“ Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.”
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.”
Having a
child studying in eleventh standard should be a matter of pride or tension for
the parents?
Being a
happy go lucky, never so much serious in life type of person, I was surprised
and pricked by guilt when I went into a house of two teenage girls; one in
twelfth and the other in tenth class. The parents had disconnected cable
connection at home so that their daughters can concentrate on their studies. The
mother and father looked stiff with a perennially constipated look on their
faces.
Not a
fan of TV programmes, it was not the absence of the idiot box cacophony that
bothered me. I was hit by an overwrought energy in that house which made my
heart race in an unknown fear. The
parents looked like passengers in an airplane about to make an emergency
landing.
I have
nothing but reverence for those two individuals, who being hard working middle
class government servants struggled to maintain an atmosphere for their
children to devote themselves to studies 24X7 so that they can have a secure
future.
The guilt
I felt that day was due to my inability to provide a solemn environment akin to
what I saw in that house for my own child. This guilt increased every time I
spoke with some other friends who had children of the same age.
As part
of my penitence I tried playing the strict, no nonsense mother many times, only
to be met with bewildered but dismissive glances as if I was having one of my ‘mood
swings’.
To this remorseful, blameworthy mother, a
friend recently narrated an incident that happened to her daughter’s classmate.
The child, who though hardworking and intelligent, could not take the pressure
of exams and parent’s expectation and started getting migraines. She innocently
swallowed three or four tablets to contain one of her severe headaches and had
to be carried to the hospital by her terrified classmates.
I
realise now why I should not coerce my sons likewise. If I try to become very strict
at home with my sons, seize them by their necks to make them study then I will suffer from migraines, muscle
aches, palpitations and will have to pop in one pill after the other. So, in
the interest of my health and happiness, I leave them alone.
Men are born
cool! Boys or grownups…all the same.
Whenever
I feel feverish, sick or lonely, I have the habit of getting into the kitchen
and making kanji and payar. It kind of soothes me by taking me back to my
roots; an old house, the scent of jasmine, the light of a brass lamp…I belong
there.
To my sons I would say, their amma can provide them with ‘kanji payar’
as long as she is alive. Let their own aspirations lead them to places that
would satiate their further appetites.
