Once a month, I meet my peer at work, outside of work. David and I go to a nearby café and talk over a cup of coffee. It is a good icebreaker and gives us an opportunity to catch up on things, and see what is happening in each other’s world. Since he has been in the company longer than I, I seek his advice on things and he is always helping me do the right thing. This week, as we were walking towards Martha’s café, we saw this Chinese kid, who was probably about 10-11 years old, acting like a brat on the street and hitting his mom. David commented that the kid needed a thrashing, and that had it been him as a kid, his mother would not have hesitated in giving it to him --- and a minute later, after a few more tantrums, the kids mom pulled him to the side and berated him in Chinese. As David and I walked away, we started talking about our own childhood -- his in England and mine in India, and how both of us had received thrashings from our mothers for little things when we were kids. Funnily, both of us said we had never been hit by our dads, and also that we credited our parents for making us who we were today.
I mentioned to David that recently, there had been a lot of noise about Amy Chua’s “claim” that Chinese Mothers are superior. She tells in her book how she and other Chinese mothers whip their kids into becoming Math whizzes and musical prodigies. The western media has not taken very nicely to that. In the west, people think that kids need to be handled with, well, kid gloves and corporal punishment is an absolute No No. I have seen instances, where passersby have called the authorities when they see someone yelling at their kids or slapping a kid for throwing a tantrum. I remember a particular one -- where my colleague Lavanya’s hubby had gone with his one year daughter to the local library, and she started throwing a tantrum in the library -- you know, like all kids of that age do. And of course, the dad -- a typical Indian IT guy from the hot southern parts of India, after failing to keep her quiet, lost his temper and took her in a corner of the library and after yelling at her, tapped her on the back. Uh oh -- sure enough, one of the senior ladies watching that, promptly called up the Child Aid agencies and before he knew it, he was in the dock, with a threat of having his kid taken away from him. I am sure he was in deeper trouble when he landed home and informed his wife Lavanya about it -- but to make a long story short, both Lavanya and he had to take anger management classes. Lavanya was all freaked out when she came to me, and wanted to take a couple of days off from work, to take care of the formalities. Frankly, this one was no one’s concern outside of the immediate family -- but we can talk about that in another blog.
The parents -- whether "Chinese", "Western" or Indian or any other kind -- all come in assorted varieties, and I do not claim that any method of raising kids is superior to another. Like every coin, there is always another side and there are pros and cons to each. However, I’d like to use this opportunity to reflect on what my childhood was like with my mother and also, on how we did as parents.
When I was growing up, my mother would make me practice my math at all odd hours. She would wake me at 5 AM every day (I repeat every day, rain or shine). We would use the morning hours to revise and practice problems mathematics and science. I wasn’t allowed to use that time to work on my homework -- it was practice time. It was learning the Math tables initially, and then I moved over to Arithmetic and Algebra. Reading prose was never high on the list -- it was always Math and science. And boy, did she have a temper. I can definitely lay claim to being hit by almost anything that she had in her hands -- from slippers, brooms, clothes hanger, and of course her hands. It was tough to believe that the hands that could be surgically precise, could hit so hard. None of my cousins had to go through that rigorous training and I always envied them. My mother never liked me playing sports -- and when I did pick up cricket; she was very upset as she thought it took a very long part of the day from my routine. She had always wanted me to become an engineer, and when I was in my 8th grade, she got me books to prepare for the entrance exams. However, I wanted to become a doctor. It is funny how I ended up being an engineer. Oh but her wish list did not stop there -- we would hear her praying in front of the gods, that she wanted me to do MBA. She never coaxed me to do that -- but was very happy when I announced to the family that I had decided to give the entrance exam for MBA, and even more elated when I joined IMS for MBA. ( I am sure she thanked the gods and went to the temple with some offerings after that). That is the way she has always been -- always trying to learn new things. Even today, at nearly 80 years of age, she goes to art and computer classes.
The parents -- whether "Chinese", "Western" or Indian or any other kind -- all come in assorted varieties, and I do not claim that any method of raising kids is superior to another. Like every coin, there is always another side and there are pros and cons to each. However, I’d like to use this opportunity to reflect on what my childhood was like with my mother and also, on how we did as parents.
When I was growing up, my mother would make me practice my math at all odd hours. She would wake me at 5 AM every day (I repeat every day, rain or shine). We would use the morning hours to revise and practice problems mathematics and science. I wasn’t allowed to use that time to work on my homework -- it was practice time. It was learning the Math tables initially, and then I moved over to Arithmetic and Algebra. Reading prose was never high on the list -- it was always Math and science. And boy, did she have a temper. I can definitely lay claim to being hit by almost anything that she had in her hands -- from slippers, brooms, clothes hanger, and of course her hands. It was tough to believe that the hands that could be surgically precise, could hit so hard. None of my cousins had to go through that rigorous training and I always envied them. My mother never liked me playing sports -- and when I did pick up cricket; she was very upset as she thought it took a very long part of the day from my routine. She had always wanted me to become an engineer, and when I was in my 8th grade, she got me books to prepare for the entrance exams. However, I wanted to become a doctor. It is funny how I ended up being an engineer. Oh but her wish list did not stop there -- we would hear her praying in front of the gods, that she wanted me to do MBA. She never coaxed me to do that -- but was very happy when I announced to the family that I had decided to give the entrance exam for MBA, and even more elated when I joined IMS for MBA. ( I am sure she thanked the gods and went to the temple with some offerings after that). That is the way she has always been -- always trying to learn new things. Even today, at nearly 80 years of age, she goes to art and computer classes.
I remember as a kid, Rani Bai, who worked for our neighbor Dr. D. P. Mukerji, would see me studying/practicing and often getting the thrashings I got when I goofed up. One day, she stopped me as I was heading back home and got talking to me. She said I must hate my mother for all the things she made me do -- and was genuinely surprised when I said I didn’t, as I knew she was doing it for my own good. The answer surprised her and I think pleased her too. She later told my mother about this and my mother was thrilled to hear it too. I was treated well at home for a few days and received a lot of goodies -- but that only lasted a few days. All this while, I don’t ever remember my dad ever raising his voice at me, let alone hit me.
My mother was a tough judge and always expected that I’d be the best. There was always comparison with others -- within the family and outside. I remember, once in the fourth grade, I acted in a school drama. I played the role of a bishop who talks to a robber and tries to convince him to act conscientiously. At the end of the play, all the cast members were introduced to the audience and had to say a line from the play. When my turn came I did too. When I reached home that night -- there was no praise for my performance -- but I was told that I took too long to say my line. That was the last time I ever went on stage to participate in a drama -- and had a complex for a very long time. In my teens, I showed signs of rebellion when I disobeyed her a few times. But on the whole, I still remained with the ethics that I had learned. She was transferred to another city, when I was in my 9th grade -- and I ran the house with the little money that was given to me; paying the maids and the gardener, ordering monthly groceries, and continuing my studies rather well. There were no sleep overs permitted; the curfew to get back home was 9 PM with permission and informing my dad about my whereabouts at all time.
My mother had an uncanny knack of always figuring out that the kids had done something wrong. I remember as a kid, my sister and I dreaded taking medicines, especially the large antibiotics which were given to us almost every time we sneezed or coughed a few times. We thought we could fool my mother by throwing them outside the window. Did I mention that the windows had ledges outside and these medicines would fall on the ledge below and of course, my mother would see them -- like WITHIN THE HOUR. Then there was the time when my sister and I were alone, and I was supposed to be babysitting her. I thought I did a good job, until my mother came home and as she was talking up the stairs, she looked at my sister and said she had cut her hair. I was like -- No way, I was with her almost the entire time. But my mother insisted she was right. To make matters worse, my sister denied everything. Then in 15 minutes, my mother came out with a strand of hair -- my sister’s. I still remember the thrashings we both got. And then there was the time, when I thought I’d be smart and not use soap when I took my bath; but to prevent getting caught, just wet the soap. I still don’t know how she did it, but she caught me the first day. I am pretty sure she had some secret device that monitored everything I did.
My mother was a tough judge and always expected that I’d be the best. There was always comparison with others -- within the family and outside. I remember, once in the fourth grade, I acted in a school drama. I played the role of a bishop who talks to a robber and tries to convince him to act conscientiously. At the end of the play, all the cast members were introduced to the audience and had to say a line from the play. When my turn came I did too. When I reached home that night -- there was no praise for my performance -- but I was told that I took too long to say my line. That was the last time I ever went on stage to participate in a drama -- and had a complex for a very long time. In my teens, I showed signs of rebellion when I disobeyed her a few times. But on the whole, I still remained with the ethics that I had learned. She was transferred to another city, when I was in my 9th grade -- and I ran the house with the little money that was given to me; paying the maids and the gardener, ordering monthly groceries, and continuing my studies rather well. There were no sleep overs permitted; the curfew to get back home was 9 PM with permission and informing my dad about my whereabouts at all time.
My mother had an uncanny knack of always figuring out that the kids had done something wrong. I remember as a kid, my sister and I dreaded taking medicines, especially the large antibiotics which were given to us almost every time we sneezed or coughed a few times. We thought we could fool my mother by throwing them outside the window. Did I mention that the windows had ledges outside and these medicines would fall on the ledge below and of course, my mother would see them -- like WITHIN THE HOUR. Then there was the time when my sister and I were alone, and I was supposed to be babysitting her. I thought I did a good job, until my mother came home and as she was talking up the stairs, she looked at my sister and said she had cut her hair. I was like -- No way, I was with her almost the entire time. But my mother insisted she was right. To make matters worse, my sister denied everything. Then in 15 minutes, my mother came out with a strand of hair -- my sister’s. I still remember the thrashings we both got. And then there was the time, when I thought I’d be smart and not use soap when I took my bath; but to prevent getting caught, just wet the soap. I still don’t know how she did it, but she caught me the first day. I am pretty sure she had some secret device that monitored everything I did.
As a dad, I promised myself that I’d never hit my kids. To date, I think I have kept my promise. I have done my best to give my kids’ confidence in what they do and believe in. I have always said to them that they need to be good, but don’t have to be the best in everything they do. The idea is to be all-rounders, enjoy what you do and become better persons. From what I see of my girls, I like to think that my wife and I have done a good job. My girls attended and organized sleepovers -- in fact, both my wife and I took pride of the fact that my daughters had so many of their friends come home and that the kids felt as much at home in our house, as they did in theirs. They organized dances and events for the Sunday school that they attended. For the graduation party of Sarika, one of Shivangi’s friends, all her friends used our home as a practice pen to try out the skit and the dance moves. The girls played piano -- actually Neha completed 8 years of the MTAC and Shivangi completed 7 years; and both enjoyed it. I often saw them practicing on their own, without really any external force. Both picked up the paint brush and made several sketches -- Shivangi more than Neha. Their artwork was appreciated and both won accolades for it. They joined and led various clubs in their school lives -- with the intention of really helping people, not just scoring points to get admission in college. Sure their grades weren’t always an A, but I have come to realize from my own experience that life is much more than just getting As. The girls played sports too -- both representing their high school in Varsity Tennis. Shivangi was also the captain of her high school team, and also played for her college tennis team.
My wife and I have tried our best to respect the individuality of our daughters. Today, it makes us proud to see Shivangi excel in Math at her college, as she heads into Engineering. She drives confidently and handles most of her issues herself. Just this week, she went into a dorm for the first time and fell ill on the very first day. She called me in the evening from the hospital, where she had gone all by herself, taken an appointment, talked to the doctors, taken her medicines and was returning back to her dorm. And this hospital was not on campus. I take pride that we were able to extend positive reinforcements and provided a nurturing environment to our daughters, as well as prepare them for the future by inculcating good work habits and ethics. And they didn’t have to lose sight of their cultural heritage while doing all this.
I have always told my kids that they don’t owe us anything. We are only doing what is our dharma -- our duty -- and would like to see them well settled in their lives. Today, both are over 18 years old, and we consider them more as our friends than our kids. But, they know that we are always there for them, to offer advice or any help that we can. We will do our duty till they are married and I will be happy to see them do the same thing for their kids.
As my dad told me once, in the end, it is about how you manage yourself in front of a crowd that really matters. Do you have a good friends’ circle and do you feel comfortable talking to people and do people feel comfortable talking to you? And that your family is together and children have grown up with values. Those were golden words, and I realized how important they were, when people stopped me several months after my Dad passed away, to talk about the impact he had had on their lives. That, my friends, is the biggest A one can get - -biggest success in life; nothing can come even close to it.
To end on a lighter note, I present a video from the Indian comedian Russel Peters, on Asian Parenting. Hope you all get some good laughs from it.
As my dad told me once, in the end, it is about how you manage yourself in front of a crowd that really matters. Do you have a good friends’ circle and do you feel comfortable talking to people and do people feel comfortable talking to you? And that your family is together and children have grown up with values. Those were golden words, and I realized how important they were, when people stopped me several months after my Dad passed away, to talk about the impact he had had on their lives. That, my friends, is the biggest A one can get - -biggest success in life; nothing can come even close to it.
To end on a lighter note, I present a video from the Indian comedian Russel Peters, on Asian Parenting. Hope you all get some good laughs from it.
