The Invasion of my Inbox

I have been lamenting silently on multiple counts since Lockdown was announced in this part of the world. It was a routine weekend visit to A and now after three weeks, we are staying put for another three. Till recently my lamentations could have been ignored by my own 'greater' self on account of their trivial nature. But now that this space has been devoted to airing of grievances, I better lighten myself by recounting them.

• Of all the things, I missed being unable to go out anymore- for the runs, the walks and general contemplations.
• In the absence of an oven, baking (one of my greatest loves) was ruled out too. Not that one would have obtained the ingredients. And yes, I missed the regular cheese sandwich due to unavailability of good bread. 
• The fact that I am stuck in a place other than my own home, meant my urban jungle of an apartment would be withering due to lack of water and sunshine.
• And since the place where I am has only the nature's bounty to placate you, I miss being unable to capture the russet sunsets and pink supermoons on my DSLR; Or paint the myriad hues of spring in watercolors.
• Further, selfish as it may all sound, I lamented wearing the same set of clothes every few days too. 
• To make things more difficult, A was constantly away with his work responsibilities.
• And lastly, the fact that for the first time since I became a mom of two, I have been stuck with both 24*7 without any family member to offer reprieve. 

And yet there were a million blessings to be thankful each day for. The fact that four of us were together, that all of us were healthy and safe, that our plates were full, that I have rarely had this kind of time with kids at home, that the kids still had a place to play outdoors, that there was time and access to any book on my Kindle and that it was a  beautiful place to be locked in (just as spring was receding) meant we were managing pretty well in the beginning.

Till of course the school announced the beginning of online classes. At first, we thought at least the elder one will be gainfully engaged in the pre-lunch hours and I might actually get some breathing space to do the little ones chores. It was not to be. The Little One (all of 4) too had to join a half an hour class at 9. So far, we are operating on the assumption that all daily chores (including feeding and bathing the kids) would be over by nine and there would be at least two electronic devices on which both kids could attend separately. (Let's not even think of the explicitly stated requirement of separate space for both kids without any household disturbance.)

Still, I (leave out A because he has to attend a 24*7 emergency job) decided to play cooperative-modern-voiceless-computer educated-devices possessing mother of two. I thought I could connect (older) N on my tablet and the little (S) on my phone. Worth mentioning that after six months of persuasion since A took over this place, he finally managed to retrieve and share the wi-fi password for seamless connectivity. As instructed in the mail, I promptly downloaded ZOOM and installed on my devices. Yet it occurred to me that since teachers too were operating from home, each subject teacher would have a distinct username and password. On reading the fine print of school mail and repeatedly pestering the (virtual) class teacher, I was enlightened about student email and received the login and password for the same (please do not confuse this with the subject teachers' zoom id and passwords) only hours before the first class. Its important to clarify that all correspondence was mailed on student id, and only as and when the teachers deemed fit on one or both of the parents email. And since all assignments were to be viewed and submitted through Google classrooms and Google Drive, I had no option but to bite my lip and curse the heavens, while deleting my account and configuring the tablet with N's email id and specifications. Lastly, it was also not as if all teachers could get Zoom going on their ends the very first day and at least one had sent the link of google hangouts, which again had to be downloaded and installed.

Complicated as it may sound, so far each and every word of this post is true. Now on the D-day, we managed to stuff breakfasts into the little mouths and the first class for both could be connected somehow. I had failed to take the credit for bringing up my kids without any exposure to screens of any sort- TV, mobile, tablet etc. Only now I may not be given any, since N constantly fumbles with the mute-unmute feature and I have to rush to her aid, every time teacher announces her name. Also, to our horror, after each class, we had to help her key in the username and password after copying from the mail. And till date, sometimes we are just unable to connect at all.

While I considered myself deft at technology, how do you excel when the rules of the game (read username and passwords) are changed every day. S refused to sleep soundly for nearly a week and we gave up on his class for the last week. Yet, N had to join and learn and grow. Every night before sleep I prepare a primer of each subject username and password to help her navigate if I am temporarily stuck (inside the bathroom or in the kitchen). But all of this is nothing compared to the deluge of mails we receive in our inbox. (Sometimes, I even smell patriarchy when some teachers decide to write to A alone.) One could have helped writing this post, if there were only assignments to be submitted- there are rules on how they are to be submitted, then there is advice for parents on how students should submit, further there is further advice for sending a notification once the scanned pages of the notebook are uploaded and there is a deadline. In addition, there are videos to be made and uploaded (Trust my internet to (fail to) support anything above 10MB). Still, the teacher gets N's name wrong (say N became some random M) while reviewing her work online- so much for the child's recognition! 

And while I write this, I realize teachers too are moms and/or perhaps have loads of household work to deal with just as well. Also, the school S and N attend was chosen specifically for its no stress curriculum and it has been a beautiful journey so far. Despite the overwhelming goodness, I can not see a single mail from outside school contact in my inbox. Of all the things I hate about Corona, and its multifarious invasions into people's lives, the invasion of my inbox is what hurts me the most. It seems that my identity has been erased by my role as a mother of two school-going children. And while I had indeed erased my identity from my android tablet, the computer science resource sheet tells me N is supposed to be learning Windows!

First Lessons..

Background: Sometimes parents have to live separately (in different cities) as an occupational necessity and in such cases; children invariably end up living with one of the parents. One such hapless single parent had the monumental task of sending the 3 year old kid to school while being ‘dedicated’ to another six month old in the house and also rising to meet the professional expectations whenever called upon to do so. The fact that this three year old (henceforth 3YO) was moving between places and joining a new school in July (as against the beginning of ‘Academic Year’ in April) certainly did not help matters. Yet, with all the enterprise (and uncharacteristic humility) at the command of the Not-by-Choice-Single-Parent (henceforth NBCSP), the 3YO managed to get admitted to the elitist pre-school (where the children of city’s glitterati learnt what it takes to obtain a seat in the Famous Fives (say five of the best schools in the country located within the city). Needs to be mentioned, that in this case, the NBCSP was not bedazzled by the promise of the fabled Famous Fives but was rather swayed by the fact that a time-twin of the 3YO (child of two dear close friends/batchmates) attended the same school (even the same class) and would have been a sort of anchor for the 3YO to look forward to school each day. Just a word of mention for elitist-preschool-Principal (henceforth EPSP), who needs to be thanked for accepting 3YO to the school without much fuss (as long as the rules of the school were strictly adhered to by NBCSP!). 

FORGET Scene 1/Scene2/Scene 3 as non-existent episodes of rudeness on the part of EPSP towards NBCSP or better still blame NBSCP as being over-sensitive! Only that perhaps in any other major city while such episodes will not even register as a blip on the radar of basic decency, in this city of tehzeeb it definitely could raise a few eyebrows.

FAST FORWARD TO Scene 4

NBCSP (Standing): Ma’m, Could I please speak to you regarding my child?

EPSP (tersely): Regarding what?

NBCSP: Ma’m, regarding her homework.

EPSP (already visibly irritated): What is it?

NBCSP (even more politely, trying to make her understand): It’s just that 3YO has just changed places last week and is unable to adjust to the new routine, so sometimes she may not be able to complete her homework.

EPSP: What do you want us to do?

NBCSP: Give her time to adjust. She knows her alphabets and numbers and colours but sometimes is just not willing to write it in her notebooks. She will take time to get used to it.

EPSP: Make her practice. Practice makes a man perfect. 

NBCSP (wondering about the ‘man’ part): Just that in her older school they were not very strict with the homework part.

EPSP: Put her in Playgroup then. We don’t have any homework for playgroup children.

NBCSP: Why would she go to playgroup if she is three year old and knows everything that is expected from a child at her age?.

EPSP: In other schools, they give up to five pages of homework. We give only two. And you want us to do everything and you want to do nothing.

NBCSP: She does her homework everyday but sometimes its just too difficult to make her write. Also, I have been in the education department for the past one year (looking at all the primary schools of the State) and understand a little bit about early childhood learning. I was just requesting you to give her time to adapt to the new environment.

EPSP (rolling her eyes): We could completely exempt her from any homework in that case.

Also, there’s a big school here which expects your child to write ten pages. And whatever power you have gained in the education department, use it there.

If you still wish to talk more, you could wait in my office.

NBCSP (completely quiet, appalled by EPSP’s rudeness and  at the same time controlling her instinct to give a befitting reply) : She has been regular with her homework so far. I do not see there is anything more to talk about.

Afterthoughts:

• It is actually impossible for people who live in fixed places all their lives to understand what it takes to call a new place home every six months, grow roots there, knowing you will surely be uprooted again. (Not even trying to suggest that one needs to look from the perspective of a 3YO who cries herself to sleep each night, hoping when she wakes up both her parents will be there to comfort her like always)
• Sometimes people who are in the business of imparting education (including myself) too need an education especially when it comes to children as young as 2-3 years old.
• May be there's a certain bit of pride in sending one's child to a famous school (not to mention the 'label' you carry for the rest of your life, and I include myself in this too) but how many things can a 3YO whose heart is constantly elsewhere, can be made to drag through forcibly in the course of 24 hours.
• What if the child of a famous set of parents fails to make it to institutions like Famous Five. Is it end of life before it has even begun?
• What about children who might have the calibre to make it to any top school but complete their education in small towns for a variety of circumstances (like the above mentioned 'occupational necessity').
• Lastly, thank you Maria Semple for writing Where'd You Go, Bernadette.
  

When the earth shook but time stood still...

There was a strange commotion about the place. Even before we approached the heart of the town, everybody seemed to be out on the streets. It could not merely be explained by the fact that it was a Saturday, in fact Saturday is not even weekend in this part of the world. Suddenly the vehicle stopped and the driver lurched out suspecting a puncture. It was then that the realization of an earthquake sunk in. It was then that the 'commotion' began to make sense. With a hectic schedule lined up for a long day ahead of us, there was little one could do except dismiss it as a minor aberration and go ahead with one's life as usual. Yet, there is always an unsettling feeling about the safety and security of our loved ones when we are far from them. The fact that we could not contact our families immediately afterward just reminded us of the similar need everybody must have felt at a juncture when the ground beneath our feet shakes and this time, quite literally!!

Alone in my room as we reached our destination, I began to ponder if the tremors we had dismissed as minor aberrations a little while earlier had indeed upset the happiness and lives of a chunk of humanity somewhere in a not so distant corner of the world. Before my thoughts could even find an expression, the aftershocks began. As the door swung like a pendulum, and the walls swayed, no uncertainty remained about the magnitude of the catastrophe unfolding somewhere in the neighbourhood. As we silently prayed for the lives and safety of our loved ones across the world, the news updates streaming in from the mobile apps, just served to lend credence to our worst nightmares. Not only had the upheaval affected millions nearby, but also where we were standing while reading these news, was dangerously close to the epicenter of the seismic shocks. 

Next couple of hours as we flitted in and out of meetings, a new realization began to dawn upon me. I could no longer content myself with the fact that everybody in immediate family and friends was safe and secure, rather being at the helm of affairs in an assignment which concerns young children, I was hoping and praying that none of our kids suffer in any manner. As it took time for my faculties to respond, we could only send directions across the State to relay any information of any damage whatsoever and put any rumors and misgivings to rest. Thankfully there wasn't much.

Despite all the damage and the losses that the quake brought in its wake, it was not what had hit me the most. What I saw over the course of the next 24 hours was far more devastating to me on a personal level. Not that anything is terribly wrong per se but just that while we rue about the lives that had been lost in the wake of a
disaster, how I wish we could develop the empathy to rue over the precious lives we are letting go of unknowingly and unhurriedly each day. As we make tall claims of being modern and civilized and enlightened, as we go about showcasing and marketing stories of our success and as we begin to believe in the truth of the stories scripted by us, we could not be more wrong. As one of my favorite authors Khaled Hosseini puts it, "Children aren't coloring books. You don't get to fill them with your favorite colors." Yet this is precisely what we have been doing all along. It is one thing to be apathetic but quite another to feel something for our own kids but not the same for others'. It was different earlier but now when I look at these angelic souls I see the face of my two year old in each one of them, as if asking me some questions with absolute faith and innocence. Much as I may wish, it is beyond my belief and power to answer all the questions they silently put forth or to even give them hope of a life that they are building dreams of. In moments such as these, I find myself and these little ones being stuck in a time warp. I shall never be able to find the courage to acknowledge that their lives will perhaps be no better or different from the lives of hardships that their parents have led and much as they may strive there will always be a huge chasm separating them from their 'truly blessed' counterparts in the gleaming metropolises. At the end of the day, the questions we ask of ourselves determine the type of people that we will become. Whatever I may do, I can not help but say..

“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.” 

― W.B. Yeats, The Collected Poems

School poems one still remembers!

Sleep was hard to come by last night and the words from two old poems I learnt at school continued to resonate in my mind. My first instinct was to switch on the wi-fi and do an instant search, but knowing my super smart five month old who is sharp to sense my absence, I decided to wait until morning. And as soon as hubby left for office and the Small One permitted me, I saw these poems and a rush of memories came flooding back.


The first one's titled the Ice-Cream Man and I remember the words of the first and the third paragraph very distinctly even after a good 19 years. Moreover, I also remember the 'chart' I had made for display with a little ice-cream cart on it and the innumerable times our class-teacher made us recite this poem from the said chart. Thanks to the technology and in particular the web, for preserving our memories in some distant unknown corner for us to rediscover them one day! Only today did I also realize that in Class 6 when I read this poem we never cared about who the 'Author' is, rather it was the ABC chapter of our Madhuban English Reader which was going to be part of the exam as per the semester syllabus. Today, while I was researching on the net, I was delighted to learn that the poem today forms Chapter 6 of the Odisha state english reader for class 7 and hopefully once again, in remote parts of the country, it will stimulate the imagination of many children just like two decades back it did mine.

That apart, it was that era when ice cream parlors (Aka Nirula's) had not yet arrived and for our daily (?) dose we actually depended on the ice-cream carts which passed down our streets and offered a staple of few flavors only. However, the ice-cream men  and the cart  we saw were in stark contrast to the one in the poem and I remember fantasizing about the possibility of having various flavors of ice-cream and drinks (dint even know about the existence of soda-fizz drinks then or perhaps we were not permitted). Given that as a child I was notorious for my endless demands, the fact that ice-cream was the focus of a school textbook must have provided a legitimate excuse for my expectations!

The Ice-Cream Man

Rachael Field

When summer's in the city,

And brick's a blaze of heat,

The Ice-Cream Man with his little cart

Goes trundling down the street.

Beneath his round umbrella,

Oh, what a joyful sight,

To see him fill the cones with mounds

Of cooling brown or white:

Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry,

Or chilly things to drink

From bottles full of frosty-fizz

Green, orange, white or pink.

His cart might be a flower bed

Of roses or sweet peas,

The way the children cluster round

As thick as honey bees.

The memories of another poem whose first two lines have always helped me remember Sicily belongs to Italy (and thus Corsica to France!) are rather hazy and it did not even form part of the standard text. I remember having seen it in some workbook for some grammatical exercise and it was only yesterday that even the meaning became clear to me. While am yet to figure out the author, the use of specific geographical names to convey a story is something I had never seen before and was greatly humored and impressed at the same time.

Long legged Italy, 
Kicked poor Sicily, 
Right into the Middle, 
Of the Mediterranean Sea, 
Austria was Hungary, 
Took a bit of Turkey, 
Dipped it in Greece, 
Fried it in Japan, 
And ate it off in China.


The first four lines are self explanatory. The long leg refers to the Calabria region which protrudes a bit more than the other leg (Apulia) and seems to kick the island of Sicily (red) which lies in the Mediterranean Sea. Sicily being poor in terms of economic development vis-a-vis the rest of the country. Austria was hungry ( the line actually refers to the Austro-Hungarian Empire which operated from 1867 to 1918). It adds a bit of turkey (as in ham, bacon etc) to Sicily and uses grease (Greece) as a dip. Then it fries it in Japan ( the non stick enamel which coats the pan) and eats it off China (as in bone-china cup, plate etc).

Never thought that looking back at something which sounded so simple will be a source of infinite joy much later in life and will even teach me a thing or two!

"How quick and rushing life can sometimes seem, when at the same time it's so slow and sweet and everlasting." 

― Graham Swift, Tomorrow