DS or not?

As parents, we have tried to steer clear of too much of media exposure for the boys, and especially Winkie as the older one. I have already talked about how much TV had impacted our lives earlier on, and now, even though we have cable television, the boys watch only recorded programs on the DVR and that too not everyday. And all they are allowed to watch so far are Curious George, Little Einsteins and Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. We have watched these with them from time to time and the shows seem simple and childlike. We could expand their viewing library, but that would mean we would have to watch it ourselves first to see what would be right for them. And we have no time for that.


The boys, for their part, since they are not exposed to anything else, don't ask for anything else. For now, they are content watching just these shows.  It inevitably means, that Winkie is not savvy enough to hold his own in a conversation about anything else that a typical 7 year old boy watches. Which is no big loss according to me, but sometimes I wonder. Just a bit.


Like on the question of the peer pressure of buying a DS over this weekend. Having watched a few of his friends handle their own individual DS consoles and play interactive games, on a few occasions, the desire to have one of his own seized strongly. And we came to learn of it, when he hugged my legs tight, and shed a few self pitying tears. It certainly won our pity for him but not a confirmation that he could have one of his own. I spoke to a few friends, trying to get viewpoints to help us decide. The reason why there was even a decision to consider was obvious. Although our underlying belief (as naive as it gets) is that it IS possible to raise kids innocent of all these gadgets, doubt rears its ugly head from time to time, over whether it will make our child too innocent and hence socially inept to mingle and feel part of a crowd. We worry over him being the 'odd one out', and whether he will have the courage and the confidence to withstand that position.


Because at the end of the day, that's what it boils down to. If Winkie were capable of understanding why we impose these restrictions, and stand up to any pressure on the strength of these arguments, and feel that he is a normal kid, just like anyone else, no matter what they think, then there is no issue at all. But as adults itself, we grapple everyday with the weakness of insecurity and ego pressures, to think clearly on the strength of our own core belief system, so how then can we expect a child at such a tender age to become one with this great philosophy?


Yet, I cannot give up the belief that he will learn it one day and each stage of his life will give him opportunities to develop and exhibit it. And as parents, it is our solemn duty to open him up to this truth. That he is perfect in himself. That life is about the fulfillment of desire and also the sacrifice of it. That intelligence is about developing the ability to discriminate between the two kinds, and have the strength of resolve to say no to oneself. Its a tall order, but any worthy cause will never be short of a challenge. And the responsibility of one's life and character to mould, is perhaps the worthiest of it all.


Today, Winkie does not have a DS or a PS or whatever else acronym it is that captures the market fancy and frenzy. It doesn't mean that we will never buy him one, but for now, some part of his nature has not pushed him to push this with us. He has displayed a healthy curiosity as a child to experience what he sees his peers enjoying. And there is nothing wrong with that. It is only our more willful adult mind that casts our own doubts into the mix, making the matter more complex. Today, Winkie still revels in the idea of a quiet time. We had unlearned that precious lesson over the past several months, but now, I have got him back on that track again. Every afternoon, he has a choice to either take a nap if he is tired or spend some time quietly and preferably with a book. And to get him motivated, I have stocked him up on his favorite Magic Treehouse series. And every afternoon, when I enjoy my own quiet time, either with a book or a nap, I see him poring on chapter after chapter in this utter concentration, which I just love. So much that I have taken several pictures of him just reading. Read read read. And if he is done with the book, he knows how to stay within his own silence. He knows better than to wake me up from a nap, so he will just sit with some random object in his hands, sometimes as random as a pencil or my hairclip, and fly it up in the air, soft sounds coming from his throat, aiding in his mental game. Thus he patiently bides his time, until I am ready to come out of my own little cocoon and be interactive once more. And I think this is a very precious thing indeed. Being able to be with yourself, without boredom. And I'd like to keep this going for as long as possible!

Born to Run

3 weeks into August, and we are all settled in. Its almost as if we have always been here. But that is an exaggeration. I do remember and reflect on my times in India, because of the little ripples of quiet effect that is still coursing through me. But, more of that later.

Onto present times. there is this big cloud hanging over my head right now. In the form of my upcoming 1/2 marathon. And it is beginning to cause little anxiety pangs every now and then. I trained hard that first month in desh, but did not keep it up that second month. As a result, I am not back to where I started, but close enough. I have gotten so much healthier and fitter since that time, but it still may not be enough to finish that race, and finish it, I so badly want to. Its the pace. I am having trouble picking it up. Endurance isn't a problem, speed is. I don't want to hop onto a bus midway or 3/4 way because I am out of time. But I also must stop thinking like that and focus on just running.

Have you guys read Born to Run? If not, now would be a great, grand time to do so. Its phenomenal. It will make you want to strip those expensive running shoes off, and go sprinting across the living room, to the outside, on your bare, bare feet and feel the real power at work. Till I read this book, I never realised shoes could be such a scam (though I know I certainly cannot do without mine), that there is a secret tribe of ancient people who run as naturally as they breathe, and that one of my biggest running mantras could be stay loose. It is a book not just for a running enthusiast, but for just anyone who believes that life has many secrets left to unlock, and this book contains one of them! Maybe I should pick it up again! :)


For now, I am going to visualise editing a picture of that medal to post here to you all about. :) I have a practice 12 miler coming up this Saturday. We are getting an early start on it, with the hopes of an equally early finish. It will give a much needed boost to my confidence and prepare me mentally for the race in 3 weeks. Sept 12 is the big day, so please pray that I come back to you with a picture of it! :)


On that note, let me leave you with this awe-inspiring story of a person who struggled against her worst odds!

One year since the break...

Its going to be almost 1 year to the day that life changed because of a broken ankle. Even now when I look and think back to that period, I don't know whether to smile or frown at the memory of it all....knowing how much of goodness came from that time. I am reading back on those 60 comments that I received from so many of you, telling me consistently this one thing....that I will make it. You were right. I did. One year later and I can really say that with some confidence.

It really was a period of imposed rest. It was very restful, once I stopped worrying about how things were going to be managed. And I stopped worrying, the minute so many others stepped in for my sake. That was the time we renewed our Blockbuster membership, and I watched at least 2 movies a day. That was the time, I wrote and felt and felt keenly on a lot of things, because the wave of emotion was that high. That was the time, I got back in touch with my embroidery and used a lot of that time to put colourful threads to the needle and watch my ideas take form. That was the time, I read and how. I gobbled up most every book that came my way (thanks UTBT, there is still a lump in my throat when I think of your goody of a parcel!). And when I couldn't find books, I found the online versions instead and read the entire Twilight saga in the stretch of a week. That was the time I made plans for all that I would do when I could walk again. I think the desire to train to run was also rekindled around the same time. That was the time, when life also became segmented into...before the fracture (b.t.f.) and...after. 


Today, one year and counting, I am healed. Though not in that complete way, where not even a twinge of pain or stiffness or discomfort is felt from time to time. It is true. Once broken, some tiny sliver of a crack is always there. The x-ray may show it otherwise, but the sensation speaks differently. Still, if I am in a position today where I can run a mile without pausing to catch a breath, then I have truly come a long way from the days even b.t.f. But one decided aftermath of this is the way I approach a flight of stairs. Every instinct in my body screams at me to slow down and measure every step I take, especially when it is an unfamiliar one, my hands reaching out to the side to hold onto something for support, every caution exercised to stay firmly on ground. And whenever I see anyone in crutches or cast or wearing that big black duck boot, my heart goes out in a state of extreme empathy and compassion, understanding acutely what they must be enduring physically, their pain mine, for that single, connected moment...

Walk safe everyone. Climb safe. Run safe. Stay safe. And eat your calcium. Your bones are yours to love.

Picking up the pieces once more...

Its good to be back! It seriously is. A friend said this was the final crossover, if I have returned from a trip without the ritual attack of homesickness that comes in its wake. Maybe I have. I knew this time felt different when we set out on the trip.

Still sentimentality never does leave fully. The day I left my parent's place, I opened my Dad's cupboard to look at all his clothes lines up there, feeling a rush and wave of affection. I even kissed a shirt of his to seal that love. And then I pushed all those feelings back down, for it won't do to indulge and immerse and get weepy on it. To think I am finally getting more practical after all these years! :)

Air travel is surreal. You are in one place one minute and in another in what feels like the next! The transition is so drastic that there is quite a bit of disorientation from the process. And this time, both happened simultaneously, the slight disorientation as well as the sweet settling, familiarity of being back home. It felt really, really nice to see the house again. Because it hit home that this was purely our creation. A space we had carved out from the separate lives we had lead to cohere into a family, with its own distinctive tastes in life.

The boxes are still unopened, save for one. Mild jetlag still prevails. The house is still blessedly clean from all the hours of spring cleaning I had invested in it before I left. And our life here has been so welcoming and warm, giving us back the threads to pick up from the last point. Family is again a phonecall away and even though that hurts a bit at first, it is what we are used to and hence claim as normal.

I am still taking things very, very slow, unpacking at my own pace, still waiting to distribute the boxes of sweets, and still trying to figure out what my priorities should be now that I am back. One thing I realise is that I have unlearned a lot of the good things that I had started off on while becoming a mother. My patience and creativity are at an all time low and the degradation began long before this vacation was decided upon. I shockingly realise how much of effort it is going to take me to re-learn those things, which once seemed more natural to me. I sometimes wonder whether I have it in me still. Some days, even the thought of reading them a book, seems like a far fetched concept to adopt. There is thus a lot to aim for and struggle towards and I must find my way to it.

Makes me almost smile back at what I've written, wondering if there is any clear connection between all these haphazard thoughts, induced by a wonderful cup of coffee, on a very wet and rainy morning...:)