The Hand That Rocks The Cradle..

“...My sister Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I, and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbours because she had brought me up "by hand". Having at that time to find out for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a hard and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her husband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were both brought up by hand....” (Charles Dickens, `Great Expectations')

The true meaning of being ‘brought up by hand’ is quite unlike Dickens’ protagonist, Pip’s interpretation of it. I would, however,  much rather use his adaptation than the dictionary version that says it was an expression used to denote that an infant was spoon fed rather than breast fed or wet-nurse fed.

All through our childhood and that of the generation following ours, bringing up ‘by hand’ was quite the rule rather than the exception. Especially, for parents of unruly kids, a quick whack was an on-the–spot solution to enforce instant discipline and order in a potentially chaotic situation. Children learnt to respect, fear and instantly obey that hand, neither questioning it nor doubting the love of the person who dealt it.

As adults, they remember that hand with warmth, and recount the number of times they had encountered it, with affectionate humor. In retrospect, most of us do not harbor dark thoughts or analyze the psychosis of our parents. We have, as grown-ups, experienced the quick flash of anger or fear that provokes such punishment and know now, the aggravation that leads to it.

One of my cousins, seventy now, was recalling with amusement, her mother’s ‘cane’ which came down rather hard on the backs of her knees, and which naturally lost its potency by the time her third sibling was whacked, with tired arms, for the same offence. She was laughing heartily in the narration of it and lamenting the fact that, being the first born, she always had to bear the brunt of her mother’s annoyance.

Another good friend describes, with nary a grimace or scowl, his mother’s manner of enforcing law and order in the house. She kept a notebook, he said, where she would note the misconduct of each child – she had four of them. Come the week-end, the children had to fall in line. The offences were then read aloud and a cane dealt out the punishment in keeping with the misdemeanor.

Present day parents would be self-righteously shocked and offended at such a ‘crime’. Today it is a crime to enforce ‘corporal’ punishment on your child, which includes the occasional slap and is referred to as ‘Child Abuse’. Where and how did the change come about? When did it turn into a ‘crime’ to punish your child for whom you would, without second thought, give your life if the occasion demanded it?

Let me hasten to add that I am NOT referring to any form of excess that would border on `child abuse'.

In truth, when your child reminds you of the occasion on which you slapped him or whacked him, don’t you feel that twinge of conscience, which makes you cringe in shame? There is an overwhelming guilt too at the thought of that cute little mite, your child, and how the hell could you have been so cruel as to ‘slap’ him? Your immediate reaction is to hug him and say sorry for what you did ‘eons’ ago, or so it seems. In the absence of annoyance, fear or anger, the deed seems unforgivable and you yearn to make amends for it. 

Would a law, making your action a crime, have prevented you from committing it? Your guess, herein, would be as good as mine.

Parents are now leaning over to the extreme opposite. They bend over backwards to please their children and will not hesitate to gloss over or ignore lapses in discipline or even crass disobedience. The child’s happiness, they say, is more important. It is difficult for a child to even discern the line that separates right from wrong, much less adhere to doing the right thing without parental support. Leaving a child with decisions he is not empowered to take is, in my opinion, the easy way out and which unfortunately, is the norm, most of the time, among parents today. 

It is so much more difficult to feed a reluctant child with something healthy and child friendly, implement discipline or convince him to make the right choice. Parents themselves have to be regimented in order to impose discipline on their child. Moreover, it is definitely time consuming and mentally exhausting and requires tremendous mental and physical strength to bring up a child in, what one would construe, the right manner. Most parents today neither have the time nor the inclination to do it. The onus therefore rests on the shoulders of either grandparents or the teachers at school.

Grandparents are pre-warned to dump their systems of raising children and apply modern methods instead. Parents even cite various examples of lapses and mistakes made while they themselves were being raised, to prove their point. It is indeed surprising that our generation neither dared nor felt the need to point out their mistakes, to our parents. Parents since the beginning of mankind were never perfect and never claim to be so. Why then the post-mortem on how they raised their children and how imperfect they were? There are no guarantees attached to any means of raising kids. What would be ideal for one child might be disastrous for another resulting in serious repercussions. Passing judgment on a mode of parenting as an after-thought would therefore be both unfair and fallacious.

Teachers have a different tale to tell. Parents speak disparagingly of a child’s teacher in his presence without dwelling on the fact that irresponsible verbalization could well undermine the authority of the teacher and make it nigh impossible for him/her to exact obedience from the child at school. Parents also go to great lengths to ensure that the demands of their wards be met in school as well. They don’t demur in using threats to make certain of this. 

One of Britain’s top super heads, Dr Rory Fox of Ryde Academy shows how discipline can be enforced even by sparing the rod.

Dr Fox covered every aspect of a child's education and introduced a strict regimen of rules and regulations to enforce discipline. However, he rues the part played by parents in reinforcing indiscipline in their children.

One of Dr Fox’s biggest problems was not the children, but their parents, many of whom considered themselves exempt from the rules.

That said...

Whatever be your methods of bringing up a child be sure of one thing, at some point or the other in life your child will sit in judgment over them. He/she will read you your rights and anything you said or did or did not  say might be held against you in the final analysis. 

Chill!

C’est la vie, folks!

Friends Forever...

I have been empowered by the Universe to make friends easily! Does that sound weird? Not really? But I could think of no other way to phrase a natural ability without sounding affected or even pretentious. Several of the friends I made I have shed along life’s journey, not because they were unworthy or I was callous but due to the simple fact, twenty four hours ceased to suffice. Raising two little ones along with the responsibilities of home and hearth, were more exhausting than exciting, I confess, and further, usurped all my waking hours.

 However, a few of my friends remained at the periphery of my life and a quick letter or card during my precious minutes of leisure were all I could afford them and all they needed to keep in touch with me. They remained loyal and steadfast despite the isolated years of neglect.

Usha, my closest and best friend comes first and far ahead of all the others who follow. Dr Usha Kiran Rai, who I christened Ush! I admit, shrinking that beautiful name to a three letter appellation that could even denote impatience, if given a stern intonation, was not one of my best ideas. The name however stuck and she remains ’Ush’, to this day. Usha was the first friend I made in college and not entirely due to my prowess at making friends. She in turn calls me ‘Vins’, making me feel a winner.

Usha and I in 1991

Summer of 1970

It was the first day of college - St Xavier’s College, Bombay. I attended the introductory lectures in a haze. My head was aching and I felt feverish and unwell. Those were perhaps the first signs of the flu that would keep me in bed for the next three days. As I stood at Marine Lines Station waiting for the local train to arrive, a girl came up to me and rather sheepishly, asked me for a rupee. She was too well dressed to be seeking alms and spoke with a convent school accent. Still dizzy, I smiled and gave her the rupee.

 “My friend Nita,” she said, “was holding my purse while I used the restroom, and seems to have walked away with it.”

 I smiled again and croaked, ‘It’s ok!”.

I’ll return it tomorrow” she continued, “we are in the same class”, waving her hands to indicate the two of us. She didn’t give me her name and I felt too ill to give her mine.”

And more recently in 2014

The next three days found me in bed, with Mamma fussing around and coaxing hot chicken soup into me. Chicken Soup was Mamma’s cure, for all ailments. When I returned to college, Usha came to me at break and smiled as she returned the borrowed rupee. I was so glad to see her! Not because I had anticipated the return of the rupee as much as the fact that I had not a single friend in that class of hundred odd students.  First Year Arts it was! We exchanged names and I had found a friend. A friend who was to remain by my side no matter which ends of the world we were in. A friend for life!

Fast Forward to the Summer of '76!

Rajeev and I were married on the 14^th of July 1976. He had no leave to his credit, having spent all of it on trips to Bombay to meet his girlfriend.  I still giggle at the thought of it!  We had to wing it back to his unit at once.

Life in Ferozepur, a one horse town so to speak, after the hustle and bustle of Bombay, was a change I was unprepared for. Whoever had the time for such enquiry when sweet nothings were all we could think of

The moment we arrived and the Adjutant had conveyed the news to the Commanding Officer, he ordered Rajeev to proceed immediately to the OP area. (Operations Area). - War exercises were on and there was apparently a shortage of officers. No concessions whatsoever were made to accommodate newly married officers! The harsh reality of being married to the Army was just being revealed to me.

 Capt Rajeev Khullar moved to OP area without delay, leaving me alone in a large house with a large garden, allotted to Major Ramesh Nagpal. The army has a rule that does not allow allocation of houses to married officers under 25 years of age. Rajeev was 23. The other officers of the unit however were kind enough to lend their houses to us when they proceeded on their Annual Leave of 60 days. Thus we lived like Gypsies, until Rajeev’s 25^th birthday.

The very morning Rajeev left, an Officer in uniform came to visit me,

“Capt Khevinder Singh Brar, Maam” he said, saluting smartly.

 He wore a turban, as all Sikh officers do and spoke with a clipped accent. I returned his greeting, without the salute of course and before he could finish enquiring after my welfare and needs, bombarded him with a barrage of questions. Once again I was alone and friendless and here was this officer obviously sent to make sure I had no problems settling down. He answered all my queries and returned to work after refusing my offer of refreshment. He was both formal and correct in his manner. This was a far cry from Bombay’s unique form of friendliness.’ Bindaas’ is the word! I was learning, learning fast!

That evening another officer called on me.” Hello Maam,” he said.

 I said, “Hello” a hint of enquiry in my voice.

This was an officer in civvies - civilian clothing. Non-Sikh, I thought, seeing he was turban less and had a short crop of hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. I hesitated, waiting for him to introduce himself.

 He laughed aloud and said, ”Maam, you haven’t recognized me, I called on you this morning?” “Capt Khevinder Singh Brar at your service Maam!”

I blinked and blushed at the faus pas I’d made. All I could articulate was a lame, “Oh!’.

Out of uniform and turban Capt Khevinder Singh Brar was a distinctly different person.

This time, with his uniform, he had also shed his cloak of propriety and robotic disposition.

 Several meetings afterward, I asked him to stop ‘Maaming” or “Mrs KhullarIng” me and call me ‘Vinny’ and he asked me to call him ‘Khevi’. He is a good friend to this day! Another friend for life!

As chance would have it, both Usha and Khevi were born on the 19^th of November. 

The painting of the sketch

Very recently, Khevi found a sketch which I had copied from his Autograph book and mailed it to me. Since it was too small to share here, I dug out the painting I had made of the sketch, 38 yrs ago. During the melee of the ensuing years, it was neglected and folded away. Here it is along with a picture of Usha and myself taken in 1991, on one of my yearly trips to Benaras, where she now lives, and one, of the two of us in 2014.                            

C’est la vie!