Existential dread and the promise of happy endings

I am researching on fairy tales for a class paper. And I want to say one thing while facts and logic point me to something else. And it should be easy to revise my opinions, open my mind but I persist in holding on to something that I can't quite fathom. A feeling that niggles at the back of my mind, a certain something thats so part of me that it has never needed any explanation.

 

What I thought would be a fairly easy assignment has turned into a relentless soul searching. Where do we draw the line between childhood security and gender manipulation? Don't we modern women like to think of ourselves as empowered in comparison to our counterparts of earlier centuries? But then what is empowerment- its not a homogenous "equality", thats obvious. And its not ensuring a safe life or the elusive "freedom". Who do we want to be? More importantly, is who we want to be pre-programmed into us by culture? There is pretty much noway to find out- erasure of culture is a culture by itself.

And yet, if its all just manipulation why do some aspects tap into psyches far far more than others? What is that naive, childhood longing that still surfaces on lonely bus rides and loud parties? Some cultures prescribe a "swallowing" while others medicate a "running away"....but its there, always lurking, ready to flow in at the slightest slip of our ambitious, determined "happiness". Ash says nobody understands what the hell I'm talking about but then....

 

But then I think many can...only that these things sound unfamiliar when they are taken out of our souls and worded into sentences.

Ten steps to great parenting. Not.

Raising a child is a chaos. But its not. Really? So they say- those many many authors and specialists who have broken it down, classified it, demystified it. Now we have a formula for play time, shortcuts to easy dinners, simple steps for potty training and behold, a process for tantrums. All packaged and ready to use like a cake mix. A reason to rejoice, right?

Not for me. This system of simple steps has always raised mild alarm bells in my head. I wasn't too sure why. Some soul searching and a lot of recent reading has given me a clue to why "organized" child rearing" bothers me so much. Well, to start there is the approach where the parent pulls back to look at the child as a separate little entity that has to be trained into a certain way like a little dog, pushed and sculpted to fit an accepted mold. I wonder why we have to detach ourselves so severely from the tinies who were a physical part of us and continue to be an emotional part of us, to be so rigidly objective or to plan our responses so methodically.

I understand that there needs to be a "letting go" at some point to demarcate the child's sense of self, to build his/her confidence but perhaps it doesn't have to have a formatted transition. Each culture has its own path to this letting go, its own processes and its own values it seeks to transfer. There is no ONE way, there is no ONE solution.

I also feel that planning our parenting strategies to such a great extent kills our emotional responses, or spiritual instincts that are otherwise at play in this relation between parent and child. A naturalness in our natures that automatically reaches out to nurture and relay aspirations and despair. The contemporary science of parenting seeks to propagate only the positive, only the "presence" but what can be positive and present if it weren't for the negative and "absent"? How can we block one dimension- the one that lends us depth- of our existence from our sensitive little people without consciously pushing them away? I think, though it might sound rather regressive, that transmitting positive and the negative- happiness and sorrow- are so so essential for the wholesome development of a child. (By negative, I don't mean intense anger, hate or any other emotion that is self destructive and extreme) And we don't live in a happy, yet plastic Disney Land- we exist in a real world with real emotions. So why not be real with our children?

When a child is born, so is a complex multi-conscious bond that replaces the physical cord that was cut. This connection is not a uni-direction or even a dual directional one like a string but one that is fluid and pervades the ether of our lives. So in essence it silently fills into the negative spaces and mixes into the everyday like an ocean. Parenthood is a hybridization of our existing lifestyle with the life of the newcomer. This mixing is a gentle process, a quiet process that may have many a turbulent turns. But it is a natural process. One that needs time, patience and understanding- precious commodities that our jobs, schedules and hobbies don't permit.

Wonder Child

I cannot believe that two years have flown past so quickly. And it will be just a matter of time before A will be all raring to go to college and I will be sitting wondering how life just zoomed by me. So easily I forget to catch hold of each day and savour my son's wonderful accomplishments- his learning a new rhyme, his first understanding of numbers, trying to scale the bookshelf (Ok, thats scary...and its fine if I freak out!!!) as I am caught up in our little skirmishes about food, giving him his bath on time and other such trivialities and I fail to thoroughly appreciate our soccer matches, how smartly he imitates me, his apptitude for technology, his stubborn streak. When I do open my eyes I'm amazed at how much of me there is in him. The little things that annoy me so much like his singlemindedness, passion to explore and wanting to be constantly challenged(read that as gets bored easily) are qualities he probably inherited from his momma who most definitely gave her momma a very tough time. A, you're so very precious and perhaps you won't realize this until you have kids of your own but your daddy and I are so dependant on you that you'd be surprised. Though you need us to keep you safe and fed, we so desperately need you to keep us sane, together and in love. You're our mission, our cause and our soul.

Iman...yes!!! Hijaab...um, not now!!!

This a very difficult post to write. I don't want to sound preachy or holier than thou. What I really want to convey is my mindset and thoughts as I made an crucial decision in my life.

For years I have been struggling with the idea of embracing the Hijaab. Yes, I was raised muslim. Yet I went through a phase where I needed to know if I would have turned to Islam had I been born into a family of different beliefs- a test of Faith. I remember when I was fresh out of college and I had all these questions, when I was angry that the answers did not seem simple, when I was torn between two opposing universes that I felt could never coincide. Gradually, the pieces fell into place and things started to make sense.

I believed. I called myself a muslim with pride but wearing the Hijaab was a different matter altogether. In my mind there were huge obstacles to the simple act of dressing a little differently. The first one was, of course, What would everyone say? Would my family remind me of the times I had refused to wear a Hijaab and perhaps, patronize me a little? Would my friends whisper behind my back and laugh at how marriage washed me out? Would acquaintances think of me as a fanatic or worse a spineless, mediocre (not to mention intellectually dead) housewife? Back then I was so apologetic to drape a wispy shawl, which would more often slip down to my shoulders than stay on my head, that I felt I was in some way hurting the universe.

They second was that I found it so uncomfortable to handle the scarf. It would never ever sit on my head properly. It would slip down, mess up my hair, choke me when I tugged at it, tear when I pinned it, drop into food at the buffet table, entagle with a certain toddlers legs. (honest!! Its happened!!) Whew!! I've felt like such a klutz!!! Nothing at all like those poised Hijaabi women you see at the mall wearing Armaani scarves and Gucci boots.

And it can get hot inside a black, synthetic Hijaab. And I'm used to the wind sensually ruffling my hair. And I don't want to appear too different. And I don't want to be ostacrized. And its too complicated to match one more accessory to my outfit. And nobody will ever see me wear necklaces again. And I shall cover my hair when I'm older. And I hated those corny e-mails of how peas wear a green Hijaab and apples and bananas are happy to be in their skins too!! Oh yes!! There were so many reasons not to wear a Hijaab.

But there's only one reason to become a Hijaabi. That it is the dress code that Allah has prescribed of us. (Its funny how we are only worried about how a muslimah is "oppressed" with a dress code while a man too has limitations to what he can wear in public) I have read so many articles, seen so many videos that justify the Islamic attire- some made sense and many many others that were whimsical and childish in my opinion. None of these really touched me. A small niggle in the back of my mind gradually built up to an avalanche of shame, frustration and self doubt. I just knew it was wrong. Reason did not convince me, Faith did. If I believed in the omnipotence of my Lord, I would have to follow his law. As any empiricist will tell you, our knowledge of the world is limited to what our minds are able to perceive. We can only define what we can perceive and not what in reality is. Then with the little I am capable of knowing and the further teensy bit I actually know, I found it hugely presumptuous and arrogant of me to debate on the merits of anything our God has decreed. Period.

That being said, I have to own up that my Hijaab does slide down my hair (though not as often, Alhamdulilah:)) I don't wear it to the gym, with sarees and some other times. Don't ask me why...I'm working on it!!! As for all my excuses..... everything became easier once I started. My family was supportive, my true friends simply accepted me and I can survive the occasional odd stare. As for being a Klutz, I've always been a little clumsy...Ask all the people who've seen me fall!! But practice does make it easier to not humiliate yourself too much :D. As for the heat, there are lighter cotton options...and other minor details don't look as insurmountable. I've become more confident and so much more at peace with myself. I know who I am, don't need to make excuses to myself or anyone else and so grateful to be at this wonderful stage in my life.

Alhamdulilah.

I'm so sorry, but no!!! I don't want to. Leave me alone.

Who wants to be an adult? Not me!! Even though all outward evidence points otherwise, I do not want to grow up. I love my space, my possessions (people included), red meat, prejudices and passions far too much to be "mature" about them. Read that as give them up!!!

Caution: Use with care. Highly addictive!!!

There should be a statutory warning printed on every pack! Pack of what? Of paper plates, of course! No, no I've not lost it!! I shall explain the logic with a little story.....

Once upon a time there where three lil bears who lived in a condo. There was papa bear who was busy all the time, mama bear who did not want to be busy all the time and baby bear who kept mama bear busy all the time. Due to a lousy heating system and ENORMOUS heating bills, they decided to move to a cozy apartment for the winter. So come fall, they moved out...and woohoo was that a super difficult feat or wht. Bad movers, crazy apartment rules and a lot of other factors wore them out. So papa bear got take out and a whole bunch of paper plates and cups so mama bear could do other chores like lifting huge boxes and keep baby bear from getting squashed!! Then they moved, partially set up house and even got out their regular plates...but mama bear still uses the paper ones...:D And she plans to do so until papa bear notices!!!

There you go!!! Now you know the grim tale of how I...ahem, I mean mama bear got addicted!! So Beware!!

Do you sometimes a song was a person? Someone who is like that first gulp of air after you forget to breathe, lost in intense, confused thought. Someone like fresh, cold water on the dry, parched soles of your feet. Like a comforting warmth in your palm.