn't know the answer, and then he proceeded to answer his own question himself, "O. Taahole oraa bhaabey je aami poraashona kori naa." ("Oh. Then they'll think that I don't study.") Of course I quickly quashed this heart-wrenching notion of his, telling him that it was just the polite thing to do.

So, that was basically the extent of my training/prepping my son for his BIG interview...greet politely, answer the questions and be honest. Basic everyday expectations I have from him anyways.

Was I tense? Worried? Nervous? Yes, I'll admit I was. As I mentioned in a previous post, it doesn't matter whether he gets in or not (in fact, if he does, we'll be in quite the dilemma), but I just wanted them to know that I do have a bright little boy. Kids this age are still unpredictable; they have mood swings, can get cranky, act up, get clingy or suddenly take on a vow of silence. I didn't want them forming an opinion of my son's intelligence and capabilities based on a few lousy questions and a 45 second intro. I wanted my EO to make a good impression. And because that was not in my control, yes, I was tense. Worried. Nervous.

And for a few scary minutes, those feelings took control of me in the car, as the three of, all smartly turned out (well my man and my boy, anyhow) were on our way to the school. I suddenly remembered what a friend of mine had told me many years ago when she was trying out in different schools for her son. An only child, the interviewer asked him how many brothers-and-sisters he had. This boy said two, referring to his cousins. The interviewer looked at the parents who explained that since the cousins were so close, they called each other brother and sister. The interviewer shook his head and wrote something down. My friend's son didn't get in and she thinks it was because her son couldn't differentiate between 'own' brother/sister and cousin brother/sister.

Now, as you know, we live in a joint family. The Nephew is just three months older than the EO and they live in each others pockets. The Niece is seven-days older than the YO and they are joined at the hip. The EO goes around telling the whole world that he has two brothers, "my big brother and one small brother." I frantically decided to give him a family lesson as well as vocab lesson. He wasn't pleased with the concept at all and started arguing.

EO: No! He's not my cousin! He's my big brother and I love him!
A despearte MIM and M4: Of course you love him, shona and of course he's your big brother. He's your big cousin brother.

He quietly leaned back into the seat after a while, looking all pouty and adorable and we decided not to push it.

We arrived on time and while I waited in line along with other parents, the MIM was suddenly all awash with nostalgia and took his first born by the hand and gave him a tour of his school. And no, the MIM didn't forget about me. I was taken for a trip down memory lane too..."See, this is where I split my chin wide open when I was six and I had to be rushed to the nursing home where they gave me stiches"; "And those are the stairs where we used to push each other down"; "And those are the walls we tried to climb"...

Ok people, am I still supposed to want to put my son into this rowdy school? The only sensible wow-thing he said to me was "And that's where Sourav Ganguly and I started playing cricket together."

After we got our application form and other 'sundry documents' verified, we were given a token and asked to wait. Which we did. The EO was all jumpy, the MIM was something akin to starstruck and I was all twitchy! My throat suddenly started to feel very dry and since we were standing next to the 'canteen' (makeshift stall-like structure is more like it!) I asked the MIM for a glass of Coke. The EO looked like Christmas had come early and immediately tried to grab it, but I first took a swig to lower the level. It was coooooooold. I let the EO have a small sip and just started to enjoy the rest when wouldn't you know it, they called our number! In my desperate bid to swig the cold Coke down, I nearly choked and passed some out through my nose! I just pray that there were no hidden cameras about! The MIM helped me finish it and we were asked to go to the first floor. The interviews were taking place in all the Class 1 classrooms and there was a single bench in front of each one. Each time a family went in, the next one sat down and waited their turn.

The MIM, for all his nostalgia, has been extremely cool about the interview. For him, it's a formality and he is absolutely cool about the outcome. He won't be heartbroken if the EO doesn't get into his alma mater.

But suddenly, sitting on the bench, in his old school, just before we were about to go in, I think he felt a surge of panic rise within him as well. So he decided to run the 'cousin' concept by him one more time.

The MIM: ...is your cousin, ok?
The EO: (thoroughly exasperated) OK!!

And then, we were asked to go in. The MIM and I walked in, with the EO in between. We said 'Good evening', she said 'Good evening' and our little man said 'Good evening'. The interviewer looked at him, smiled and said, 'Good evening! What's your name?'

And that's how it started.

The EO: A******
Int.: What a nice name! You study in school?
The EO: (shyly nods his head)
Int. : Which school?
The EO: (monosyllabic answer)
Int.: What is your teacher's name?
The EO: R**** ma'am.
Int: Oh! And you like her?
The EO: (nods his head)
Int.: And what does she do with you in class?
The EO: number dictation...umm...uh
Int.: Dicatation?!
The EO: (thinking hard) number dictation and uh, umm, addition...

At this moment I mentally slapped my forehead and said "Khaisey!" The closest I can give you for that 'eloquent' turn of phrase is 'Ai laa!' or 'Ai yi yo!' or 'Yikes!' An "Oh f***!" sums it up pretty nicely as well.

The thing is folks, October was one big holiday for the EO, with just five days of school, which he missed thanks to virals and mouth blisters. And I didn't sit with him to review his classwork and make him do 'study-related' stuff at all. I just let him have fun. Maybe I dumbed him down a bit. Two days ago, I wanted to see if he remembered the concept of addition. And yes, while he had the concept of it down pat, providing the right answers was proving extremely problematic. And yesterday was the first day of school after the Diwali break. ONE WHOLE MONTH OF NO SCHOOL!

And now, at this important interview, my son goes and tells her that he does addition in his frickin' school! And what does Smart Interview-Lady do? She jumps on the lovingly and innocently preferred piece of info and proceeds to ask him:

Int: So, what is 2+1?
The EO: 2+1? So two in the head (and he puts two fingers on his head) and one in the finger (and he points one finger out). (He repeats himself, all the while tapping his head and the Int, looks on with a very amused expression on her face while I am shitting bricks and the MIM looks paralysed. Finally, after an eternity, the EO takes his two fingers off his head and puts them next to the single, solitary, lone finger resting on the desk and says...) So two fingers and one finger...
Int. : (genlty, with a smile) And what is the total?
The EO: (beaming) THREE!

Yes folks, that huge sigh of relief you heard was mine!

The interviewer then called the EO over to her side and pointed out some pictures of animals in a book and asked him what they were. Now, this was the 'real' interview. This is what they had been asking all the boys. The Nephew had gone through the same process a week ago and my SIL told me that that was it.

The EO, now comfortable and relaxed, swings into full chatty mode and starts pointing out animals, birds and fish that weren't even asked of him. When told that the'big fish' was actually a 'whale', he started arguing that it didn't look like a whale and that it was too small. The interviewer said, "Hmm. Maybe it's a small whale then". Next she pointed to a dolphin which the EO obviously got right. She asked him whether he had ever seen a dolphin show and he said no. She asked him if he watched a lot of TV and my little boy shook his head no! The little lier! I nearly guffawed out loud! Pictures of birds followed...crow, black colour; parrot, green colour 'but sometimes it can be other colours also'.

Int.: Yes, that's right. Parrots can be other colours as well.
The EO: (absolutely on a roll now) and that's an ostrich, that's a pigeon and that's a falcon.
Int.: No, that's a hawk. (Oh come on lady! Give it to him! How many adorable little boys know what a falcon is anyways? {the answer to that, gentle people, would be "Anyone who's seen Stuart Little Part II."} So give the boy a break! And she did...) But yes, it does look like a falcon.
The EO: You know, I have one big cousin brother and one small brother.

I nearly split myself open laughing so hard, on the inside of course. The adorable little dweeb. Not having been asked the only question that his hysteria-driven parents had prepped him for, he decides to go and offer information himself. Of course the dumkopf MIM had to ruin the moment by offering the interviewer an unasked for explanation!! Man! She didn't ask! Save your voice for the questions that she's going to ask you!

And finally, the interviewer turns to us. "He's very chatty isn't he?" She smilingly says of the EO. Now it's my turn to behave like the village idiot and answer her oh-so-obviously rhetorical question with actual words, instead of a smile, "Yes. He's quite the chatterbox!"

Our interview went off without any fireworks. She asked the MIM if he had studied in this school and for how long. He replied from Class 1 right up to 3rd year in college and she said (sarcastically? I wonder) "Oh! So that's why you're so confident!"

Huh? Where did that come from? Confident? No, no, we weren't confident! We knew it was a gamble and a lottery and our son had as much chances of getting in or not getting in as the next boy! So no ma'am, he was not confident. But what can you say to such a question? Nothing! And wisely, this time, that's what the MIM said! She then asked him if he remembered any of his old teachers and he promptly started to rattle off the names of all his class teachers along with year and section. Satisfied, she then turned to me while MIM was still in mid-rattle. I was aked where I was from. She then asked me how I liked Kolkata. Again, a question that is to be treated very carefully. I couln't diss the city obviously and sing hosannas for good ol'beantown, when the MIM decided to put on another display of stupidity, "Oh! She hates it!"

Grrrrrrrrrr! What was with him? Didn't he know when to shut it? So she looked at me inquiringly and I just smiled weakly and said "I guess I'm still a Bangalore girl at heart and I'm here because I'm bound by holy matrimony." She smiled and I couldn't quite read what her smile was trying to say.

In the meanwhile, the EO had started to show his true colours. He was getting all restless and jittery. My son, ladies and gentlemen, was born with ants in his pants. He just can't sit still. He started to pull at the book and when we tried to reproach him, the interviewer gently said, "It's okay. Let him be. It's impossible for them to not be restless for such a long time!" And that was the precise moment that she won me over! So the EO started flipping pages and pointing out all the different things that he knew. Show-off! Or should I say eager beaver? Or just EO being EO?! The interviewer smilingly said, "So now you're teaching me!"

Anyway, before we knew it, it was over. Five minutes, maybe six. That's how long it takes for a little boy's future to be decided upon.

The MIM and I left, feeling proud of our offspring. He was polite, he answered the questions correctly, argued for what he thought was right and didn't misbehave. Yes, he did answer out of turn and turned restless when the attention was not on him anymore, but his father and I have no cause for complaint...as far as he's concerned that is.

Now regarding the MIM...

Enh, forget it. I live with him 'cause "I'm bound by holy matrimony!" ;p

Schooldays Are Finally Here...For the YO

Yesterday was the orientation day for parents at the YO’s sooner-than-you-can-sneeze-and-get-blessed, Montessori school. The place also happens to be the EO’s ex-school. The first ex in my young son’s life.

Sitting there, I felt many emotions running up and down my esophagus and buzzing around my eyeballs.

The first identifiable emotion was, of course, déjà vu. Was it really only just three short years ago, that I was sitting with other eager-faced and nervous parents, taking in my surroundings as well as every single word the EO’s future-teachers were telling me then? Alright, this time I felt more experienced and worldly-wise, after all, I had been-there-done-the-same-things…hence, the déjà vu. I had already heard the rules, been a part of the school, seen a son walk in a toddler and out a little boy.

Then there were the unmistakable twinges of guilt…they came hand-in-glove with the déjà vu. It was only three years ago that I, along with a bunch of other parents who had little babes-just-out-of-arms, was getting an orientation on how best to push my tiny tot out of parental shadow and into a future of ABC’s, 123’s, Do-Re-Mi’s and Mother Goose…and here I am getting ready to do it all over again. Were we rushing them through their childhood and shoving them towards independence too fast? What was wrong in having my beautiful little boy wrapped around my legs as I stood in the kitchen getting his milk ready? For just a while longer?

I felt many, many twinges of sadness. My youngest is ready to test his wings and fly out of the nest. My baby is growing up. Well and truly. He is ready to have a world of his own, away from home, away from me. He will now, at the tender age of 23-and-a-half months, have a life that will not include me. (Yes, that sniffling sound is coming from me.)

I also felt like a fossil. I was surrounded by young girls! A couple of them looked like teenagers! Having gotten married in my exact mid-twenties, producing two babies in my late-twenties and crossing a certain decade in my life to enter a new chapter in my living history, I felt old. Dinosaur-old, all dusty and fossilized. Most of the moms there were first-time moms. I am pretty sure I’d be encountering some pregnancies before the year was up…as was the case during the EO’s time. Seven us had gone ahead and opened up our manufacturing units again for the second time “Since the first one’s already in school and learning to be self-sufficient.” Yes, that was a popular refrain back in those days and I’m willing to bet good money that I’ll be hearing this popular ditty all over again. My only sorrow is that I won’t be the one singing it this time round!

So, anyways, I’m going back to school again. No, no, not in the way you think. The class has been split into three smaller batches, allowing the kids to get used to the whole experience and not get overwhelmed by big numbers. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday I accompany the YO and sit with him in his class for an-hour-and-a-half. Then they’re on their own for half-an-hour a day from Thursday onwards until most of the little dudes and dudettes, across all three batches, have settled in reasonably well. This will most probably take a month, and there are many holidays to consider as well…Durga Puja and Diwali breaks. After that, once the teachers are satisfied…three hours a day, Monday to Friday.

Welcome to the other world, my little one. God bless you, my YO. May you spread your infectious smile to all who come in contact with you and win many hearts and friends. May you have fun and learn all the things I want you to learn…about the value of sharing and friendship, good manners and respecting your elders, table manners and getting down in the grass and rolling around.

Run with the wind against your face, dance with the trees, laugh till your tummy hurts, cry and get your rages out, calm down and embrace those who love you, learn to fight your own battles. I’ll be watching from the sidelines, with pride in my heart and tears in my eyes. I’ll be cheering you on and sending up fervent prayers for your safety and health.

I love you, my sweetheart. And I watch you with bated breath...

The 'Great' School Debate

The MIM's alma mater's admission process is slated to start soon and the whole world, his wife, second cousin once removed and her transsexual neighbour are all waiting with bated breath to see what I do.

Sigh. I still don't know, but I just might go MIA for a while and take a nice, relaxing break in a mental asylum somewhere. Any suggestions?

My dilemma, you ask? Let me begin from ABC...that's where Maria-before-she-was-von-Trapp would have started.

When the Bro and I moved to Beantown from the US of A, we both went to different schools. They were both new. In fact, coincidentally, we both happened to be the third batch to pass out from our respective schools. Now, Beantown was an absolutely new palce for Maa-Janoni and she didn't know any better. She relied on the research done willingly and helpfully by my Choto Mesho. As we got to know people, and after introductions were exchanged and people found out which schools the Bro and I studied in, the reactions would either be (a) "Huh? Never heard of it!", or (b) "Why?!? Why not try for an RST or an FGH or an XYZ? I'm sure your children still have a chance!" The RST, FGH and XYZ being the 'old', established, century old, once-upon-a-time British institutions that wouldn't have allowed brown-skinned kids like us to walk in through the front gate. Maa-Janoni stuck to her guns and now she has the last laugh as both these schools are two of the most sought-after in good ol' B'lore now. I then went on to study in one of those stuffy, ex-Anglo-now-CSI-run schools, simply because I wanted the experience. There are pros and cons to be said for both. And I know first hand.

But the thing is, because my mum trusted her judgement and let us continue where we were, did the Bro and I turn out the worse for wear? If anything, I think the Bro and I got a superb education. One of the biggest things a new school has going for it is that it tries harder. They are more sincere, use newly researched methodolgy where education is concerned, pay individual attention to the students and there always seems to be a sense of brightness and purpose radiating from the walls.

And now, years down the path, I am the one faced with the same dilemma that Maa-Janoni was faced with all those many, many, oh-too-very-many moons ago. The MIM's ex (as in school people! I mean really! ;p) or the present school where the EO already studies?

The new school has so many things going for it, brightness and spanking new walls aside ;p ...the biggest being that the EO is well-settled and just loves it! I quite love it myself, even though it's not 100% perfect, but 94% ain't bad, right? So do I take him out, put him through the trauma of settling in all over again and risk the fact that he just might hate it there?

But what if he eventually falls in love with it? Do I let him miss out on the prestige of being a part of a pedigreed, heritage school? Many in-laws and Kolkata-born-bred-raised-and-mated friends look at me as if there's even a choice in the matter. For many Calcuttans, as far as schools and schools of thought and go -- Old is Gold.

And so, the great debate rages on. I had round number 584 with a friend yesterday, and an early morning bout with His Majesty, the FIL.

I think it's safe to say that I'm almost brow-beaten to within 15 inches of my life. And forms haven't even been issued yet...