There are certain things every parent believes about their children – that they need us, that they are innocent, and that they will miss us if we vanish for a few hours.
No sir! That’s very far from the truth.
When you are away, your kid is definitely NOT going to sit quietly, finish homework, eat what is kept, and sleep on time. Children do not become sad when parents leave home. They become free.
The moment parents step out, a BR Ambedkar is born in the house who writes his/her own constitution and announces their dominion a Republic.
And as citizens of a Republic, they are free to do whatever they want, including unlimited access to the fridge.
Last week Rekha and I went out for dinner.
Till a few years back we couldn’t do this, but now both our kids are old enough to understand that ‘its ok for their parents to have a bit of romance in their lives.’
But there is a lot of logistics involved. First you check if there is food in the house, tell the children what to eat and what not to, ask them if they know where the food is, check if they know how to heat the food, and then finally remind them three times that after having dinner they should message you and let you know.
Rekha was giving instructions.
“Ritwik, finish your homework.”
“Don’t keep the AC at 18.”
“Don’t order anything….eat what I have left in the fridge.”
“Switch off the microwave after heating the food.”
“Don’t open the door for anyone.”
“Don’t fight with your sister.”
“Don’t stay up till late.”
“And please don’t call me for silly things like last time.”
Now, any normal person will think that after so many instructions, the children will be scared. Once again no, they aren’t.
Today’s children are as much invested in instructions as we adults are invested in traffic rules. We know rules exist, but we also know that implementation is weak.
That’s why when Ritwik and Rhea said, “Okay, Amma,” I could feel that that ‘okay’ had no commitment. It was only sound.
I looked at Ritwik’s face…he looked calm. Buddha calm…and that’s dangerous because experience has taught Rekha and me that when he is that calm it means he is supressing the storm that’s waiting to come out.
Children are never as obedient as they look when parents are leaving.
Their faces may say, “Don’t worry,” but deep down they are already thinking, “when are these boomers going?”
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When we were young, parents rarely left home together. And if at all they did, it would only be for one of these five events – a marriage, a death, a tonsuring ceremony, a baby shower, or ‘Manjal Neerattu Vizha’ (Turmeric water ceremony).
The far as I know only Tamil Nadu, Andhra Pradesh, and Karnataka have this function called ‘Turmeric water ceremony’ when a girl has her first menstruation. It celebrates her transition from childhood to womanhood.
Since most of the time it was my mother bring us up, she would be stepping out alone leaving us behind. When she left, she wouldn’t just leave instructions….she left her commandments. If you didn’t follow them, even Jesus couldn’t save you.
“Don’t open the door.”
“Don’t go out.”
“Don’t fight.”
“Don’t light the stove.”
“Don’t touch the radio.”
“Don’t take anything from the steel almirah.”
“Don’t eat all the curd.”
When my mother left home, we did become wild…but in a controlled way. Because there was no mobile phone or WhatsApp to consult or call her back, if something went wrong.
If she left, she left. And if something went wrong, we had only two options – handle it ourselves or wait for her and get beaten by the broomstick once she was back. Most often we couldn’t handle what we got into and were given the broomstick treatment.
I think that my mother kept a clean broomstick – the one made from the midribs of coconut palm leaves – for this very purpose.
If you have ever swept your home, you will know that this broomstick is highly durable and perfect for heavy-duty sweeping on wet or dry surfaces, and beating your kids.
But the good thing was, because we were lower-middle-class children, we were not bored easily.
To get entertained all we needed was one rubber band, and some paper. We would send projectiles at each other for half hour…or at least till one of us got hurt in the eye.
Sometimes a lizard on the wall was enough. Once we remember spotting a lizard on the living room wall as soon as mom left. It was headed towards an insect a few feet away. While the predator patiently waited…we also didn’t budge from the spot. By the time the lizard ate the insect, two hours had elapsed and my mother was back.
Today’s children get bored if WiFi speed drops or the iPad runs out of charge.
In 1987 when I was all of 12 years, a new toffee called ‘Coffy Bite’ came into my life. Till then, it was mostly sugar candies…but this was different.
I wondered how exciting it would be if I had lifetime supply of ‘Coffy Bite.’ And you all know the Rajans…we take destiny in our own hands and make it happen.
So I took a plastic cover and a pair of scissors, and cut ten rectangular pieces of plastic paper which were to act like my toffee wrappers. Then I took out the bottle of Boost which was in the kitchen and placed a spoonful of Boost on each of these rectangle wrappers. Then, I turned the rectangle wrappers from both sides to completely encase the Boost and convert it into a toffee.
But I knew my job wasn’t done…now I need to store these ten wrappers with Boost wrapped in them, in a safe place…so the moisture hits and they metamorphed into toffees.
Even as my two sisters were watching – one of them 11 years, and the other six, I opened the our steel almirah, and kept the ten ‘wannabe-toffies’ inside one of my mother’s silk saree. I knew she wore it only for special functions…which means, my toffees were going to be safe for a long while.
Women are much smarter even when they are young, for my 11 year old sister did warn me…said it may spoil the saree. But I didn’t listen. For in my heart of hearts I thought I was Rodolphe Lindt, the ace Swiss chocolate maker.
The rest, as they say is history – when my mother found out her saree was messed up, I got the broomstick treatment. I still blame her for robbing India of a major chocolate brand – Jammys. That’s what I was going to name them, once I started mass production.
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Coming back to the day Rekha and I went out for dinner.
The moment we stepped into the lift, Rekha asked, “Do you think he will eat properly?”
I said, “He’ll manage.”
I don’t know how is it that fathers remain so confident. We really don’t know if the child will manage, but we hope they do.
Rekha said, “Should I call him?”
That angered me…but as you know I can’t show my anger on my wife. As in, I am not allowed to, so with great difficulty I supressed my anger and lovingly said, “We just left….Rekha.”
By the time we reached the gate, she had messaged him.
“Lock the door.”
He replied with a thumbs up.
I knew that my son would wait for two minutes before doing anything – because he is a smart kid. Smart kids know that sometimes parents come back for forgotten keys, spectacles, phone, handbag, wallet, or one last instruction.
Only after confirming that parents are truly gone, the child relaxes. Then the first thing they do is reduce discipline…and I can tell from experience.
The homework book closes by itself, the mobile comes out, the AC gets switched on, lights come on in rooms where nobody is sitting, the fridge opens, the Lays packet opens …basically anything that their mother would have placed a restriction on would now be doable.
And then they make Maggi, after all it is the official food of children who are home alone.
For some reason Maggi says two minutes, and I think that’s the second biggest lie of this world. First of course is when men say, “I will do it later.”
If there are two children at home, as it is in our house, politics begins. And if there is a huge age gap between the two (as in our house), then even more so.
In our case Rhea becomes a temporary parent, while Ritwik becomes the opposition party. Remember our house is now the Republic.
Let’s visualize what may happen 20 minutes after we have left:
Rhea says, “Amma said finish homework.”
Ritwik says, “You are not Amma.”
Rhea says, “I will tell Amma.”
Ritwik says, “I will also tell.”
“What will you tell?”
“That you made Maggi.”
“You also ate.”
“So?”
This is how coalition governments collapse in Republics…but this article is not about politics.
When Rhea and Ritwik were younger, such fights uses to happen often. But now they are old enough to understand that if they stand together, they can take us head on.
Now that Rhea is beyond teenage, she doesn’t jump with joy when we leave home…because that would need a lot of energy.
Now she just slouches with her mobile on the couch.
When parents go out, the mothers are only half out – half of them is still in the house. Seeing her uneasy I asked Rekha if she wanted to call.
Our son picked up after four rings….and four rings are enough for a mother to imagine a full Netflix documentary.
“Why did you take so long?”
“I was in the bathroom.”
“Ohh ok. What were you doing?”
“Can’t a 12 year old have some privacy?” my son shouted back.
“No no…I didn’t mean inside the bathroom. I meant generally?” Rekha adjusted her stance against a rebellious pre-teen.
“Nothing,” he replied.
I think the word ‘nothing’ should be banned for children. Whenever a child says nothing, something is definitely happening.
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When we returned home that night, the house was quiet. It was so silent that we weren’t comfortable.
Children know how to create post-crime silence. When we unlocked the door with our keys, we saw Ritwik was sitting with the book “Black Flags: The Rise of ISIS, by Joby Warrick.”
Yes, our 12 year old son reads such books. That said, we knew it was the first sign of guilt. No child reads voluntarily at 10 pm unless something has happened.
And Rhea was in a call with two of her girlfriends.
I looked around for evidence – I was Sherlock Holmes and Rekha was my Watson.
We noticed that the TV remote was warm because someone had held it in their palm for a while. The chips packet in the dustbin had been pushed under the Dosa batter’s cover, so that it can’t be seen at first glance.
The AC was at 24, but the room was really cold …as if the AC had been at 18 for a few hours.
Then as is the standard operating procedure Rekha checked the kitchen. A mother returning home does not sit first….she inspects…looks for clues of a disobedience movement.
She may be the Watson in the relationship but she can reconstruct the entire evening from small clues.
One spoon in sink means Maggi, one medium sized bowl means chips, a glass of water or juice near sofa means screen time, a tissue under cushion means something was wiped, etc.
Deep down every mother is like Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple – solving domestic crime by their keen intuition and deep understanding of human nature.
I think if mothers had been employed in forensic departments, half the country’s crimes would have been solved before lunch.
But then, if the mother is so intelligent how can the kids be far behind? So they had covered their tracks nicely. We may have found some evidence, but we couldn’t pin the crime onto our kids…and make it worth a scolding.
Later that night, after Ritwik slept, Rekha said, “We should not leave them alone for too long….no?”
“No we shouldn’t,” I replied, and held her hand. It was too delicate a moment to correct her and say that they are now old enough to fend for themselves.
They may not eat what we left for them, they may not switch off the lights, they may not leave the vessel in the sink, or pick up a tissue and drop it in the dustbin…but they can manage. Maybe this is how their independence – with a rebellion – so that they turn confident enough to step out of our house.
I guess as parents we will always be worried about our kids. Just like how my mom checks on me every day even though I am 50 years old.