A Desi Mom!

“You are SUCH a Desi Mom”.  At her wits’ end one day over one of our daily routine arguments, my daughter hurled the words at me in exasperation and stomped off upstairs to sulk in the sanctuary of her restroom.  

What??  Hold it right there buster.  Was that supposed to be an insult?  Tsk, tsk, tsk…. you poor baby!

I have had better punch in a fizzled-out coke.  As I happen to be a Mom with so many deep roots in India as to shame a Banyan Tree into drooping its branches, I naturally fall under the proud race that is commonly referred to as Desis.  Given this fact, I hope you’ll understand why I clucked my tongue at my daughter’s receding back with pity.   As exits go, it wasn’t her best.  Poor child!

To my surprise, subsequent conversations with fellow Desi moms brought to light an interesting fact. Apparently all our children have been drawing from the same well of insults all these years, pitiful as it is.  After one of our recent ‘sob and tell’ parenting woes sessions, we discovered that we had all, at some point, been at the receiving end of some form or the other of the following accusation. 

1. ·        Why do you have to be SUCH A MOM? (a cry of agony)
2. ·        YOU DESIS! (in utter disgust)
3. ·        God!  You are such a Desi. (also uttered in extreme disgust)
4. ·        God!  You are such a Mom. (???)

In keeping with the spirit of the theme, they also use ‘You Asians’ every now and then.

Lately, I find myself pondering a lot about what it is about a Desi Mom/parent that brings out such eye-rolling exasperation in our kids.  Why do we push our kids into tearing out their poor, unoiled hair roots so much?  Here are a few reasons from the top of my head.

• A Desi Mom loses more than her sleep over a ‘B’ grade on her child’s report card.  At times she loses control over her bowels too.
• A Desi Mom believes in regularly checking with her fellow Desi moms about all the academic and after-school pursuits of their offsprings.  After all, she does not want her child to be deprived of any such advantages.
• A Desi Mom manages to find time every day to fit at least 3 lectures to her children about the importance of Studies, especially science and math, in one’s life. 
• A Desi Mom will silently thank her stars when the US public school system offers to take responsibility for talking about puberty and other unmentionable subjects to her kids in school.  She also breaks out a sweat when her child gets home and wants to discuss those unmentionable subjects to her.
• A Desi Mom is a stickler for organization.  Her children never are. 
• A Desi Mom hates the word ‘boyfriend’ as fiercely as she does ‘dating’, ‘drugs’, ‘alcohol’ and ‘cigarettes’.   She will not hesitate to give her life to protect her children from these evil ‘boyfriends’.
• A Desi Mom loves to play dress-up whether her child wants to play or not.  She will hound her daughter every single busy school morning until she picks a shirt that reveals no more than her upper collarbone for this world to see.
• A Desi Mom is inquisitive by nature.  She insists on knowing the background of every human that interacts with her child.  She doesn’t understand why her child thinks it is insulting.
• A Desi Mom strongly feels her children do not know the value of money.  She worries about their materialistic attitude even as she showers them regularly with unnecessary games and gifts.  ‘Money does not grow on trees’ is a phrase that all Desi children are familiar with.
• A Desi Mom expects no less than complete obedience/respect from her children even when she packs them off to a school that encourages them to ask questions.  ‘Because I say so’ is a phrase she uses often at home.   

Well!  That is just from the top of my head. 

While I believe a lot of the characteristics that I have listed here may belong to an unlabeled, regular 'Mom" as well, I believe we Desis are blessed with just a little bit more irritable traits than others to earn the very unique 'Desi Mom' title from our children.  Here, at the end of this very weird essay, I am proud to raise my cup of rasam in a salute to all my fellow 'Desi' moms. :-)  

Go Desis!   

PTCs are not for amateurs. Seriously!

I got out of bed this morning feeling quite confident. I could do this. After all, I had prepared sufficiently for this day.

Mentally running through the checklist once again only proved that I was right.

New running shoes. Check. Water bottle. Check. Whistle on a long chain. Check. Paper bags for hyper ventilation. Check. Facility maps. Check. Schedule for the day. Check. Warm-up exercises. Done. Breathing exercises. Done. Squatting exercises to strengthen upper thigh muscles. Done.

My most recent trial run was 2 days ago and I clocked it just under 5 minutes. All in all, I felt up to the challenge.

“Mom, are you sure you can do this?” Hearing the hitch in my daughter’s voice, I held one of my spare paper bags in front of her face to help with her hyper ventilation. “Have a little faith, will you? Step aside and wish me luck. I will be fine.”

Armed with a well-stocked knapsack, I marched out to face the challenge of yet another parent teacher conference. Just to spice up my otherwise boring life, my morning was scheduled to start off at my freshman’s high school with no block system and end at my third grader’s elementary school.

If you have no knowledge of a block system, take a minute now to give thanks to the Almighty. Not knowing the difference between a 4 period and a 7 period day gives you away as the parent of an elementary child or a preschooler. Life may be predictable even a little boring for you at this stage but at least your heart is sure to be free of excessive palpitations. After all, how much excitement can you expect out of a 15 minute meeting with one teacher? And all those 15 minutes spent in only one room!

When I pulled in to the pathway leading to the high school, it was crowded alright. After cruising around the lot for about 20 minutes I finally crammed my van in a spot meant for bicycles (don’t try this unless you have a good third party auto insurance coverage) and strode in through the main entrance.

This was it. This was the moment that I had prepared for all these weeks. And I was ready. Lips pursed, shoulders squared, eyes slightly narrowed with focus, I whipped out the schedule that my kid had painstakingly hand-written for me even while I flipped open the school map with the other hand. A quick glance at the schedule showed me that my first meeting was with Mrs. R, the social studies teacher in room# 94 in exactly 6 minutes.

If you were a seasoned parent like me, you would know that on a parent teacher conference day, the dozens of long, winding hallways of a high school are more crowded than the busiest highways of an industrial town.

Estimating the time I was going to need to get around the many parents circling the hallways, I mapped the shortest route to the 90s hall mentally and started off on an easy rhythmic jog. 2 more minutes left to my destination, I faced my first major hurdle. Closing in on the intersection of the 60s and 70s hall just beyond the library, I noticed a group of parents huddling around a map looking confused and lost. Amateurs! They were clearly blocking my way. I had 2 options there. I could stop near the crowd and politely tell them to get the hell out of my way or, ta da, I could blow hard on the whistle hanging around my neck to startle the crowd into giving me way. Take a wild guess as to what I chose. It was certainly a stroke of genius to bring the whistle along for the day.

After making a quick stop outside room# 94 to gulp down from my water bottle, I stepped in to greet Mrs. R with one minute to spare. The conversation that followed went like this.

“Mrs. R, how are you?”

“Very well, thank you Mrs. S. Please take a seat.”

“Don’t mind if I do. How is A doing in class?”

“Oh, fine. She is a conscientious….oops, your time is up Mrs. S. Oh my, how time flies when you are having a riveting conversation! It has been a pleasure to meet with you Mrs. S. See you in nine weeks again.”

That was certainly a productive meeting. I couldn’t help but like Mrs. R. She was awfully nice. I left the room reassured that my daughter was in good hands.

I now had 5 minutes to get to the 500s hall to meet with Mrs. M, the Math teacher in room# 505. After that I had 5 minutes to come back to the 50s hall to meet with Mrs. B, the English teacher in room #56 followed by more such meaningful meetings with the Science, Band and PE teachers – all of whom were spread across the sprawling campus.

The $120.00 that I paid for my new Nike running shoes was well worth the money. I was going to get great mileage out of it in just one day.

By the time, I got out of my last meeting at the high school, I was soaked in sweat and just a little breathless. When I got into the van at last to drive to my last (thank god!) meeting of the day at the elementary school with my 3rd grader’s teacher, I made a mental note to add some Gatorade and vitamin tablets to the next parent teacher conference preparation checklist.

As the wise say, live and learn.

-Meena Sankaran

Torture or Parenting?

Since the Obama administration took a public stand against the ‘brutal’ torture techniques secretly authorized by the former Bush administration officials to interrogate terrorists, my husband has been threatening to write to President Barack Obama about what he (and the kids agree wholeheartedly) deems as my torture of our kids.

If reminding your children that not brushing their teeth after eating their favorite dessert would result in gingivitis and more importantly, mom spending a fortune to fill a dozen cavities is considered torture, so be it. I admit that I could have waited until they actually finished eating the dessert to remind about this.

If pointing out that taking a brush to the hair is not a punishable offense in this country and that without constant combing, birds and squirrels would consider the tangled hair a wonderful place to build a nest is considered torture, so be it. I still don’t understand what was so wrong about saying it in front of company.

If driving your children week after week to Kumon Math Center to help them become the future Einsteins of the world is considered torture, so be it. I don’t consider offering to fetch extra Kumon sheets for the week anytime they have the audacity to stand up to me a threat. Do you?

If insisting that they clean up their rooms enough for me to see the floor before I take them out to a movie is considered torture, so be it. The fact that taking them out to a movie was promised as a reward for a past good behavior has got nothing to do with it.

If wanting to do a criminal background check on all members of a family before sending my kids to a new friend’s house for a play date or a sleepover is considered torture, so be it. Believe me, it is no walk in the park for me to grill their friends for information on the number of members in their household , their ages, their social security #s(how else am I going to run a background check?), their general whereabouts during the day, pets in the house etc., etc., etc.

If taking the responsibility to enlighten my kids on the value of money by giving them regular talks about how I had to walk 3 miles every day to take a bus to college and save up my allowance for six months to buy a new pair of sandals is considered torture, so be it. Contrary to their beliefs, I don’t intentionally choose the times they are relaxing to give these talks.

Go ahead and bring in the troops to take me away now, for I am guilty as sin.

-Meena Sankaran