Shilpa Roy Kota

Parenting Stories (and more) from the desk of an imperfect parent

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  • Grow Up to Be

    Toyna and me

    “When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy.’ They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.” -John Lennon

    When asked what I wanted to become when I grew up, I used to say, “A Dad!”

    I guess that is the reason Pavan​ gets to travel so much. Didn’t realize, God would grant my wish of being a Dad, while being a Mom at the same time!!!

  • I Believe I can Fly

    Birds Nest

    I was born in a small paradise in India. Clean, beautiful, small and self sufficient, it is a city which is the envy of most bustling capitals across the world. Chandigarh – one of the only two planned cities of the world is the capital city of both Haryana and Punjab. But that is not what makes it unique. That is not what I remember when I think of my days in Chandigarh. When I think of Chandigarh, I think of the long cycle tracks, hidden between thick, green, shady trees; running criss cross through the entire city. It is on these tracks that I have spent most of my teen evenings; cycling on an old dilapidated Mach-1 cycle.

    Each evening, as the sun settled down, I used to take out the old machine and cycle around the whole city, whizzing past the traffic which was trying to head home. On roads which were devoid of traffic, I used to often let go of the handle bars, stretching my arms, palms turned out, and head lifted up towards the sky. I could see the green branches dancing in the breeze, the yellow flowers, the red leaves or just the open expanse of the sky floating around me. Yes! In those days I could fly! It was for this reason that I deliberately tried to stay on roads which had the minimum traffic.

    Since I was a regular on the evening roads a lot of people expected to see me cycling around at a particular hour each evening. Needless to say, I used to be the object of attention sometimes, good and bad. I was young, brash, and couldn’t care less for either of them. My theory was pretty simple; most people would not be able to catch me in a cycle chase as I was simply faster than them. Those who were not on a cycle, but on a faster machine, could not catch me either. This was because I could anytime move to the other side of the road, by jumping a road divider, dragging my cycle behind me. They on the other hand could never do so on a scooter/bike/ or car. By the time they reached a U turn and crossed over, I would have long disappeared into another tree covered cycle lane. In my mind, I had the entire city mapped out. It was safe.

    Once there was a typical teen Chandigarh boy, who approached me from behind, on his cycle. He gave me a toothy grin and said, “Hello there! Can I have your name please!?!” Usually, I would have sped off, leaving him to his name search, but some days, you just want to play along. I smiled back and said, “Sorry! I can’t give it to you! It is the only one I have!” With that I pushed off, switching tracks, getting lost at a traffic light.

    Then, there was a day, when one friend decided to join me in my cycling expedition. She was soon tired and bored. I am sure she was wondering why I was so crazy about cycling, in the first place. She asked me but I couldn’t explain. I just loved it. I just loved flying through the streets with my feet balanced on the pedals of the cycle. There was nothing more to be said. Then she asked me another question, “Wasn’t I scared, riding through the entire city, ALONE in the evening. Hadn’t I heard what all can happen to girls my age, when we are alone?” Honestly speaking, I hadn’t thought about it. I had never felt scared on those roads. My only response was, “I never feel scared, when I know I am completely alone. I would be scared, only when I knew that there was someone around me.”

    Till date, I maintain this philosophy to life. Cycling has been replaced with walking, owing to the terrain and traffic of the city that I live in. I never feel scared till I know there is no one around me. But the moment, I sense a vehicle or a person coming close to me, my body goes on self defense mode. I reduce the volume of the music in my headphones, move to the opposite side of the road, and be ready for attack, if someone tries something funny. As the vehicle passes on, and nothing happens, my breath evens out again and the music becomes louder.

    How strange is the world that we live in! We being the most advanced of all species have conquered every other specie out there. We no longer live under fear from any other living form. What we need to fear now, is each other.  I smile at the dogs, who sniff at my ankles and feet on the road. But I loathe the boys, who dare to even catch my smell. How dare they!?!

    Toyna got a new cycle for her 10th birthday. It is what she wanted as her gift. She is happy riding it in the confines of our lane till now. But how long, can I keep her caged? One day, she will want to step out. One day, she will want to fly too. How will I explain the rules to her? This city is not Chandigarh! And this time is not the right time for teen girls to be out alone. How will I cut her wings even before she has unfolded them? I once used to fly and I just hope someday I will be able to help her fly too.

  • Bees Saal Baad

    Susterhood

    I sat at the ophthalmologists center today, eyes burning with the sting of the eye drops. Tears flowed through my eyes, wetting my cheeks. I dabbed my eyes with the soft cotton balls that the assistant handed me. I figured, it was pretty natural to sit and cry at an Ophthalmologist. If only she knew, that the tears were not because of the drops in my eyes, but because of the memories in my mind. Somehow, the burning liquid had passed right through from my eyes into my brain, making it go into flash back mode.

    Twenty years ago, my situation was pretty much the same, at least physically. A major eye surgery cured me of a critical eye defect, but left me at the mercy of ophthalmologists for the coming few months. I was still in my teens; full of fun, high spirits (not in the literal sense), and a strong passion for life. Above all, I had the best companion, with me, by my side. A companion who fought, laughed, cried, and even slept with me. Our bond went deeper than friendship; it was connected with blood. My sister, Heeral, elder to me by just 11.5 months was my closest ally. Both of us together, were lost in our own small world full of jokes, crazy art work, mango trees and unbridled laughter. We had little connection with the outer world; no qualms about the past and no fancy dreams about the future. We were just happy being together in our world.

    As I recovered from the surgery, she ferried me to and fro to the hospital, on her blue color luna. As I was administered the eye drops and blinded for a couple of hours, she would sit by me and narrate the stories unfolding at the hospital. We could talk endlessly about anything. I think we never complained about how it took to get out turn or how crowded the hospital was. The more time it took, the more stories we had to share.

    Twenty years on, she is happily settled in California. We probably speak to each other once in 4 months. We met each other four years later, last month in Delhi. We hugged, we talked, we laughed, we parted ways and we haven’t spoken again since. The time or the distance doesn’t matter between the both of us. Sitting so many thousands of miles away, I can still feel her close in my mind. As I closed my eyes at the Ophthalmologist today, I sometimes laughed thinking about her and sometimes cried at not having her close beside me. For those sitting around me, there was an excellent justifications for the tears rolling down, but how would I explain the laughter. Maybe, I could blame the eye drops that had effected my mind or the cricket match on the TV screen. Anyways, who cares what anyone thought, as long as I got to relive those beautiful memories in my mind, one more time.

  • Being a Woman

    Happy Womens DayHalf the world considers a woman as an object to be used.

    The other half of the world glorifies womanhood to the status of God.

    I don’t think we are either.

    We are just a different form of human specie.

    We might be responsible for bringing life on this planet, but let’s be honest, we cannot do it on our own.

    We might be more sensitive to emotions of others, but then we are not as tough when it comes to our exterior.

    Urban women cook, clean, bring up the children, and go to work; but then so do most urban men these days.

    The problems of the world today will not be solved by glorifying one side and degrading the other. The problems will be solved by achieving the balance; understanding that both sides are equal and that both need each other for survival and for fulfillment.

  • First Annual Day

    Number 8

    I remember Toynas first annual day at school. I think I was even more excited about her annual day than her. I dropped her at school at the appointed hour and then hanged around at school for the next couple of hours, just to make sure I got the front row seats. I coaxed my neighbor on the chairs to hold on to my seat, while I sneaked my way to her classroom to get some pictures of her in her dress and makeup. It seemed just the natural thing to do in those days.

    6 years later, Yogs principal handed me the invitation to Yogs first annual day. I looked at her incredulously and asked, “Really!?! Annual Day for Yog? Do you think he …..” She smiled reassuringly and said, “He is the star dancer of his class! Please make sure he participates in the dance.” Well! What could I say? I was not so worried about Yog, but more worried about their whole act. If Yog, who was not even two years old, was supposed to be their star performer, then I could visualize the complete act in my mind.

    Anyhow, I did my part. I made sure Yog attended school and participated in the dance practice. On the annual day, I dropped him to school at the appointed hour. I even managed to reach the venue just 30 minutes late. Years of attending annual days has taught me that the chief guest is always 30 minutes late. In this case, I was still early. The Chief Guest, a pediatrician with a childrens hospital somewhere in the city, casually walked in 1 hour late. He then proceeded to address the children, who had already been caged in their green rooms for the past 2 hours, for another 30 minutes. All the while, I kept searching his face, trying to see if he was real. How could he, being a pediatrician, not understand the plight of the little children (all of them less than 5 year old), waiting to come out of their green rooms. I could hear some of the children screaming their hearts out from behind the black curtains. My heart was racing and I was trying desperately to believe that Yog was not one of them. He would be happily playing or eating his snack. He would be brave through all of this. He would not cry.

    As soon as the Chief Guest stepped down, the principal took charge and hurriedly finished her speech. She handed the stage for the first act – a dance from the playgroup children, a dance from Yogs class. As soon as the curtain lifted, I could see Yog crying, standing right in the center of the stage. His teacher was desperately trying to calm him down. I tried to get his attention, hoping that after seeing me in the crowd, he will calm down and focus on the act. I was wrong. I did manage to catch his attention but the reaction was quite the opposite. As soon as our eyes locked, his screams became even louder. He extracted himself from the hold of his teacher and ran towards me. For a moment, I was scared that he would run all the way and jump down from the stage, right at me. Thankfully the teacher caught up with him and pulled him back from the edge of the stage. All the parents in the audience, for some odd reason, found this very funny and started laughing. My heart, on the other hand, was about to burst. I ran backstage and got hold of Yog in my arms to pacify him. His teacher tried to reassure me that he was fine and he could still perform. I shook my head, clutched him close to my chest and got him out from from the backstage.

    His head was soaked with sweat and his face drenched with tears. He had stopped screaming but his sobs were still racking his little body against my chest. At that moment, I couldn’t care less about the annual day or the dance or the chief guest. I picked up his bag, rested him in the car seat and drove back home. He was so exhausted by then, that he cried himself to sleep.

    As his sobs quietened in the car, my mind started analyzing the situation more logically. Was I wrong in sending him to the annual day? Was I wrong in picking him back so early? Maybe this experience would have made him stronger? By sending him to school at such a tender age, was I exposing him to a little too much? Or by protecting him, as soon as he started crying, was I making him weak? As any mother, I wanted to do what was right for Yog. I wanted him to experience the world, but above all I wanted him to be happy and healthy. Today, I had failed.

    Given the situation, it was obvious that my mind would end up drawing a parallel with Toynas first annual day. The excitement, the pictures, the fun was so intoxicating in those days. Was my heart becoming weaker with age? Or was Yog too young to cope with the strain? Or was it the poor organization on part of the school? Or was it the Pediatrician who didn’t know anything about children? To keep things simple, I chose to assign the blame squarely on the Chief Guest Pediatrician. Had he come on time and had he finished his speech quickly, none of this would have happened. It just felt right to make him the scapegoat.

    I know, I protected Yog that day, but if another similar situation arises, a couple of months from now, I will not hesitate to send him again. Maybe he will cry again. Maybe he will be the star performer. Maybe I will be stronger the next time. Maybe the Chief Guest will come on time. Maybe the next annual day will have a different kind of story to tell….

  • Recruitment Woes

     

    Focus

    Just like the wedding season comes about three times a year in India, I used to think there are certain parts of the year when the recruitment season kicks in. In this season, I receive requisitions from almost all our Business Units, all at the same time. For someone like me, who is not a trained HR expert, recruitment comes with its own set of challenges. Imagine my plight when this season has for one reason or another become a perennial affair for the organization with recruitment going round the year.

    One of the biggest challenges I continuously face during recruitment season is the lack of respect of time amongst the generation of today. When calling candidates for interview,  I am reminded of my days of attending interviews, about 15 years ago. In those days, to get an interview call was such a big deal, that we would prepare for days to crack the interview. On the day of the interview, we would shower well, wear our best clothes, go to the temple and report at least 30 minutes before the interview time. Good preparation for interview was not a sign of under confidence in oneself. It was a sign that we valued the opportunity given to us and we wanted to make the most of it. Above all, we had very high respect for the time of the organization, and we couldn’t afford to waste it.

    Today, out of the many candidates that apply for the post, we painstakingly shortlist candidates and send interview calls to tens of them. Only 5 -10 acknowledge the email confirm their participation for the interview. Out of these, only 4-5 actually show up for the interview. Out of these only, 1-2 report on time.

    For me, it is so difficult to comprehend why would someone apply for a job, if they didn’t want to even attend the interview? The next level of dilemma is, how can someone afford to be late for an interview appointment for their first job? I can understand if you already have a job, you sometimes get late while coming to work. That is part of life. But in this case, you don’t have a job right now. You are searching for one and I completely understand the pressure you are under, thanks to your parents, society and girlfriend to find a job as quickly as possible. Given this context, when you get a call for an interview, wouldn’t you be really excited about it? Wouldn’t you polish yourself well before coming for it? Wouldn’t you turn the axis of the earth, if needed, to be on time for it? And yes, for any unknown reason, if the sun rose earlier and caused your clock to go awry that day, wouldn’t you have the basic courtesy to call and inform the Organization that you would be reaching a little late? And, of course, that you are extremely sorry for the delay. Wouldn’t you?

    Sigh! I know I would. I also know most of the folks from my generation would. But, this generation….

    I feel, for most of them, an interview is just another thing to be done during the day. For some reason if the Girlfriend, took more time over the phone, they can even choose to skip the interview all together. What the heck, there will be one more interview a few days down the line. Plus, it would look super cool in front of friends, that you got a call for an interview and you didn’t even bother to attend it. It will help create a perception that there are so many organizations trying to get you in.

    I can go on for hours ranting about my recruitment woes. The bottom line is that I am completely at a loss trying to understand this generation. Maybe this is what Generation Gap is all about. Maybe, I can never get into the shoes of this Generation and understand what is that they are really after. All I know is that somewhere in this generation are the leaders for tomorrow. They are going to be the ones, we are going to hand the baton to. Since they are the next level of evolution, after us, I expect them to be faster, smarter, and more productive than us. I am counting on them to take forward whatever little we have been able to build in our lifetime.

     

    Don’t get me wrong! The issue is not as simple as just turning up late for an interview. The issue is the lack of focus, commitment and discipline about the future. No matter how smart you are or how rich your father is, if you don’t have these three things in your life, you might as well take retirement now from your future work life.

    In the end, whatever you choose to do with your life, is up to you. My only request is that please forgive an old soul like me and don’t waste my time, in the process. I have far fewer years left on this planet, than you. And, thanks to God, I still have many more tasks to accomplish in these years.

     

    P.S. I chose to write about boys and their girlfriends to keep the context simple. I am not biasing any gender here. I am aware that girls are equally busy with their boyfriends, as well.

  • The Perfect World

    Rainbow Hospital
    Rainbow Hospital

    Three days of utter chaos finally settled into a calm and peaceful evening as Yog recovered from a bad flu. High fever running for three straight days had left the entire home overcast with dull grey clouds. As we returned back from the doctors visit, reassured that Yog was going to be fine soon, the silver lining to the clouds was slowly becoming wider. As Yogs Grandfather navigated the busy roads of Hyderabad during the peak evening office hours, Yog, Toyna and me settled down comfortably on the back seat of the car. The long drive, the weakness from the illness and the soft music made sure that Yog soon settled into a light slumber in my arms. Toyna tired from her school and then the doctors visit, was also slowly drifting into her dream world.

    Yog slept off comfortably in my lap, while Toyna rested her head on my shoulder and dozed off. The peace of the moment was accentuated by the beautiful songs on the radio and the comfort feeling of having two extremely caring adults in the car with me (Grandparents to Yog and Toyna). This was my perfect world. What more could anyone ever ask for in life?

    Yog coughed intermittently as the car jerked to avoid the on road bedlam. Toyna shifted in her seat once in a while trying out a more comfortable position for her head. I patted Yog back to sleep with one hand and with the other, I soothed Toynas soft curly locks. When we were about 10 minutes away from home, Yog sat up, all of sudden with a bad bout of cough. As he coughed harder,  I could sense there was something else that was soon to follow. I woke up Toyna urgently requesting her to hand me an empty tiffin box resting in Yogs bag. She reacted quickly and handed me the open tiffin box. As soon as I placed it before Yog, he threw up a good amount of milk that he drank before sleeping. The tiffin box did it’s job well and saved the car from a big mess. This thoroughly disappointed Yog. As the next set of bile rose through his gut, he pushed the tiffin box right out of his face and proceeded to empty the next set of broken down milk, right on top of me. Aghhhhh!

    With that he lay down back to sleep quite contended at not only throwing out whatever was bothering him in his stomach but also soaking his mother in his vomit. After all, it was his birth right to make sure his mother smelt as bad as he actually felt. The rest of the journey went in trying to clean Yog and me with little wipes that we always keep along for such emergencies. All the windows of the car were now open. Vehicles coming a little too close to our car, were automatically forced to move away, thanks to the foul smell emanating from our car.

    What can I say!?! This is the beauty of my perfect world. Soaked in shit, vomit, dripping nose, leaking diapers and more… my perfect world might not smell very perfect to any stranger right now.  But believe me, it is actually quite perfect the way it is. You have to have a perfect world like this of your own to really understand how.

     

    P.S. I did have a bath before writing this blog. I hope you cannot smell the stink of the vomit in the blog.

  • Brother and Sister are supposed to fight

    Boat RideToyna and me squatted on the floor trying to get some Hindi revision in order. Yog feeling left out, tried different means to get our attention. From scribbling on the books, snatching pencils and trying to tear the books, he tried his best to rescue Toyna from me.

    When everything failed, he came to his last tried and tested technique – Hitting and Scratching. He caught hold of Toynas arm and pinched and scratched her. I turned to give him my dirtest possible look, trying to tell him it is not OK to hurt others. He acknowledged my look with one of sweetest smiles, maintained the eye contact with me and proceeded to hit Toyna on the arm again. I scowled at him. Toyna looked at me and then at her brother and figured that her mother was no longer in control of the situation. She decided it was time for her to take action.

    She pushed Yog back from her and gave him a tight one on his arm. My jaw literally dropped as I realised this was really out of hand now. Toyna, till date, had never hit back at Yog. However, this shock was nothing compared to what was lined up ahead. Even though he was hurt, Yog giggled, picked himself up together and ran towards Toyna to throw himself at her with as much force he could garner. Toyna, in return, caught him before he could fall and proceeded to tickle him.

    As Yog giggled and rolled in her arms, Toyna looked at me and said, “Don’t worry about us Mama! Just like you and Papa keep fighting, Yog and me are also supposed to fight. After all, we are brother and sister! ”

    Once more, I was short of words to express my thoughts to this beautiful girl. Love, pride, wonder, and above all respect for Toyna could only be summarised by a big hug. But then, Yog had, by now, made sure that Toyna was far away from the clutches of her mother. A hug was not possible to either of the two parts of the rolling and laughing bundle. I left them alone to soak in their childhood and give myself time to soak in my blessings.

  • Age

    Age is just a number used by some as an excuse to give up on life, and by some to build experiences and give back to life.

  • Just be my Valentine

    Just be my Valentine

    When Pavan and I started dating 15 years ago in a small conservative town, we were seriously constrained on time and means to express our love for each other. Blame the society, or the office, or just the values that we had been brought up with. It was impossible to state openly that we were in love and we meant the world to each other. The more we were put into constraints, the more our love grew for each other. In those days, one more boundary just meant one more thrill, mystery or adventure. We were seriously in love.

    Fast forward to 6 years later; we were blessed to have a decent home, a 3 year old daughter, rewarding jobs but a marriage which was on extremely tight tenterhooks. Each day started and ended with a long list of unfulfilled personal requirements. We were lost trying to meet the responsibilities of parenting, work, home and health. We were lost trying to find ourselves, leave alone trying to find each other. I guess, we were too seriously married.

    Fast forward to today; we continue to be blessed to have the love of an extended family including parents, sisters, nieces, nephews and two adorable children. We have discovered ourselves. We have discovered each other and where we want to be TOGETHER. We have very little time that we spend together, so we have learnt to count and celebrate each moment that we share. We consciously go out of the way to make each other feel special. A number of times, we stop all other priorities, no matter how burning they are, just to connect with each other. I guess, we are seriously in love again.

    I consider myself no expert in relationships. After all, till date, I have had only one boyfriend and one husband. This is hardly enough experience to be able to draw inferences. However, there is one thing that I have learnt in my relationship with Pavan that I wanted to share today. It is far more rewarding to remain a Girlfriend/Boyfriend, than it is to get married. Marriage somehow dulls the romance. In order to fit into the image of a responsible parent or a spouse, we start taking relationships too seriously. We burden the relationship with expectations, rules, and compromises.

    The surprising part is that none of this happens when you are in a relationship with the same person before getting married. As a girlfriend/boyfriend, we are constantly looking for ways to make the other person feel special. We love them for their eccentricities and we consciously try working on improving our eccentricities. The bottom line – we never ever take each other for granted.

    Imagine if we could combine the romance of dating to the fulfillment of marriage. Imagine if we could continue to remain as best friends, even though we were married. Imagine that no matter what the date, whenever we are together, it is Valentines Day!

    This is the story of my  marriage, the story of my Valentine. For us Valentines Day comes about 50 times a year. Life is too short, not to celebrate love, each single day that you are together.