P81: Things You Cannot Tell Peppa-Pig

Peppa Pig

My son became a fan of Peppa Pig after he found a soft toy of the pink talkative pig. He took an instant liking that transformed into fan-following watching all the episodes on YouTube. There have been moments when Advait and I have had ‘snorting’ or ‘grunting’ matches. You need to know the 3 different lengths of snorts. And the little squeak for George.

I do love the series, I must say. I feel the makers have done a fine job specially in the voice-acting department. The dubs are perfect, excellent intonation and conveys every little emotion very beautifully. To the extent that my cub has started speaking in the same tonality. Lovely win-win for the makers.

But a strange thought entered my mind. There are a few things, you will never see in Peppa Pig. And a few things that are a complete no-no to say to them. *Don’t read ahead, meanness ahead.

Here are a few:

“Can I please have a few rashes of bacon for breakfast please?”

“For Sunday Roast, Mummy Pig just made some roast pork.”

“When Papa Pig sits down to eat, he always pigs out.”

“I love food trucks. Specially the ones that make pulled-pork sandwiches.”

“Mummy, where does ham come from?”

Advait takes a ride with Peppa

 

Sorry son. Maybe you will see the humorous side when you grow up or outgrow P-e-e-e-e-ppa Pig.

*grunt*

 

P80: Haircut

Take a look at this picture.

Hair Cutting Tools

Take a long, hard, close look at the tools displayed in the picture. This, ladies and gentlemen, are the tools that were used by my almost-4-year-old man-cub to give his grandfather a hair cut!!!

It was a sight, when Advait pounced on my father, in a show of affection, to cut his hair. And then he brought out his “hair-cutting” tools. Hair-raising is more like it. It started with the blue hair clip being rubbed all over my father’s skull. The saw came in next. He grabbed a tuft of my dad’s silvered hair and began sawing… not at the hair but at the skull. The pliers were used for effects, post that. They were used like community gardeners use calipers to clip the shrubs into discipline.

The comb? He didn’t really use it. He just brought it out for effects.

P78: Cat

A stray cat decided to be nice to me on a lazy Dubai winter afternoon. It sniffed at my boot. Licked it a bit. I could tell from its whiskers moving in a concert-like way that it liked my boot. Rubbing its cheek over the stitching, the cat proceeded to scratch its neck against the side sole stitching. I started cooing to the cat. It reminded me of my son. He usually has a cat-like behaviour. His body moves in such lines. I spoke to it a bit longer.

The cat was enjoying the rough texture of the stitches against its furry neck. Its eyes were closing in pleasure. From the time it started “being nice to me”, it did not look up at me or acknowledge my presence. It found solace in my shoe sole and stitches. It was incidental that the show belonged to me. I took away my shoe from the cat. It got up and walked away. It reminded me of my 3 and-half-year-old son.

Sometimes, he does treat me like that cat.

 

P76: Adultification of Childhood

Would you hold “adultification” of childhood as a crime?

Before any parent ventures to answer that, take in a moment. It is a bit of a trick question. It will need parents to try a different optical zoom on their parenting styles. The findings may or may not be pleasing. New generation of parents always stress, how the “next generation is way ahead of them when they were their children’s age”. There are various reasons for that; some social, some economic and some neo-parental.

Nature plays a tricky game with generations of new-born. They are operating in an adult world. The adult world comes with its share of perils and the young ones need to learn and adapt faster than they can swallow food. They have to learn to run before they can walk. If not, they fall prey to the predators.

I am no social scientist when I say this, but if we were to apply this to our human world, we see things that are no different. There are segments of society that help the “adultification” of children for purely economic reasons. Politics too has its hand in such steroid parenting. History has seen child warriors been produced and groomed when they should be playing with wooden toys. Modern times have seen no different – the child warriors have automatics in their hands in place of toys – specially in strife-ridden places like Darfur.

For those of us blessed not be a victim of such surroundings, there are other demonic agents that parents fall trap to. Children’s fashion is now ‘hotter’ with child models in adult-like (read sexy) poses and clothes. Those seem cute for a moment or two. And it does affect the impressionable minds. We find it cute when children ape adults, behave like them, speak the adult language. Why? Because they are not supposed to. Just the way an adult is not supposed to act and speak like a child, even if to earn brownie points from their partners or just be cute. Children wardrobes have high heels, glitter make up and hair gels. Does this not amount to “adultification”?

Many unsuspecting parents fall into a trap when they see others’ children strut their stuff. It is then that they doubt their children’s natural growing process and try to accelerate it to keep up with what they see around them. Speaking full sentences, learning five letter words or perhaps trying to mouth inanities that they pick up from the online world. Modern parents have a harder job at hand to make sure that their children do not grow like fast food chicken.

Expat lives do not make it any easier for parents. There are irregularities in basic HR components like maternity and paternity leaves that are forceful deterrents. Earning double salaries to run the expat show usually see children being deposited in pre-nurseries and day care facilities. There is a certain acceleration of growth there. New age parenting and childcare have thrown up concepts of curriculum for 1 year olds! Are we not supposed to just let them be? Curriculum and time tables, I feel, also lead to the “adultification” of children. Till sometime back, I didn’t know of any 3-year old who knows the life cycle of a butterfly! I do now.

I feel that as parent we should not promote our children to be adults (or adult-like). The new-age parents are giving in to “assembly lining” their children into premature adults. Let our aspirations and desires not be the predators of our children’s innocence.

P75: My Son, The Super Parent

After long months of bullying, my wife and mother to our 3-year old toddler son Advait, debuts on my parenting blog.

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My son, The Super Parent

My son is doing a near-perfect job of parenting. He gave birth to me, three years back on July 22^nd. After a 16-hour painful and irritable labour, when my bloated belly was finally hacked, I shivered for 30 mins flat in excitement. Thereafter, there has been many moments of cheap thrills and shrills. During labour, my father stayed hidden behind The Financial Times, my mother communicated with God in gibberish, my sister denounced the world and went off to the Chicago zoo for comfort and my husband kept insisting that he is confident, I will be freed soon,  though my vagina.

I have some real defining moments of being born as a Mother.  That Sunday was special. The second day of Ramadan. Most in my town were waiting for the call of the maghrib prayers, to quench their 15-hour long thirst. The doctors stitching me up were chatting about food, firni to be precise and the elaborate Iftar feast, waiting at home. Amidst all the chatter, I was born to a sharp, dominating and temperamental son, who truly believed the sun shone from his bite-size bums. I didn’t cry. He did. I was just relieved.

He is a good parent though. He has strengthened my roots and untangled my wings, often caught in the junk of my childhood conditioning. He has taught me to extend myself beyond my skin. I have been toughened with sleepless nights, leaking breasts, brain-numbing hunger and a dislodged tail-bone. I have been softened with wise repartees, disarmed with a pair of fluttering eyelashes and caged with unconditional love, that I once believed I could find in a pot-smoking boy in suburban Kolkata.

He is my shining mirror. He holds himself up to me, couple of times a day. I see my wrinkles in him and the wisdom I have acquired in the last three years. He is my Heckler-Supremo, who kicks my wide ass, every time I slack. He is my zen master, who teaches me to bow in gratitude to the universe, each night as he dozes off to sleep on my pillow. He is my personal Franz Kafka, who has answered most of my existential questions, before I could really frame them in words. He is my angel-investor who believes in the power of me.

My son, the super-parent.

Me, the lucky bugger, who has endless entitlements, a room flooded with toys and a home buoyant on love, although the bank accounts often run dry.

Thank you, Advait.

 

Advaita is the oldest extant sub-school of Vedanta, which preaches the non-duality of the soul. The word refers to one’s recognition or discovery of his/her “True Self”.