Sacred Cows

Teaching your child Hindi 2

Shahbash!!! Ok, so the pronunciation is still a bit 'bald-white-Bollywood-villain-circa-1981'... but at least my 3-year-old is finally starting to speak/sing in full Hindi sentences! It's a major step forward from a year ago, when I began this quest. I wanted to share some tips as well as songs and books that have helped along the way. Hope you find them useful. And of course these some of these ideas would work for any language, not just Hindi!

HINDI HAMESHAN

I've realized profoundly that the one sure way to teach your child a language - no matter what the household language (ours is English) - is to speak it all the time! Consistency works. If they understand Hindi, but answer back in English...  stick to your guns and carry on speaking in Hindi. I find that repeating whatever my son has just said back to him in Hindi has an extremely positive effect. Not only does it show him that I'm listening, but it also reinforces Hindi words in a way that is very organic.

Bribes work too. So if your child asks for something, explain that he'll only get it if s/he asks in Hindi. Use the opportunity to teach them a new word, phrase or sentence. 'Please Mama, seb dedo.'

Not to mention that re-phrasing things constantly in Hindi also goes a long way to improving my own skills and confidence.

And if you can sneak in a Hindi word for an object first, they'll be guaranteed to use it! My son still uses 'paani' for water, 'baarish' for rain, 'ni-ni' for sleep, 'Chanda mama' for moon, and 'shu-shu' for pee-pee because he learned the Hindi words before the English.

Praise works too!! So an encouraging 'Shahbaash!' 'Bahut achcha!' or 'Arre wah!' goes a long way.

Old India, New Art

© Meenakshi Jha

How's that for eye-popping?! Most Indian art is, by definition, based on ancient techniques. So it is with Mithila painting. But my good friend Meenakshi Jha has reinterpreted both technique and subject in this unique collection, currently on display at the Lokayata Gallery in Hauz Khas Village, Delhi.

Meenakshi uses the fish as the central theme in all her paintings in both tongue-in-cheek and highly symbolic ways. The fish is an ancient symbol in both Hinduism and Buddhism, representing fertility, renewal, transformation.

© Meenakshi Jha

This one, 'Anarchy', is my absolute favorite. Not only does it completely re-interpret the Mithila style, but it also has a very personal, endearing story behind it. It began as a series of scribbles by Meenakshi's husband, stressed after a particularly aggravating day at work. She then used his scribbles as a basis for a fish montage. Far from 'anarchy,' I think it's a wonderfully lifelike rendition of lots of fish going about their business. If only I could transform my domestic angst into something so beautiful!!

© Meenakshi Jha

Another stunning re-interpretation. This time on three great faiths: Hinduism, Christianity and Islam. The first figure is Vishnu's fish avatar, Matsya. The second is Christ feeding the multitudes with five loaves and two fishes. The third is the story of Hazrat Younus, (the Prophet Jonah) who is punished by Allah for abandoning his duties preaching to the people of Nineveh and is imprisoned in the belly of a fish for three days and nights.

© Meenakshi Jha

This one represents the Tree of Life. It's a vivid rendering of a Banyan tree which can live for three to four centuries and supports so many different creatures, including birds, reptiles and other plant life. It's ringed by intricately hand drawn repeating lotus and other flower motifs. 

If you want to know more, purchase a piece or contact the artist, Meenakshi Jha, email: meejha@gmail.com.

'Evidence' - A Short Story by Tarquin Hall

©Rahul Krishnan

Need a great little yarn to read over your morning coffee? Here's the first ever short story by Tarquin Hall, author of the Vish Puri mysteries, set right here in Delhi! (Disclaimer: he's my husband!)

Click the following link for the .pdf file of 'Evidence' as it appears in Brunch Quarterly magazine this month:  Download Evidence.

An English Gardener in India

©Anu Anand Hall, Lodi Gardens, Delhi.

Spring and Autumn collide in India during a season called 'Patjhar.'

When it comes to culture and identity, I'm very much a mix of Indian and American. But when it comes to gardening... my passion, appreciation and method are firmly, proudly English! (For the uninitiated, this means that I know the Latin names of more flowers than I should... I don't 'get' lawns... I love wild, cottage gardens with rambling roses, foxgloves, delphiniums, lupins and verbascum all trying to out-do each other... and I'm an anorak when it comes to things like organic pest control and composting!)

So while I'm delighted to finally be living back in India... working here as a journalist, learning about India's history, sampling its dazzling, dizzying cultures... the one thing I miss, deep in my bones, is my English garden.

I don't just miss the snowdrops and crocuses...  the tulips and peonies...  the glorious summer roses and hollyhocks... and winter holly and daphnes... I miss the 'back-end' of gardening. I miss the  weeding, forking and pruning...mulching, shredding, edging and composting.

Here in Delhi, we don't have a garden. We are lucky enough to have several balconies and two large terraces on the roof where I can grow lots of things in pots. And of course the Indian gardening season never seems to end! 'Winter' here equates to a warm English spring, perfect for sowing salads and tender flowers. Spring is as prolific as a hot English summer, producing spires of hollyhocks, poppies galore, majestic dahlias and showers of bourgainvillea.

London snowdrops to Delhi snapdragons

I left London a few weeks ago after a flush of snowdrops. The first purple and yellow crocuses were just beginning to put on a show through the garden.

What a difference latitude makes!

Here in Delhi, I've arrived to poppies, snapdragons, hollyhocks, dahlias and bourgainvillea in riotous bloom! Not to mention hibiscus, gerberas, verbena and amaryllis! It makes my gardening limbs ache! How I long to grab a fork and get digging.

Alas, while we are surrounded by lovely communal parks, they are strictly the domain of the local malis, or gardeners, who are themselves beholden to local ladies of influence. I say "communal parks" (they are owned by the city and maintained by our local resident's association)... but given India's propensity for simmering, nasty, centuries-long territorial disputes, you have to be very careful how and where you tread!

Our lovely park, pictured, seems to be the unofficial domain of a lady neighbor, let's call her Mrs Verma. She's a very pretty, pleasant lady with a quick smile and long beautiful hair. She lives next door to us in a building of three flats, all occupied by her extended family.

In England, when a lady does her gardening... she might don some gloves, grab her pruning shears and sun hat and gently sweat over her roses... Here, ladies never, ever break a sweat.

Packing up is hard to do...

© Anu Anand Hall

Note to self: don't move countries with a potty-training toddler and a newborn!

Pregnant women or new mothers - as a rule - should not be made to pack or move. There really ought to be a UN convention banning this. Coked up on hormones that make you want to build a nest, feather it, clean it, decorate it, admire it and be happy in it... it is not very easy to be told you have to dismantle cherished nest piece by piece... yourself... against the urge of every fibre in your body.

In fact, if it doesn't actually break you, it will probably at least give you nightmares for months!

I've moved endlessly (14 schools, five states, three countries). But I have never, ever been as stressed out, panicked or emotionally fraught as during this latest move, from London to Delhi, with a three-year-old and a mewling newborn!

Between endless breastfeeds and mad dashes to the potty carrying a trousers-halfway-down-his-butt-toddler... I've hauled 20 shelves worth of books up to the loft... tearfully parted with cherished baby furniture, clothes and toys... tried to consume all the lentils in our pantry... and racked my brains wondering what to do with large collections of unwanted pens... unopened purple paint... little-worn lingerie and half-used bottles of specialty cleaning fluids.

Who am I today...?

If you're the mother of young children... do you find yourself wondering what your job title is every day? My daily meditation on the subject usually begins in the shower (about the only private space I have left, if my son is not banging on the door!)

My first thoughts are usually cycling through BOLD NEW ideas:

• Start a movement (lol! Easier said than done, though it doesn't stop me having MANY grand ideas!)
• Start my own massage business (I'm qualified and there's a gaping hole in the Indian market)
• Go back to news and reach those heights I deliberately left behind (at this point I have to patiently remind myself that I was offered a foreign correspondent's post and turned it down for all the right reasons; that I like being with my children full-time; that my body just doesn't handle stress in any constructive manner... and that frankly, no one is banging down my door anymore - if they ever were!) (I might still do it!)
• Become a filmmaker (ditto above).
• Become a GP, family doctor (I did look into this, but would have to start my life all over again, and learn science).
• Is it too late to be an astronaut?
• Become a corporate success story (really?? Ok, I do miss earning money... but I was never one for suits and strategizing).
• Become famous (I'm neither brave nor vain nor clever nor stupid enough).
• Find the fountain of youth or a working time machine... be young again... start over (but would that really solve anything?)

A medal for child-bearing?

I was in the shower this morning, and it occured to me: so many men, fighting valiantly for their country and suffering great pain and injury, are awarded public honors for their sacrifice. I know I'm beginning to sound like some kind of feminist with a capital 'F'... but isn't it interesting that women, some who give birth in the most painful and courageous circumstances -- braving injury and possible death for the well-being of the human race -- have no way of being recognized, never mind publicly thanked? Indeed, the mere suggestion would be laughed off ... Childbirth is not war... War is far more dangerous and important... right?

A Mother's Work Meme

Now here's a campaign I can really relate to!! Some of my fellow Mumsnet bloggers are trying to campaign for more flexible working conditions for mums in the UK. Several women have blogged about how utterly their career paths have narrowed as a result of having children, including:

mother.wife.me

Pret a mummy

a mum and more

Tell me about it!! So here's my contribution to the meme (don't worry... I had to look it up too!)

A Mother’s Work Meme Rules:

Please post the rules

Answer the questions in as much or as little detail as suits you

Leave a comment on mother.wife.me so we can keep track of the meme

Tag 3 people and link to them on your blog (eek! I don't have much of a bloggers' network!)

Let them know you tagged them

Tweet loudly about taking part (umm, I don't tweet as yet! shhhh!)

Questions:

1. Did you work before becoming a mum?
2. What is your current situation?
3. Freestyle – got your own point you’d like to get across on this issue? Here’s your chance…

Ok, here goes:

Back to the 'Memsahib' life

One surreal thing about living in India is that no matter who you were back home... here, you are instantly a memsahib.

Whether your permanent home is a boring American suburb, an English council flat, a barrio in Harlem, or a trailer home... here, you are royalty. Even a New York cabbie would be enviously eyed as rich beyond dreams, such is the poverty of income and opportunity in modern India. 

I've arrived, having slogged my guts out alone with a newborn in a pebble-dash two-up-two-down in east London... to a flat in one of Delhi's poshest neighborhoods... with 24-hour childcare that is affordable... a part-time cleaner who comes - bowing and scraping - everday.... a corner store that will deliver a single aspirin... and a lady who survives by charging 2 rupees -- $.04 -- for each perfectly ironed garment.

No wonder my 2-year-old son is so happy here! His Mama is never over-worked or cranky (well not as a result of housework, anyway).

Yet clearly, I'm not memsahib enough for some.

Ta-da! Freshly squeezed baby...

It's hard to believe that my little girl is already more than a month old (how fast babies grow!) She's certainly more alert - staring at windows and lights- using her unpractised little eyes more and more. She's beside me in bed as I type,  mewling noisily....

I'd never have believed child birth could be so simple, calm and joyful if I hadn't just experienced it myself. Judging from some of the reactions I've had, though, you'd think I'd  jumped from a plane without a parachute! It's made me realize how 'Hollywood' our expections of birth are (hospital wards, doctors, screaming patients, someone constantly telling you how many centimeters dilated you are and yelling at you to PUSH... a certified medical professional 'catching' the baby!)

In harried preparation for my own home birth, I did read Ina May's Guide to Childbirth by Ina May Gaskin. The first half is composed of stories of women who've given birth at The Farm, Gaskin's mid-wifery commune. It was a bit sappy and creepy, if I'm being honest. I wanted information. I was worried about safety, pain and mess (I love the idea of a homebirth... I just didn't want to look at evidence of it on my sofa or floor forever afterwards!). I think Gaskin's book is too much about her and The Farm to be of much practical use if you're preparing for a home birth. And I find the bit about orgasmic birth just too fantastical, though I'm sure it happens!

More spot on is Sheila Kitzinger's book Homebirth: The Essential Guide to Giving Birth Outside of the Hospital. A highly experienced British midwife, Kitzinger explains natural labour and birth in the right depth, with lots of practical advice. I highly recommend it. Looking back, everything in it chimed with my own experience.

Here are my top tips:

Homebirth! Here we come!!!!

There's nothing quite like waking up to contractions in Week 39 to start the day! For ages, I've been trying to get everything organized: birth pool, hose, tap adapter, waterproof sheets, where to put the pool... etc etc etc.  My husband, inundated with work despite his very best efforts, has been helping where he can. But we haven't managed a single day of just being READY!

Til this afternoon...

Today at dawn, I woke up with crampy, wavy pain. By 7 a.m., the pains were coming every 16 minutes... then 10... then just 6 or 7. We called our midwife, thinking, 'Holy cow! This is IT!!!!' She seemed to agree and came over by 9.30.

By which time, everything had... well... stopped. Six hours later, there are still no contractions, but it's definitely focused everyone's efforts! As a result, we've managed to rummage a birth pool from a neighbor, complete with various pumps and some hilarious pre-birth stories. As you can see above, if all goes well, baby will come into the world in a room filled with the fragrance of a fresh Christmas tree! (And our son may enjoy an indoor swim once it's all over!)

I'm wondering if my feeling of just not being ready actually stopped labor? They say a woman's emotions can have a dramatic impact on birth - both positive and negative. Well, I'll never know for sure, but I'm grateful for the early warning... as well as for the chance to get ready, physically and emotionally, however last minute!

Having the pool - whether I end up using it or not - has given the whole home birth experience some ritual. When the contractions started coming regularly this morning, I felt deflated that there was no focal point for the birth... no room ready to welcome the new baby. And a bit panicked too, that my husband and I haven't even managed a serious discussion about a name! Or just had a few moments to savor what's coming...

Between work, moving, the sale of a flat, and our 2-year-old... this year and this pregnancy have just whizzed by!

Last time, with my son, I developed pre-eclampsia and the birth became very much about managing a medical emergency rather than the arrival of our first child. Having been chemically induced and hooked up to multiple monitors, I was so mentally strained and physically diminished by the time he was born, that I was barely able to respond.

Today, after all the initial excitement and scurrying, I'm relaxing in our bed... listening to music...having bits of cheese and orange popsicles and feeling relieved that I don't have to rush off anywhere, or be confined to a hospital smelling bed with nothing decent to eat or watch. And both my husband and son can relax at home too.

More importantly, I feel the contractions this morning forced us to focus on the imminence of our baby's arrival... and to push everything else aside, something I'm sure many of us fail to do even when it's really, really important.

We might even manage to agree on a name before baby comes! 

Our midwife has gone off to watch her local football team play on a cold, drizzly day with her family... but at least I know when things kick off with me again, she's just a phone call away!

C'mon baby!!! Mama and Papa are as ready as we'll ever be!!!!

Beautiful hand-made baby gifts

Just a quick post to share a couple of fabulous, unique baby gift sites! The first is a charity based in India, but their gorgeous hand-made quilts are available in the US and UK as well! Not all the designs are shown on their website (this 'baby' sized one above, for example, which I recently bought in Delhi). Another to ask for is the 'Underwater' quilt with fabulous sea creatures.

Just look at the fabulous hand-stitched detail! And they're a steal at about £30 or $48.

Another exquisite baby clothes maker (for girls and boys) is Charlotte Denn of Pituc. I came across her at Columbia Road Flower Market in east London and was bowled over by the lovely hand-made dresses, overalls and stunning vintage clothing. The dress above is newborn size, but can still be worn as a top for up to a year, so great value, especially at £22 which would barely buy you the materials alone! Charlotte will custom-make clothing too with your child's measurements. Well worth it!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who do you think you are? Tracing my Hindu ancestry

Haridwar at evening prayers. Anu Anand Hall

As dusk fell over the holy Hindu city of Haridwar in northern India, the glassy green waters of the Ganges River turned amber. Reflecting the light of hundreds of flames, some in small clay pots, others in towering candelabras circulated by saffron-robed priests, the river became alive and luminous. 

Thousands of Hindu pilgrims who’d come to wash away their sins in the sacred river or to perform last rites with the ashes of their loved ones, gathered on the banks to join the chanting of evening prayers.

My own pilgrimage to Haridwar was for a different reason. Seven months pregnant, I’d travelled an entire day on rutted, grinding roads to find my past.

Indeed, I’d travelled a lifetime for this moment.

I grew up in a leafy cul-de-sac in Raleigh, North Carolina, with hot summers spent swimming under fragrant pine trees; yellow school bus journeys in autumn; and an abiding love for the annual State Fair. Yet, unlike my classmates, many of whom could trace their ancestors in public records or family Bibles; or whose family histories were inextricably linked to the Civil War we studied at school... my own Hindu ancestry was completely lost.

Don't let the wonder of pregnancy pass you by

©Asya Verzhbinsky

Google the phrase 'wonder of pregnancy' and you either get details for all the bodily changes that occur... or sarcastic comments about the 'joys' of heartburn, fatigue, nausea and water retention. I'm now seven months pregnant and I'll be the first to admit that most of my time is spent battling cycles of light nausea and hunger... trying to get a tiny bit of work done to boost my fragile career confidence... or thinking about how I'm going to get through the birth and the transition back to a job. Pregnancy is hard work! And we're taught to focus on the most practical, material, aspects.

Yet, last night, just as I had settled into a deep sleep, the little creature inside me delivered five sharp kicks worthy of a black belt to my side and I jolted awake, ever so slightly annoyed... and completely awed.

It was a lovely, mystical, life-affirming reminder that there is a whole person growing inside me. I don't know him/her yet... but that doesn't mean there isn't a intact personality just waiting to emerge and make its own destiny.

And the entire experience will be over in the blink of an eye. (Ok... in some ways, thank goodness!)

Before I know it, this little one will be half my height, doing puzzles and running off to play with friends, much as my joyful 2-year-old son already does.

Do I wish my husband could also experience the wonder of carrying new life first-hand... oh undoubtedly! What a different dimension we would exist in if MAN could carry a baby just like WOMAN. If I were God, this is the first thing I'd change! After being pregnant, I've no doubt whatsoever that sexual equality ends with pregnancy. Until men have periods and experience the vulnerability of being pregnant, giving birth and breastfeeding, equality will always fall by the wayside.

But never mind. Here's my wish for all you pregnant mothers out there: just for a moment, just today... close your eyes... lie down... put your hands on that giant, gorgeous, vexatious belly... and  bask in the beauty and sensuality of being pregnant. That ripe, round tum holds a whole world of youth and happiness ... and you'll only be its sole custodian for a few short months!

This gift of womanhood is unique and mustn't be diminished by the artificial demands of so-called 'sexual equality' ... nor by the banal pressures of the job market. Hold them off as long as you can and don't feel guilty or de-valued just because you're not out there doing deals, running a business or climbing the career ladder right now!

Sleep... dream... indulge yourself... be grateful that your pregnancy is safe and healthy unlike so many poor mothers out there... enjoy the hormones (if you can)... and enjoy the quiet closeness of life and the immortality that nine months of mere inconvenience are granting you.

Ummmmm....now please excuse me while I go lie on the sofa like a beached whale and allow my poor, crushed stomach to process that horse-pill of a pregnancy vitamin that's making me belch!

Teaching your child Hindi in an English-dominated world

Maurya's first story book was a delightful one called 'Lama Lama Red Pajama' in which Mama Lama reads Baby Lama a story and then goes downstairs, leaving him in the dark. The rhyming bedtime tale has some great lines, like this one:

"Baby Lama, what a tizzy, sometimes Mama's very busy! Please stop all this lama drama and be patient for your Mama!"

Thanks to the fabulous English children's literature available - with its exquisite illustrations, charming stories and a sense of humor that appeals to us hapless parents who have to read them ad nauseum, Maurya is now addicted to books! Julia Donaldson's 'Rosie's Hat' and 'Room on the Broom' are the current super-hits!

But you'd think living in India also means he's absorbing Hindi like a sponge and serenading us with classic Hindi songs like 'Chanda Mama.'

Sadly, no.

Some of you multi-lingual parents will already have figured this out, but it makes no bloody difference what country you bring your child up in. If they don't consistently interact with a language - all day everyday - they will not speak it. It doesn't matter what language you speak with your spouse. The trick, apparently, is for each parent to stick to ONE language with the child. I'm now using Hindi exclusively with Maurya, and it is making a big difference. He's still choosing to answer back in English, given that his ability to express himself in English is racing ahead. But I am beginning to notice an increased willingness to use Hindi words as well as a definite increase in his understanding of Hindi conversation.

Still, the biggest problem I face as the sole parent charged with imparting Hindi, is the competition from English-language games, songs, television, movies... and books. It's pretty tough to beat Toy Story or Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed! (Although I discovered that our Toy Story DVD has a Hindi language option! 'To infinity and beyond' becomes 'Anant se bhi agay!')

The X Chromosome

Christmas Baby

What a momentous year! After half a decade of unexplained infertility (i.e. stress!)... I am pleasantly shocked to be expecting a second baby. I confess that in moving to India and attempting to get back to work, this sudden pregnancy did slightly pull the rug from under my feet. But the idea that by Christmas, there will be another child in our lives - a sibling for my son - is so delightful and sweet! And now that the nausea is gone, I couldn't be more content.

Boy or girl?

Any expecting couple is curious to know. And we're no different. The thought of buying little dresses... brushing a little girl's hair... watching her grow into a beautiful, strong, intelligent woman... and sharing all I've learned with her, regularly brings tears of joy to my eyes.

But here in India, that microscopic thread of X chromosome can prove deadly for a baby girl:

10 million missing Indian girls

I did the above report for BBC World TV back in 2006. And believe it or not, the problem is actually getting worse. Latest statistics show that the number of wealthy, educated Indians aborting baby girls is growing. Sex ratios are now so skewed, experts are predicting a breakdown of society within a generation.

"If sex ratios stay the same, 600,000 missing girls this year will become, in 18 years’ time, over 10m missing future brides. Robbery, rape and bride-trafficking tend to increase in any society with large groups of young single men." - The Economist, Apr 7th 2011

It's already happening in places like Harayana state, where female foeticide has been rampant for decades.

So why on earth does a girl engender such loathing in some prospective parents?

Whose party is this anyway?

Ahhh, the vagaries of expat life. I find myself pondering the challenges of having a birthday party for rambunctious but still unaware 2-year-olds in tropical summer heat. In case you're interested, here's what I learned.

If you're going to make your own cake, beware that it's difficult to find extras like shaped cake tins and food coloring. I still managed to pull off an elephant shaped cake for Maurya, but not without several last minute crises. I found food coloring after three shopping trips (black at that, what luck!) but on the day, the pan wouldn't fit in my oven!!!! A friend saved the day by volunteering the use of her oven, but still, because a 13" x 9" pan barely fits in an Indian oven, the cake ended up lopsided. Amazingly this worked to my advantage, as it gave the elephant's face a more life-like anatomy! Whew (not that 2-year-olds notice this stuff anyway).

But here's my main lesson from organizing this party: expect a lot of ayahs. And expect to cater to them as much as the kids. A few parents were able to come given that the party was in the afternoon, which was nice.

I knew the ayahs would be coming- I know most of them and they are a really lovely bunch. What I didn't count on was the ayahs plonking themselves like a solid, silent mass in the sitting room which we'd turned into a children's play area. They sat, so the kids sat too.

Needless to say, not what I'd had in mind.

So if you organize a kiddie party in Delhi, either make arrangements for ayahs in their own space... make sure you have someone in charge of games or activities... or leave the ayahs out entirely by only inviting a few kids whose parents can attend. One of my friends told me that some caterers in Delhi even provide 'ayah boxes' for parties - a takeaway carton that contains a samosa, kachori and a sweet!!

Yes, I know, what a pain having full-time, affordable child care....!

Finally.... justice for one Indian.

Four years ago, an Indian pediatrician working in one of the country's poorest areas, was arrested for aiding local insurgents.

In December 2009, the Indian state of Chhatisgarh sentenced Dr. Binayak Sen to life in prison on flimsy evidence, ignoring the pleas of forty nobel laureates, the EU, India's most respected lawyers and scores of human rights activists.

Today, justice prevailed.

India's Supreme Court released Dr. Sen, saying that the mere possession of Naxalite literature did not make him a criminal.

DUH?!

I just spoke to one his life-long friends - a man who's dedicated his own life to preventing gendercide in India. Needless to say, he and all the other brave friends and activists who campaigned for Dr. Sen's release will enjoy a good night's sleep tonight!

Meanwhile, here's a sobering thought. According to a BBC News report, official figures show that more than 30 million cases are pending in Indian courts - some since 1950. At the current rate, it will take 466 years to clear them.

So one down... 29,999,999 to go...

Dastangoi: The Return of Urdu Storytelling

Listen to my piece on the revival of an ancient Indian storytelling tradition, as aired on the BBC's From Our Own Correspondent.

Read the extended piece here.