• Why did God make mothers?
  • [Abu]: Because if mother didn’t exist, you didn’t exist
  • [Rabad]: Because there has to be one person who scolds us every time, otherwise we will not learn
• How did God make mother?
  • [Abu]: Because he is God
  • [Rabad]: There was one more mother who made the other mother
• What kind of a little girl was your Mom?
  • [Abu]: I don’t know. But I guess she was normal. She liked books.
  • [Rabad]: Very sad girl, because if she did one mistake her mother used to hit her.
• What did Mom need to know about dad before she married him?
  • [Abu]: His last name, so that she knows whether her new name sounds alright.
  • [Rabad]: Did he go to college, because some people stop after 10^th and they don’t have any knowledge
• Who is the boss at your house?
  • [Abu]: Dad. Because Mamma calls him ‘Suno,’ and no one calls him by his name in the house
  • [Rabad]: No one. Because no one acts like a boss.
• What’s the difference between moms and dads?
  • [Abu]: Moms are usually kind, and Dads are usually strict.
  • [Rabad]: Mom is really strict, and Dad is really kind.
• What does mom usually do in her spare time?
  • [Abu]: Talks with me
  • [Rabad]: Sits with me
• What would it take to make your mom perfect?
  • [Abu]: Nothing. She’s already perfect
  • [Rabad]: If she gives me a lovely gift

“Why?”

“Because then I’ll vomit.”

Kids learn random things like these from their friends, and we have to fight very hard to reverse the thought process once they get it stuck in their head. Telling them that am a more reliable source of information than their 7-year old friends is no use. It takes a lot of hard work and constant repetition to convince them otherwise.

“Who told you that?”

“My teacher said that.”

My heart sank. If it is difficult to counter the statements of their friends, it is almost impossible to counter something that the teacher said. Teachers are God. This could mean the end of milk drinking – an absolute necessity in a largely vegetarian household. I knew I had to fight this, but I felt like David taking on Goliath.

Looking for a loophole, I asked for details: “Which teacher? When did she say this? Why?”

“Xxx ma’am said it. Ishita vomited in the bus yesterday. Teacher said it’s because of the milk. It churns and churns and churns in the bus and then we vomit. Even Yyy ma’am said the same thing last year.”

Two of them saying it is even worse.

“Abu, but you don’t vomit when you drink milk, so I think you can continue drinking. Let Ishita stop.”

“I felt like vomiting yesterday. And I had vomited once in Senior KG.”

Senior KG was 2 years ago, and he had vomited because he had an upset stomach. He probably did not even have milk that day.

I was clearly losing. I was thinking of whether it would help to write a letter to the teacher. Or maybe to the principal. Then I decided to try a long shot. I’ve always had good success by quoting “results of research studies” to adults. So I wondered whether an appeal to science and statistics would work in this case.

“Abu, how many times have you had milk in your life?”

“I don’t know”

“See there are 365 days in a year, so there are more than 1000 days in 3 years. So you’ve probably had milk more than a 1000 times. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“So out of 1000 times that you drank milk, you did not vomit 998 times, vomited 1 time, and felt like vomiting 1 time. Right?”

“Yes.”

“So if you drink milk now, which do you think is more likely?”

“What is the meaning of ‘likely’?”

I wasn’t sure how to explain what ‘likely’ means. So I decided to simply rephrase the questions.

“Out of 1000 times that you drank milk, you did not vomit 998 times, vomited 1 time, and felt like vomiting 1 time. So if you drink milk now, which one do you think is more possible.”

This time he understood.

“The first thing is more possible.”

“Right. So I think if you drink milk, you will not vomit.”

“Yes.”

Victory!

“So will you drink milk now?”

“No.”

Damn!

Remember, when you are in a position to crush an opponent, the best thing to do is to concede some small point, something that they can take solace in, something that they can hold on to as a consolation prize. The winners of World War I ignored this important point, totally humiliated Germany, and then paid the price in the form of World War II.

“Ok,” I conceded, “You don’t have to drink milk today. But you will drink from tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Yes!! I had taken on the invisible “foreign hand” of the teacher and defeated it. Victory never tasted so sweet.

You have to be a parent to understand why this is such a big deal.

rabad (in the sweetest of tones) – i don’t want you as mamma, i want a different mamma

me – ok

rabad – pappa too. i want a different pappa

me (feeling a tad better) – ok

rabad – and you know what i’d tell the different mamma and pappa?

me – what?

rabad – the same thing, that i want a different mamma and pappa

now, can anyone capture the essence of life better than that?

We’ve had a few sporadic conversations about the terrorists in the following few days.

Often, I read newspapers at the breakfast table. And sometimes Abu and Rabad want to know what I am reading, and I try to tell them the “news of the day” in terms that they can understand. (Just want to clarify, this is on “normal” days too, not just those marred by terrorist activities.)

So on Friday, Abu asked me, “What is in the news, Dad?”

“136 people have been killed by the terrorists in Mumbai,” I told him.

“Oh. That’s too many,” he said, and then after a slight pause continued, “Thank God, they didn’t kill Rabad.” He was very casual, and natural. Not at all worried, or afraid, or “affected” in any other way, as far as I can tell. What I found most interesting is that it wasn’t “us” or “me”. It was “Rabad”.

* * *

On Sunday, we were just driving somewhere when we passed a “raddi paper” (old newspaper recycling) shop. They had huge stacks upon stacks of old newspaper ready to be taken away. It looked interesting and impressive, the kind of thing that Abu would find cool. So I told him, “See Abu, how many newspapers.”

“Wow! Cool!” he said, and then added, “All of them are about terrorists?”

“What? Why? Why would you say that, Abu?” I asked.

“I’ve seen the newspapers at home Dad. They are all about terrorists all the time.”

* * *

Later, we were talking about the news again, and I told him, “The terrorists have been killed. The situation is now normal. The problem is over.”

“Over?” he asked, “Have the dead people been reborn?”

I was flabbergasted. I swear I am not putting words in his mouth, nor did I prompt him in any way.

But he is right. The dead people are not going to be reborn. It is not over.

* * *

I just want to point out that Abu is not obsessing about the terrorists. In the last few days, we have talked about Harry Potter, and birthday parties, and restaurants, and teachers, and snakes-and-ladders, and tennis, and badminton, and cricket and all the other things that kids normally think about. Right now he is very excited about having reached level 3 of BlockABilla (don’t ask! some computer game.) It’s just that I have picked out the few conversations about terrorists and posted them here. I guess maybe I am obsessing about the terrorists.

The aftermath of the Mumbai terror is a very confusing time. One is sad, because the “dead people will not be reborn”, and at the same time, one is thankful because “it wasn’t Rabad”.

It was 10pm. Rabad should have been asleep about an hour ago, but wasn’t. So she was slightly cranky too. But every once in a while, we decide that spoonfeeding is not on.

“Go get it yourself from the fridge.”

“But it dark there.”

After about 5 minutes of fruitlessly trying to convince her that she shouldn’t be afraid of the dark, and that she should quickly go to the fridge and get the water, I asked Meetu to check if the kitchen was indeed dark. We can see the dining room / kitchen from our bedroom if we crane our neck a bit. The dining room light was in fact on!

“The light is on. It is not dark. Go get water.”

Rabad remained unmoved. She was still afraid and wanted one of us to accompany her. I doubt she was very thirsty, but this unqueched desire for water that her parents weren’t fulfilling was preventing her from falling asleep, and she was getting crankier by the minute. So finally I worked out some compromise where in return for me coming with her to the kitchen, she would give up some privilege (the details are unimportant for this story) at a later date.

So I walked over to the kitchen with her and she got her water.

“See, it is not dark or scary in here. You could have come by yourself.”

“No but it is dark in the guest bedroom.”

The guest bedroom is the next room after the dining room.

“The water is not in the guest bedroom, you don’t have to go there.” I point out (feeling like congratulating myself with a ‘Logic meiN tum se koi nahiN jeet sakta Tarneja!’)

I think Rabad saw the inexorable power of my logic, but she had an ace up her sleeve.

“My brain told me.”

Being in the company of my kids for so long, I’ve become good at putting two and two together.

“Your brain told you to be afraid?”

“Yes.”

I think Shakespeare was saying pretty much the same thing when he said, “for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” And that is also more or less what they taught Meetu during 10 days of Vipassana.

“Why did your brain tell you to be afraid?”

“Because ants might come from there.”

I gave her a what-kind-of-a-silly-excuse-is-that look.

With an expression and tone that clearly indicated that she felt my pain, but she was powerless to do anything about it because it wasn’t her fault, she said, “It is a baby brain, you know.”

* * *

a few days later -

abu – mamma, what does god do to the people who die?
me – don’t know baby, I really haven’t met anyone who has died
(i love having tongue-in-cheek conversations with abu-rabad! what a huge role i have in developing their sense of humor)
abu – your grandfather died, na?
me – yeah but i didn’t meet him after he went to god. but, i think he must be treated well, because god is a good person, you know.
(wondering if it’s time for me to decide on my take on reincarnation, just in case it comes up in a conversation soon)
abu – hmmm…ok

2 minutes later -
abu – mamma, we are stars on the ground, na?
me – huh?
abu – you had said, children are stars on the ground…
me – oh that, yeah, that’s right…

* * *

wondering how he jumped from that conversation to this?

this is my take – some teacher/relative/friend/hubby dear/me must have mentioned that people become stars when they die and go to god. and there’s aamir khan uncle saying children are stars on earth…is abu wondering whether these are the same stars? has he started wondering about reincarnation already? did i just have my first philosophical discussion with my son? or am i reading a little too much between the lines? i’d like to think not…