I also came across the video doing rounds on social media where a little girl is seen frustrated and upset and crying while her mother tries to teach her
I read the comments across different channels and saw people’s reaction. Some made me laugh, others made me bang my head, some made me want to bang other’s heads.
Perhaps it was just a reflection of our selves. A mere reflection; as a person, as a woman, as a mother. Just that some times we do not want to face our self. Perhaps the picture is not so great to look at.
With all honesty, it also gave me a chance to stop and reflect on myself, within. Where do I stand as a mother?
I wanted to just talk about the emotions in that short clip of few seconds.
First and foremost, our children are no more children for us, just circus monkeys. They smile, we pull out our ‘smart’ phones, they cry we start recording, they run to us to show us what they built, we choreograph the excitement, they tell us the neighbour’s kid hit them, we look for the perfect frame to match the emotion. We are slowly and gradually training our brain to just look at every thing, every person, every emotion and every aspect of our life through that small hole. We are teaching our minds to forget the fine art of remembering people without any picture. We are producing little actors who know what kind of performance will get them more likes and more comments.
We are also teaching them how vulnerable their emotions are. That we can record anything they do, say or want and put it for the whole world to watch and comment. Privacy is a thing of old times. My times. Guess I am too old now too. *Chuckles*
The rest are all details. I can write pages upon pages on the anxiety and distress that that child must be going through every day or about the mother who in that entire clip of about a minute and few seconds, did not try to console the child or show any affection or about the uncles of the child who later showed up to provide the background on why the child was treated the way she was and that how is that so justified.
But I would just stop right here, and imagine that 3 year old Haya, after about 15 years, a critical stage in her life, when she might see this video some where, and read the comments and then who knows.
I do not want my children to grow up and watch themselves being ridiculed just to satisfy their caregiver’s entertainment nerve-Do you?
Note: I could’ve easily added the entire video clip but then the purpose of writing the above is to highlight the issue, not spread it more. Hence I only preferred an image just for a reference.
While at work today, I was busy putting my things away, when something or say someone, caught my attention.
A young girl, probably in her tween, sweaty and tired walked in with a woman who she was calling her mom. The woman had a high pitched voice and I could hear her continuously telling her daughter to stop doing what she was doing. The girl had tears flowing down her cheeks, and looked helpless. I naturally felt bad for the child and said to my self what a mean, evil mother and awwww the poor child.
In my utmost curiosity and my intent to may be help the poor child out of the weird scenario she was in, I approached them and offered help.
Well not help, help, but I offered assistance while trying to figure the situation out. As the mother spoke to me and explained to me her reason for the visit, I was all ears to the conversation between the two in between. And did I hear them well or what. As I watched them leave, I wondered how would I have reacted in such a situation.
Okay cut the crap. The mother picked the daughter up from her summer camp and had to run some errands. As the child was hungry, the mother got her some fast food from McDonalds that was on her way. Her biggest crime however was that she did not make a U turn and did not go out of her way to go to the better McDonalds who makes burgers just the way the child wants. Hence the girl, that little girl was not happy how her burger tasted and had constantly been shouting and yelling at her mother on how selfish and mean a woman she is.
Just for the heck of conversation and to help lighten up, I asked the mother about the child’s age. She responded 13, the child screamed “I am 13” and the mother replied “Yes that is what I said”. The child screamed even louder “No you said 14!!!”
And I asked my own self what time we are living in.
As a child, and I am not sure if I have ever mentioned this earlier. But as a child I used to get only 15 minutes of cartoon a day, that too if I finished my homework on time, and properly. The food was never of choice but of my mother’s. And so were the clothes. “I do not want this” and “I do not like this” were unfamiliar words. I never had the liberty to raise questions about food, clothes, friends etc. And most of all, it did not damage me or my life. It did not ruin me as many might think or say or assume. It helped me be a better, smarter person. It helped me be thankful for everything I had. It helped me love and respect my parents. It helped me value little things and moments in life. It helped me to have less and still be happy and feel content. And it helped me to never regret being raised like that!
And then the face of that girl flashed in my mind again. The sense of entitlement over a burger not good enough. A child who could not handle disappointment. A child who had to be bribed with a chocolate so she could shut up for the rest of the time while the mother spoke to me. A child who was all about me, me and me and constantly wanted more and more, completely ignoring the fact that she is disrespecting her mother, disrespecting all efforts that woman might be making to keep her little girl happy.
I want to use this opportunity and ask you: What is your stance on that? What causes this? Is this even bad or am I over reacting?
When a baby is born, there are multiple milestones that health care providers and parents look and wait for. When they start to move their head, when they start to raise their arms, when they start to roll over, when they start to crawl, when they’d develop pincer grasp.
Now this pincer grasp is what is stuck in my head for last two days. Between 8 and 12 months, babies develop a pincer grasp, which means they’ll be able to pick up smaller objects (like pieces of food) between their thumb and forefinger.
Coming back to my silly little mind, I’d been thinking about this for a while now. When number 1 asked me if she can get a hover-board for her birthday instead of roller skates, or perhaps when I see people drawing insects and worms instead of letters and words on the paper in front of me, but most recently when I went to Square One the other day and had to get a mall stroller for number 3. They used to have cute little fire-truck kind of strollers for babies, with a little plastic steering wheel to turn around and children would be busy playing with it.
Thanks to technology and modernity, since everything else has changed, so did the strollers. To surprise me, these baby strollers now come equipped with little screens to keep these little minds busy with just the swipe of a finger.
And I thought, our children have stopped walking because there are hover-boards, they are not talking because there is texting and Facebook and Class Dojo; they are not learning to write better or lets say to write at all because the homework is now online, swipe of the finger remember, and we do not focus on our babies developing pincer grasp because tablets have replaced the toys that used to help our children develop fine and gross motor skills.
Welcome to producing heaps of flesh and bones and blood that are slaves of technology. Welcome to robots who can need calculator to do 2 plus 2. Welcome to more sickness and more diseases because of physical inactivity. Welcome to socially challenged children since cyber hangouts are more lit for 12 year olds than physical meet ups. Welcome to the new age!
Sep 16th when I stepped out of that banquet hall, I was happy and so were number 1 and number 2. We were all smiles because we had had fun.
The next day was a rainy and soggy and unexpectedly warm one. We planned to go out to see the dentist for a routine visit and then number 2 asked me if she can have a hair cut.
We went to the store and there was some promotion going on and I myself and both of them got free hair styles.
Little did I knew, that exactly at that time, thousands of miles apart, my 68 year old father might be calling my name in pain. That he might have felt thirsty when that cruel person stabbed him right through his frail, old bones. That he might have felt cold as life left his body.
As we reached back home, I put number 3 to bed for a short nap and the older ones walked out to play and have fun with their friends. I started to prepare dinner and my phone rang. I saw my brother’s name blink and I thought “Oh now he finds time to talk to me” and I ignored the call until after I finish cooking. Then his wife called on Whatsapp. I reacted the same way. Then he wrote on my Facebook wall “Amber call me ASAP”
Telling myself in my heart what a big drama this man is, I called him back but his incoming call interrupted mine again. I asked what’s the rush and he just kept saying my name. I rudely told him to stop playing and come to the point and he kept asking if there was any one else in the house. Then I yelled and screamed at him and asked him again. I knew something was not right. And then he told me what my mind can still not process. He told me that someone stabbed my father and that he is no more.
And people say qayamat sirf aik baar aati hay…. (And people say Armageddon comes only once)
Rest are all details. When number 1 and number 2 stepped back in later that evening, the entire scene was changed. I think I was crying or perhaps screaming or something like that. They saw me and could not understand what happened. The house quickly filled with family and friends and neighbours and acquaintance.
I do not know how I travelled from Toronto to Karachi, when I stepped down in the most beautiful place in the world, how I reached the place I still call home, when I hugged my sister, when I held my wailing brothers.
I only remember that his body was ice cold when I tried to kiss him one last time, and I looked at him and I screamed who would want to kill this man.
I was always proud of the fact that for whatever time I have lived in Karachi, I never encountered any street crime, mobile snatching, theft, robbery. Never. And now this very place took away the man who gave me a surname.
My father (May Allah grant him highest place in Jannah) was a hot tempered man, and my Daadi, his mother used to refer it to his name. And also to the spicy food, that he loved and would throw a tantrum if he would not get a green chilli with his food.
That same man, who my mother used to pamper like a child, made sure that when Ammi was gone, he would make it up to us for the both of them. He would call us multiple times a day, visit us randomly, even send texts on Whatsapp, brings presents on Eid and Skype with us every chance he could.
I used to get upset when I’d find out he had been out visiting people who were not really well wishers of the family. He would reply “Its okay, let them do what they do, and let us keep doing what we do”
There were old women at his funeral out of nowhere, who hugged my brother and told him how sorry they feel and that my father used to help them run errands.
And at home, in the fridge lies that plate of his, in which green chillies been lying for a week now. He was fond of green chilis and onions and so am I. Ammi used to stop me and he would get me chicken corn soup and chaat from street vendors when she was not around. I love beef and he used to save his portion of meat in his plate for me.
Two days back during the morning rush, number 1 turned to me and said “I remember Nano was so funny. He used to do puppet show for us with the Big Bird. I miss him already”
It is a complete torture and it won’t stop. Until there is a closure; until we find who did it. Which I doubt because I know how the system works. How the police operates. There is no evidence, no witness. Will there be a closure?
Because no matter what, no body deserves to die like this.
So many should haves and could haves pound the insides of my temples. So many perhaps circulate in front of my eyes. All these days, myself and my siblings just kept brain storming, speculating, questioning, answering, crying and just being insane.
I am not paranoid but this incident has made me one. One night, middle of the night, we, scanned the whole house, just thinking what if someone came and threw the weapon here.
My children will grow up without Naani and Nano and their crazy emotional love.
And then the guilt that while he was helplessly breathing his last, in that pool of his own blood, I was getting my hair done. The pain may go away. Time may heal this loss but the guilt I feel is going to last forever.
Somehow I did muster the energy to put my grief into words. Because this is my catharsis. It may not heal the suffering but sharing grief does make it lighter. Just looking for some air to breathe.
Say a little prayer for him….and for her who must be happy now that they are together!
Note: I had great feedback from hundreds of people. Thanks for liking. I have edited and added few points that a lot of you thought should be a part of this. Happy reading!
Okay so I had been busy, like really busy. There was Ramadan, and then summer holidays. So I am just running, running around them, running after them, running for them. And then few things happened, one after the other. So compelling that I had to write about it and about what I felt.
Why I have specially mentioned Canada? Because Canadians are the most kind and friendly people I have ever met. They give you smiles, confidence, ways and rights. If you can’t be good here, then you can not be good any where. Why did I specifically mentioned Pakistanis? Because I am a proud Pakistani and I want my people to be known for their good manners and deeds. Everything starts from within!
1- Acknowledge The Good
Stepping in a mall, a store, a bank, you would definitely come across people who would open and hold doors for you, who would pull things out of your way even if it does not belong to them, who would watch out for your children as you put them back in your car, who would pick up after you in the cashier’s lane when your little one keeps throwing random stuff down and who would call you dirty-faced, crying toddler cute and “oh don’t worry about it”. Learn to say thank you, out loud. We are not entitled to it. I know how my own Pakistani people would react to a veiled woman entering a upscale store in Karachi with a crying toddler. So how these Canadians treat us with respect and dignity should not be taken for granted. They let us wear our veils, they let us pray in public, they let us in their workplaces, they let us have and exercise all our rights and more than we actually can imagine even in our own country. The least we can do is show our gratitude so they continue to do so.
2- Stop Touching
Okay I get it; back in Pakistan we used to shake hands and hug anyone we met and pat shoulders and those flying “muah” in the air and God knows what else and what more. I get it. But this is Canada. Culturally, traditionally, morally much advanced and yet everyone has and needs and wants his/her own space. And we teach our children about good and bad touch, which basically means any touch without their own permission. And still just this past weekend, I was with number 1, number 2 and number 3, and this woman passed by with her teenager and touched number 2’s hair and felt them and shook them, all while passing by in a Walmart isle, talking in the air how lovely these hair are. I mean seriously??? We gotta stop touching. Right now, like right now!
3- Mind That Karhaai
I am a foodie. And I am a Desi foodie. Which basically means I love Haleem and Biryani and Karhaai and Halwa puri and everything else. Which also means I know how much effort is out in, in preparing one such dish. Which also basically means that I am aware of the tempting aroma of our food. Which in reality might not be as tempting for that guy standing next to you in the library or the other woman at the school bus stop or any one else. Be aware of the smell that lives in our clothes. I know there is nothing much one can do about it but at least one can try a change of clothes before stepping out in the middle of frying that onion or perhaps a spray or two of a perfume for the more busy ones.
4- Stop Giving Free Advice
We are responsible for what we do, we are not responsible for what A, B or C is doing/does. And by ‘we’ I meant the people who live in the same household as mine, and that too the little people, not adults. Yes our values from back home, do give us the right to perhaps talk or guide even the adults in some cases, still we can not impose our likes and dislikes on anyone. Free advise comes naturally and effortlessly for us but remember we are in Canada now so try to control.
5- Stop Saying Bad Things About Pakistan
Oh God someone stop me please.
Okay I get it. Perhaps you worked very hard and did not visit any place in Pakistan except for Hyderabad where you lived and applied for immigration and landed in Canada. Or perhaps you got lucky and got married to a Canadian-Pakistani. Whatever the reason, now you are a Canadian, in Canada with a blue passport on the way or in your drawer. That does not in any way gives you the liberty to badmouth the land which actually provided you the opportunity to start in the first place. No other people, no Indians, Sri Lankans, Morrocans, Nigerians, Syrians, Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos, Dutch, Polish, English or any other ones ever say bad things about their own countries, not even the ones who fled from war zones.
I personally know people, which is usually a seven out of ten people, who perhaps have only seen Toronto after Karachi or Lahore and yet they have the audacity to tell me how corrupt Pakistanis are or how unsafe Lahore is or how dirty Karachi is. While they have lived their entire filthy lives in some unnamed neighbourhoods in Pakistan, but since now they are all ‘Goras’ so they can point out the garbage. I just have one thing to say that my Ammi used to say “Jo apni maa ka nahi, wuh kisi ka nahi” (One who does not love his mother, can not love any one else)
6- And Stop Saying Bad Things About Canada
No one forced you to migrate to Canada. You came out of your own free will. You have a world class lifestyle here that is hard to match even if you live a simple life. Air conditioning, heating, clean water, health care and education are provided to you as necessities and not luxuries, and that too of high standard. Yes you pay taxes, but trust me that one trip to the hospital in case of an emergency covers all those taxes. Yes you might not have a maid here and yes I also miss Pakistan but learn to be grateful for all the freedom, independence and respect Canada has given you.
7- Stop Being Judgemental
That girl wearing hijab coming out of the liquor store may not be there to get liquor. That girl with your neighbour’s son might not be his girlfriend but his colleague. Your new friend might not be a slut for hanging out in a club. And even all this that you assumed may be true, what matters more is not what he/she wears or does or goes to, but how he/she treats you and others. So the next time you are in a group of friends or just at the grocery store, try to judge less. You never know whats going on in somebody’s life. Also teach your kids the same. We live in a multicultural society and you and the children should be mentally and psychologically prepared to see very many different types of people who are just as normal as you and I.
8- Stop Littering
If you attended any school in Pakistan at all, you must have been taught “Cleanliness is next to Godliness”. I wonder if we only kept it to text books. The Pakistani Consulate in Toronto is an example of what I mean. Why are we so so so dirty? Why can’t we at least keep our surroundings clean? Why can we not clean after ourselves in malls, parks, grocery stores? We live here, our children do and yet we never miss a single chance to mess things up, be it paper, kleenex, wipes, diapers or paan spits or even throwing garbage “in” the Niagara Falls (Personal accounts of friends)… SMH!
Unlike the common media (racist) perception, Masjids aka mosques are not places of extremism. Okay may be some are, but most are not. We talk more about donations, charity, matrimonial issues and “where did you get this dress from?” then about “Lets kill some non Muslim” or “Lets blow ourselves”
I myself try to avoid masjid because of number 3. The unstoppable restless soul that he is, he does not let me pray in peace and I do not want to spoil other’s Salah too. Hence I avoid.
Today is Juma tul Wida, A very special day which means it is the last Friday of Ramadan. Friday being a special day for believers, and then the last Friday of Ramadan, the most special month, and the last 10 days of the blessed month. What more can one ask for.
Like anyone I know, I also wanted to go. But then what about number 3?
Luckily the closest masjid, which has one of the most pleasant and humble persons as Imam, Syeda Khadija Centre, broadcasts live prayers and sermons.
PM Trudeau at Syeda Khadijah Centre during Ramadan 2015
And today’s sermon by this absolutely gracious man, was so so simple, and so close to my heart, I have previously written about it as well, and so I had to share.
I made number 1 and number 2 sit with me and listen to it as well. And when later I asked them to tell me 1 point each out of what they heard, they could just do it like that. I would leave the religious stuff out of it and would only share the one that is general applicable for us all.
Internet is the biggest terror of our times:
I am a social media junkie. With or without intention, I just keep flipping through pages after pages. And I am sure most of us are. Most of the material on internet is not certified, but presented in a way that it looks more like news then unfiltered information. Parents instead of reading books to their kids or singing lullabies, prefer to hand them a smart phone or tablet that the child is then glued to.
Quote “What happened in Turkey is heart wrenching. No Muslim I know, would even think of doing something as horrendous as blowing himself and in turn taking innocent lives. Turkey is one the very few Muslim countries that have managed to keep balance between religion and modernity. And they kill these innocent people. And we all see these videos of mass brutality on our smartphones and then share them. 50 people die and all we care is to share the video of the suicide bomber. One sister texted me to pray for her son, who left home, saying I do not follow this hateful religion any more and I am leaving it. So she asked him, how do you know it is hateful? Where did you learn about it? Did you go to a scholar? And he replied Internet. So I request all you IT people to help our children and find some substitute. We were a generation of inventors and thinkers. And now we are all limited to consumers.”
Donate what you want for yourself:
I personally know that people around usually give old clothes and shoes and stuff in charity. Old, chipped plates, used toys, stained furniture. Unless it is specifically mentioned, no one gives new, packed stuff. And then we brag “Oh I dropped three garbage bags full of goodies at the donation box” or “Oh All my kids old toys go to the refugees” I have witnessed people actually looking for a toonie at the masjid when the donation box comes when their skin is hardly visible out of all the gold that they are wearing.
“Do not give rotten, basement bound stuff in donation. You have forty thousand dollars extra, lying in your account and your brother’s house is being sold on foreclosure because he could not pay will not help you. Do not give away ripped t-shirt and faded trousers in the name of donation. If you buy your suit from Harry Rosen or Gap or whatever, buy a new t-shirt or a pair of shoes and that would be an acceptable donation. If you like biryani for yourself, do not give away rotten, stale rice to a shelter.”
Let me start by a confession: I LOVE SHOPPING….. AND I HAVEN’T SHOPPED IN TWO YEARS!!!!
I love shoes, jewellery, dresses, lipsticks, lamps, glasses, dessert platters, plants. I am an impulsive shopper, which means I shop ‘just because’, not out of need. If I walk inside a store and I see something yellow, I would just pick it up and put it in my cart because I love yellow colour. I just can’t resist things I love!
But people do change (or so they think).
The first time I travelled to Pakistan after a gap of about 6 years, I had 6 allowed bags and 2 extra. One of my bags only had shoes; mine, number 1 and number 2’s.
Only a week after I landed in Karachi, I had realized it was a mistake, as for the rest of the duration of my stay, I only wore my Nike flip flop, which was not only comfortable but also the best defence against sweltering temperatures. My sister as usual had issues with me not wearing my branded, colourful heaps of jewellery and shoes, for she was afraid of me being judged (again) by family and relatives but I reminded her my name and she did get used to me wearing those flip flops with each and every, almost every outfit.
Number 1 & number 2 did get some chance to use their summer dresses well, but again accessories and shoes were only adding to their discomfort, being it their first summer in reality.
When I got back to Canada, there were couple weeks, rather months in between, where I lost track of new and old stuff. I had been preparing for this trip for months and then of course I bought and got stuff in Pakistan too. Hence at times, I would find out brand new stuff, with the labels on, buried deep inside the closet, running a size or two short for number 2, or number 1.
So it was around the beginning of 2014, when I decided I am not shopping. Yes I know it sounds weird, and unbelievable. But imagine the height of my frustration for taking such a big decision, for those who know me, know that shopping is one therapy I love and how fond I am of pretty little stuff and trinkets. BUT i decided nevertheless.
There was no deadline, no plan. I just decided I will not shop until all the current stuff in number 1 & number 2’s closet runs short and mine is all used, at least once.
What followed next were a few months of serious and severe depression, glum and binge eating. Of course this was my mind and body’s defines against this “stupid” decision I had taken.
Image courtesy: Google
I would just break the continuity here and share a funny habit. Long time ago, I developed this habit out of need. I would go to the mall, pick up all the stuff I liked, take it all to the fitting room, try it on, and then pick a handful out of those piles that I loved. It is the perfect ‘Dopamine fix‘ for me that not only helped satisfy my craving for all that colour, glitz and style but also cool it down.
Sorry… back to where I was….
For past almost two years, every time I browsed through Zara.com, I would add stuff to my shopping cart and at the end would click every item, zoom in and try to find a similar item in my closet. And every time I did find one, so I would remove that item from my basket and end up with nothing, and a reminder that I have that blue top with the bull head or that long lost turquoise flats that I had almost forgotten.
It was and is not about money, but trust me when I say it; the feeling of peace when you actually take the worn out or old stuff out of closet, when you actually find space, when you feel it organized, when you can put a new outfit together without spending money using the same stuff from the back of the closet that you did not know existed. And this is something big, this means ALOT coming out of this horse’ mouth.
I did not buy a single piece of clothing, any thing for home, any utensils, just nothing. I just kept removing the chipped plates, the ripped clothes, the clothes that kids grew out of. For their pre-loved clothes, I know this super amazing place ‘Weecycled’ where I give their clothes when they grow out of it. They are a consignment based store in Brampton, and carry pre loved clothes and toys as well as new stuff. I have been dealing with them for about 6 years now and am super happy. I know I could give the same clothes to someone in the family or friends and I did try it. Turns out they took the clothes too, and later whined and complained they were not good ‘enough’ so they threw them. Okay…. Alright…. I get it….. So I decided to divide the clothes. One portion I give to donation, the other to Weecycled, and few I keep for memories. Yeh that’s me!
And I did not break my fast, for about two years. No clothes, no shoes, nothing at all. Almost two years for number 1 & number 2 since they badly needed winter clothes for school, and more than two years for myself. I satisfied my cravings by browsing online stores, adding items to my cart, and then analyzing if where would it be used. I love dresses on my little ones, but I specifically asked myself where and how they will wear it since the snow pants make it almost impossible to wear dresses in winter so that leaves only spring/summer. It helped me great deal to put in perspective the need.
And then came this spring. I opened the closet. Clean, spacious, welcoming. It felt so good. Today was the last basket of clothes that I will be dropping off at Weecycled. After this I would need new clothes, and that still depends.
I myself am still fasting. I am using my existing wardrobe, trying to innovate and restructure my stuff in new ways every time and I must say I am loving it. I also realized how much junk I have been carrying all these years, while I only use two pair of jeans and 4 tops on a regular basis. Rest is all the impulse!
I also remember last year when I visited my favourite clothing store in Karachi, they had these new short kurtas on display and while I was checking those, one of the sales staff came to me and mentioned “You don’t need these; you bought all these last time and they have just been shortened in length but all the same”
That was some sincere and honest opinion I loved. I mean one more reason for me to stand firm on my decision. Also my sister and sister in law have been tempting me for past so many months, sending me pictures of branded replicas that would cost less than half the price of the original one. Yet, I stood firm and am still standing firm!
As for the children, trust me it don’t matter to them. As a matter of fact they loved the idea of no shopping and getting money for their clothes so they try to keep their stuff stain free so they get more coins in their coin box.
There is nothing wrong with being smart. Nothing wrong in teaching kids to be smart. Perhaps we just need to try it. And definitely if I can stay sober and sane, so can you!
I wake up every morning, turn the alarm off, the next thing in my hands is my phone: I do the same with the alarm, then check Messages(If any), then Twitter for news, then Whatsapp for messages from family and then Facebook for updates. After and when I am done with all this, then only I move. And I hate this!
Okay its alright to stay current and updated with the news, but what on earth am I supposed to do with what someone thousands of miles away from me is eating and feeling while eating. I mean first thing in the morning?
Past couple days, I’d been down and anxious; so much going on and then one morning when I was reading some news on Twitter, number 3 woke up and saw me busy on my iPhone and came close, and held my face and turned it towards him and said ‘ Band Mamma’ (Turn it off Mamma) It happened two consecutive mornings and what did I do? I signed out of all the social media apps on my phone.
There are people in my life, for who Facebook and Whatsapp comes first in their priority list, even before myself. But then I am me!
I have friends and families who have got separate tablets and iPads for their kids, as young as 2. I go for grocery and I see every passing stroller with a kid busy swiping the screen of their smart device. At traffic lights, I see cars and vans, with Dora or Caillou playing on the little television screens. Hospitals, doctor’s offices, shopping malls-9 out of 10 kids I see have some sort of device in their hands, regardless of their age. I mean what is wrong with us?
I remember growing up with only a 5 minute cartoon slot on the national television which was the only screen entertainment for us, that too in a hallway, that was always flooded with Dadi, phuphoos and cousins.
Then things progressed and we started having a 25 minute cartoon, evening 7pm. And that was it. And I am not talking about centuries ago.
Ammi used to pull keep knocking our bedroom doors, if any of us would lock it. We used to have dinner together. We used to talk. We had books to read, newspapers, magazines, puzzles.
And now I get guests, the young guns, that prefer to pull their hoodies on and sit in a corner playing, reading, listening, simply doing something with their smart device, and not socializing with the not-so-smart people in the room.
Personally I feel it is more the parent’s own short comings then anything else. I am not being judgemental; I am just saying what I observe.
Mothers are too busy so it really sounds like a good idea to have a silent baby-sitter with colours and music and pictures playing and keeping the kids entertained. Plus there is a lot of peer pressure. ‘That cousin” have it so I should also have it usually works wonders.
It some how addresses our own underlying, deep rooted complexes as a child-We try to give our children all that we could not get as a kid, without understanding that there was a reason we did not get something, and it was not money (only).
I have a household of three screaming, excited, ultra active human beings. I write and I sew and I bake and I craft and I watch news, dramas and movies; plus the every day household chores. I wash the same dish 15 times a day, because my baby likes to play with the freshly washed one, so I keep redound the same stuff over and over again. I have no help at all and yes I am bragging here. The only screen time my school going children get is 30 minutes, max 45. My baby is not a fan of screens at all. Yes there are times, when the screen time stretches beyond an hour, but that is rare, and extremely uncommon. They have no access to iPad unless they need to do some homework, which is timed and strict. They do not use any computers for any game, activity. I get them books, crosswords from the weekly flyers and newspapers. I asked for my family to send a Ludo so I can play with them.
And when they do nothing, they hover and make me want to run away.
Yes it drives me crazy and some times, it all just gets too much to handle. I am under slept, over tired, over stressed, but I am not ready to trade my children’s innocence for a 6 hour sleep. They eventually will be tech savvy and will have less time to communicate or interact with human beings in person. I just try to keep it this way, the natural way, for however long I can manage.
Number 1 was just promised by her father yesterday that if she finishes her Quran by a certain time she gets an iPad. And to my happiness, she responded “Remember no iPads” So I know children never develop complexes unless we try to shove it into them. Cell phones for now I have promised them when they’d be at least 16.
So my point: Please be sensible when deciding on handing over all this garbage aka technology, gift wrapped as tablets, pods and smart phones to these beautiful, super intelligent children when all they need is our attention and some encouragement. I argue and confront and fight about it with those I love. I know it is hard and I am not some kind of anti Illuminati or anti tech freak. I’m guilty of binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix when I am sad and I hog up on pop and sugar when I am depressed or I give up everything and not eat for days and survive on Chai as my to go med, friend, shoulder to cry-on. I just also admitted my horrible routine of social media when I just anxiously and insanely keep checking Facebook okay. I do. I am not a perfect mom, neither a perfect woman. I have my fair share of flaws. In fact I am more flawed than most. But this stuff is poison. It hurts those bright eyes, it damages those Einstein brains, it isolates those giggling personalities, it bars them friendly gestures and public etiquettes. It produces jay walkers who walk without the knowledge of their surroundings, engrossed in whatever device, and eventually usually get struck.
I wish I could’ve been born another time. Too old perhaps and hence nag!
So I had been sick, really sick for past so many days. I do not even remember since when. I finished two rounds of antibiotics but got sick again two days later. Then someone in the family told me to get some anti-allergy, and I found relief in my kids Benadryl syrup. No I still did not get to sleep, but it definitely helped. By the way I was wondering, why are OTC anti-allergy medicines are so expensive?
On another note I missed a birthday and so many days of productivity.
And then last Tuesday I realized schools are closing for holidays and I haven’t got any thing for teachers for Christmas. I like to create gifts and presents myself. It gives those things a personal touch I feel.
But there was neither time, nor energy or brain to shop or plan. So I Googled and found this amazing thing- White chocolate peppermint pretzels.
Took only three ingredients, about 3 hours and some mason jars that I had bought some time back. And yes a lot of fight and struggle with my macho number 3 as he was constantly trying either to pull down the chocolate bowl or break the pretzels.
Just sharing the recipe-Its a great activity to do with children as well (Hint hint winter holidays)
[yumprint-recipe id=’2′]
I had a couple while I was still making, it tasted that good:)
A little piece of twine, a handmade chalkboard greeting card and a piece of gold lace-Voila!
I wish there was a place in this world, a place bigger than Harrods or Harvey Nichols or Saks Fifth Avenue. A place where, things were available based on their worth, not the price attributed to it. A place where people could exchange emotions, I would have given my self in exchange of one last glimpse
If only though, if only wishes were horses, beggars like myself would fly high.
Its not what I would have or could have done, its just that every year this day comes, and though there is hardly a day when I do not think about her or when number 1 not have a question about her, perhaps the same questions repeatedly every day, I still feel like a five year old, in search of a warm embrace, looking for that precious smile, waiting to be held and be loved.
Every year, its like the same cycle. I start getting these weird dreams, and then I recall that at this time one or two or three or now four years back, this happened. It is like someone is dragging me to the electric chair, to be executed, and every year, a part of me dies within.
Its not philosophy, its not tragedy, its just the reality. That she is gone, that I was not with her. That I could not kiss her good bye. That she kept calling my name. That she kept waiting for me. Was all this actually worth it?
I remember my sister always used to ask me to go out at night on weekends, and Ammi would always tag along “How can I let you girls out, alone this late?” And when we would reach a jam lacked Hyder’s, she would say “Oh I don’t feel like having anything” And then later she’d be like “I’m kinda thirsty and will have a sip or two” And we both would fight with her that why you do not order something for your self. And I know deep in her heart, she was trying to save money that were so uselessly spending on “unhealthy, garbage stuff”- Mothers:)
When other girls talk about their mothers, I look at them with envy. When someone posts their status on Facebook to wish happy birthday to their mother, I just get numb. When I see women holding their grand children, my heart sinks. I have been trying to find her in every person I see, meet or talk to. I call every elderly woman Ammi, and yet this vacuum inside never fills. The gap just keeps increasing.
Its just like a hole, the size of California, being drilled in my heart, every day, every year.
And although her prayers for me have been answered and I have an angel right by my side, I still can’t deny that she took away a part of me with her. I am not complete any more. Can never be!
