Down with exam fever.

March 14, 2009 at 3:48 pm (Indian psyche, parenting, Women)
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The midnight oil is burning. The alarm is set before dawn. The time table is pinned up. The calendar is blocked. The portions are marked out. The chapters are flagged. The previous years’ question papers filed. The TV  cut . Mobiles  unreachable.  Invitations discarded. Newspapers unread. Chores pushed under the carpet. And dark circles under the eyes have made their annual appearance.

It’s exam time in Bangalore.

And if you thought that any of the above pertained to ( what you imagine to be) tense, over worked children, think again! The tense ones are the mothers! ( and a few fathers, but most of them quickly bury themselves in work or start travelling,for meetings that are always a matter of life or death, strangely coincidentally )

For every self respecting mother  in town, life comes to a  grinding halt in March. Exams loom large over their otherwise well organised lives. The juggling ceases as a single minded objective takes over. While the kids have a good night’s sleep ( and believe me, most of them do, without a care in the world about their impending futures) , Mums in Bangalore get geared up for a  month of sleepless nights. All conversations start and end with the E word ( that is if anyone is allowed to even try to make conversation at that time).

The “Mums with a Mission” brigade has arrived. Every one of them  pushing their child into being a super achiever.

At this very moment, I have my 13 year old son lolling on the bed, going through the motions of studying Hindi. Strange noises of airplanes taking off and imaginary clanking of swords are interspersed with the  Hindi words.  I’m stationed in front – looking stern and dishing out threats abundantly ( which are deftly  avoided between the duels and aircraft combats). I’m bored. This sentinel duty is irritating the hell out of me. I’m feeling like a caged lion roaring at him with amazing regularity. No effect. It’s weighing me down. I escape to my blog. I need empathy. I need liberation. Help me.

I look back to when I was 13 and had exams. I can’t EVER remember my mother sitting with me while I was studying.  Or me ever dreaming of even asking her to stop what she’s doing and to come sit with me. We just did what we had to….Mind you,  this is not to glorify the past and make ourselves out to be these exemplary kids oozing with responsibility. We were just ordinary kids who lead pretty ordinary lives. Exams were one such ordinary chore that had to be done. But today exams have become an ordeal for us, Mums. And what’s with this ” Mama, sit with me while I study?” epidemic going around, I ask you.

Sure, our  mothers were equally concerned and involved. Probably more so. But their role during our exams was to  ensure that we got a never ending supply of goodies to munch on  while we toiled and there was no question of their world coming to a standstill. 

So when did this transition actually happen? Are we doing it the right way..or have we got it all wrong? Why is this driving us so crazy?

Have we brought this on ourselves? Sometimes I think  this whole drama and hoopla  around exams is our own creation. Maybe we are  more controlling and can not let go of our kids  to make their own mess . I mean, how bad can it be if they were not to be super stars in a middle school exam? Honestly, were each of us?  I think we can often be overinvolved  and unwittingly dilute their own sense of responsibility. A sense that should come from within and not drilled in by Mama. Or is it a deeper issue, which points to our own achievements rather than theirs?  Have I got it all mixed up and just reserve this psychobabble for talk shows while we have to do what we have to do?

Perhaps it’s the competition and our milling billions that have driven us to behave this way.   I’m guilty of using that justification all the time….and  I’m questioning myself right now too.  One day, I was holding my son’s report card  when another mother ( who I had never seen before in my life!) walked  straight up to me, and whisked the report card out of my hand to compare marks. I was too aghast to even react. ( Wish I  had reacted and ticked her off , in retrospect!). My son’s pathetic marks were equally important for her to judge her own son.

For a moment,  imagine a Bangalore where marks didn’t count at all….but knowledge did.  Would wandering in the garden, watching birds and insects get prirotityover grades? Would we  then channelize our energies into building a strong foundation  for our kids rather than intently calculating averages?  I wonder. Sounds perfect in theory and nothing wrong with that, but aren’t marks an indication of knowledge? And am I  being a trifle Utopian here- after who is going to gear them up for the future  walking in the garden collecting insects?

The flip side of it….Why blame ourselves? Perhaps it is just a current generation thing. It could be that our kids today are  fed on a buffet of instant gratification that has stunted their own attention span. Too many messages, too many distractions, too many things to do, too much of EVERYTHING. As a result, they flit through experiences at breakneck speed, withno depth and certainly no time to soak up anything, yet not wanting to miss out on anything at all. The same behavior is translated into their lessons. Observe an average 13 year old today. They can’t sit for more than 20 minutes at a stretch on anything. ( and I mean sit….concentration and associated mental activities stopped after the 4th minute). Don’t believe me….time it yourself. You time 15 minutes… get ready to celebrate. You have a super star. You cross 20 mins, get ready to witness a collapse!!

But what really drives us crazy at Exam time is the assumption that we are the custodian of all knowledge. And I truly believe this is the underlying cause of all our stress. Who on earth remembers Newtons laws of physics, Variable Valency and Classification of invertebrates, off hand? So for all the years that we’ve bragged about how well we did when we were their age, we are now under pressure to walk the talk. After all we are the role models, right…

So while your little one settles into bed with a warm glass of milk and a hug, you sneak out and quickly open up the text books and revise the portions. ( Now you know why the fathers have fled?!)

Any wonder then that the midnight oil is burning, the alarm set before dawn, the newspapers go unread and the dark circles have appeared.  You’re down with the exam fever.

So all the best, Mama. Just relax. Tuck your angel into bed. Open  up the vodka.

Cheers. You’re going to do just fine.

After all, wasn’t it you who topped the class?…;)

( PS. . My son seized the opportunity  of my distraction with  my blog and has made a quick getaway into the garden.)

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Identity

February 18, 2009 at 1:23 pm (40's, choices, Identity, Women)
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It was a lazy, Sunday afternoon. The venue was my garden. I was doing a pilot for a pet project of mine, casually chatting with a few women on various subjects. When suddenly, a woman intrigued by my hand drawn poster, turned to me, with tears in her eyes and said. “I have everything a woman can ask for- a great family, a loving husband, plenty of money….. yet I feel completely lost. Who am I? Who is the real me? Life seems to be passing by and I have nothing to show as my own?”

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the group of women I was talking to. But her words struck a deep chord in my heart.

 I could relate to every word she said. I understood exactly what she meant. No, she wasn’t going through a mid-life crisis. No, she didn’t love or care for her family any less. No, she didn’t have the luxury of too much time on her hands to dwell on esoteric topics. No, she was certainly not being selfish and self- centred.

I knew exactly what she meant. I had done this journey over the years myself many times over. From being So and So’s daughter to being So and So’s wife to being So and So’s mother. And then one day I woke up and realised that the Mala I was, had been buried somewhere in the heap of life’s every day chores and existence.

A few moments after she had spoken these words, the cloud of awkwardness lifted. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed dramatically. The power of empathy took over. It took one women in the group to agree with her. Another told her story and a third joined in…..And like most women anywhere in the world, there was a flurry of animated exchanges that filled up the rest of the afternoon.

Three women from different backgrounds and different ages, all drawn together by a single common thread. In search of one’s identity.

It is difficult to pin point when the ‘identity’ moment strikes. For some, it strikes very early in life. For others, well into mid life. For some, the trigger is the juggling of different roles, for others the emptiness of having no role. For some, it lies dormant for years and may even never come to the fore, but for others a small spark can start the burning desire to discover one’s self. Sometimes a major upheaval can ignite it, sometimes the lack of one.

Ironically, my work is all about discovering and defining Brand Identities. I use the Brand Onion which is a model based on peeling away at various layers…from the outermost layers of symbols and behaviour ( which are often mistaken for the core), moving through layer by layer, traversing rituals, heroes, personalities and values. … to finally reveal the true essence of the brand. And yet in real life with people, how often we interpret what lies on the outside as the real inside! How many times have we allowed the visiting cards, the cars, the homes, the name, the clothes and all the many other superficial props to masquerade as the real person…and never really peel away the layers, even for our own selves ….never giving one a chance to discover the real core?

As one embarks on this journey of Self Identity, many questions come to mind, right from questioning its very purpose. Is it about doing something that you can own completely….Or is it about creating something on your own? Is it about the satisfaction of breaking status quo or is it something less disruptive? Is it about mental stimulation or is it about ego boosting? Is it about being acknowledged for your skills, or is it about going beyond the confines of your own comfort zone?

Maybe it’s a combination of it all….or maybe none of the above. Maybe it’s something simpler. Maybe it’s something deeper. I don’t know. But what I do know is that it’s a journey well worth embarking on if you’re ready to enjoy the ride. And along with it will come some great scenery, some great moments, some great company and some great stories to tell when you wander through a garden on a Sunday afternoon.

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Choices- going grey.

January 24, 2009 at 7:07 pm (40's, choices, going grey, Identity, Women)
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Life is all about choices.

Some we make ourselves and some are made for us. In this case, it was pre-ordained. It was the DNA that did the trick. My grandfather was completely grey ( or gray depending on which side of the world you come from!) by the age of 30. My mum was salt and pepper by 35. And at 40, I  finally decided to stop hiding behind the justification of   ” because Im worth it”, took a long break from work ( practical reasons of growing out the fashion colours) and threw away all my various shades of well stocked hair colour.

phew.

Ok. To be honest, taking the decision wasnt that simple. Pressure came from strange quarters.The cover up was wearing thin…and so was my patience….The grey( no..who am i bluffing here …they were snow white!!)  roots had a happy knack of making their presence felt just when I was all dressed up and ready to go dreaming. Aarrrgh. How many times did I have to change my hairstyle at the nth hour to cover up the signs of “growing old”. My sister ( a few years older than me and who brims with self confidence  and has never coloured her hair) did her bit by pointing out the little old ladies who sported bald patches after years of Godrej Jet black. And then,  my 13 year old son would ( not so) discreetly keep reading out tidbits of information about hair colour as carcinogens ( Im still baffled as to where he dug out all the information from!).  The other side was often laid out logically in front of me , by well meaning friends….who ( subtly and not so subtly) tried to dissuade me from making myself look older ( not wiser, mind you)…..and be told point blank, that at this rate I would  end up being single all my life ( discarding the fact, that this point may just have  been out of choice!). Anyway, weighing all the pros and cons and allowing my impatient self to dominate, I finally took the plunge.

The experience has been at the very least, liberating and now Ive settled into enjoying the ride. I love being noticed as one who is confidently grey. Somehow, it truly gives one a deep sense of confidence. Maybe from making a choice that pointedly moved away from the trend? I love the gasp sometimes it causes when someone I havent seen for a long time, meets me in my new avatar. ( A friend once told me, its their problem to handle it, not yours and I love that thought). I love noticing women who are trying desperately to hold on to their youth with their burgundy hair and wrinkled skin and thank god for my choice. I love the bond it instantly creates with someone who is also prematurely grey. I love the admiration it causes from other women who are honest enough to admit they didnt have the guts. I love the fact that it gives you licence to get away with many things including the black haired pot bellied bangalore policeman when you break a traffic rule. I love the fact that I can pass freeflowing,  not so complimentary comments about the world at large and can get away with it, bowing to the wisdom of my grey hair. I love the freedom of breaking away from a society that is superficial and driven by what is seen on the surface than skin deep. But most of all I love knowing ” Im worth it”. I hope you are too.

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