Through My Eyes...

The Hangout House

2019-06-23T12:10:00.000-07:00

We all know there is always that ONE house that teens tend to hang out at. MINE is one of those homes. We live close to the high school and are blessed to have a huge basement. So there are 4-8 teen boys and girls at my house more often than I sometimes I care to have.

Growing up in a traditional family, my parents were strict and would not allow me to invite my friends, especially boys into our house. I had resolved that I would give my children that privilege. I cook for these kids often. When they are eating, I sit and chat with them learning so much about how they interact, communicate and think. Most that come over are boys and overall they are really good kids.

But being a host, constrains my life and is huge responsibility. I don’t leave the house if the kids are home. Everyone is required to pick up and clean up the mess when they leave, but they don’t always remember when they are leaving at 11 or 12 at night! I’ve had toilets overflow several times despite telling them they don’t need a whole roll of toiletpaper to clean their behinds! On one occasion, they all played video games while I swapped up the mess. When I asked the boy who was responsible to just hold the garbage bag open so I could put all the wet paper towels in, he straight out refused! Thankfully it was only toilet water.

Once, a boy twisted his ankle in the basement. Yes, in the basement! When the mother came to pick up her child, there was no thanks. Instead her look could kill, as if somehow there was some negligence on my part. During another party, while running around in the backyard, a girl fell on our all masonry patio and badly scraped her knees and elbows. Another time, a girl accidentally threw out her retainer, which was balled up in a napkin and told my son that it was his responsibility to take find it because it was his house. I let her know it wasn’t! Among other interesting incidences, once while cleaning the basement, my husband found a vaping pipe under the furniture. A few of the kids identified who the culprit was, and he is no longer allowed in the house.

As a parent, you tolerate certain impositions on your life for the sake of the children. But now I’m at a point where I am burnt out and a bit angry. Many of the kids show NO appreciation and can be rude at times. If I have to put them in their place, for say, flicking cards against the wall and creating little grooves, I am considered “mean.” And for those who think flicking cards like a Chinese star against the wall can’t ruin your wall, I’ll send them to your house and they can demonstrate.

Out of his many friends, my teen son has been invited to only 2 of the homes. Kids don’t need a BIG house for children to be happy in. There are those that NEVER reciprocate, or so much as buy my son a soda or slice of pizza for the constant hospitality. AM I calling parents out?! You bet I am!! I provide snacks and drinks but I stopped feeding kids every time they came over. I have boys that come over 9 at night and say they haven’t eaten so of course I feed them. What were the parents doing? I used to give rides here and there and beyond to many kids. Then I put a stop to it all. One child told me his parents both work so they don’t have time. Say what? Uber app is very easy to download folks if you can’t help with pick up and drop offs.

I love my boys and would do anything for them. What I wouldn’t do is burden one family. There are ways that parents can reciprocate and show that the efforts of the host family are appreciated. I love the parents that recognize that it takes a village of moms and dads to entertain, educate and be there for OUR KIDS. If you find that that there is that ONE hangout house, offer to send goodies. Take turns ordering pizza/food for the kids while they play at that one house. Another option is to offer to treat the host child to an amusement park, movie or dinner. Take turn doing drop off and pick up. There are ways that you can reciprocate. Finally, teach the kids that when they go over to someone else’s house, they have to respect the rules and members of that house. Say “please” and “thank you.” Address the mom as Mrs. _____ and not “excuse me.” Kids are not always sure how to address other moms and dads. I’m still old fashioned and prefer Mrs. Bhatia.

The "American Quilt"

2016-09-26T07:17:00.002-07:00

The “American Quilt”

I recently started a petition to have the Hindu holiday of Diwali recognized by our local school district as a holiday so families can celebrate for one day without worrying about homework and going to bed early. For me personally, it’s not about getting time off from school. It’s much more about being accepted as part of the American multicultural fabric.

We need to remember that the Pilgrims, the first group of people who landed on this soil, came here to escape the Church of England and practice their own religious ideology and to carve out a good life for themselves, away from the tyranny of the king. This is the cornerstone of the building of America, religious freedom and economic opportunities.

Most of the early settlers were of European descent. Many came due to famine or unrest in their countries, often coming as indentured servants to the wealthy already settled here. These were some of the first of millions of the “poor…huddled masses yearning to breathe,” that Lady Liberty later beckoned to.

Later in history, the first Asians arrived during the Industrial Revolution hoping to capture a share of the gold rush but ended up working on America’s railway systems. America became home to people from Asia, Europe and Africa. Immigrants from all over the world have since come and carved out a spot to call their own. Each group of people who migrated brought with them their own cultural identity, food, language and religious beliefs. Today, America is not a melting pot but more likely a salad, with each ingredient in the salad adding to the color, flavor and texture to an otherwise boring bowl of greens.

So why celebrate Diwali now? The prevailing religion within the US for centuries has been Christianity/Catholicism and as such, Christmas and Easter have always been seen as part of the American religious-cultural experience. In some parts of the country, where the Jewish faith is a strong presence, many of the Jewish holidays are recognized by various school districts. In recent years, some cities have started honoring the Chinese New Year and the Islamic Eid. And rightfully so because America is no longer a country just of European Christians and Catholics. The fabric of America has transformed from the time of the first Europeans making home here, centuries ago.

America is not a homogenous land of one culture, color, race or religion. I like to say, we are part of the “American Quilt.” We all symbolize a piece of the quilt with our varied experiences and beliefs. However, we are all part of the bigger, collective fabric, rich in color and stories. Each patch of a quilt has a place and purpose within the whole. Each patch has a story and history behind it. And the great thing about a quilt is that we can keep adding to it… but taking away a patch only destroys its beauty, value and integrity.

So what does this have to do with celebrating and recognizing Diwali as a holiday? Lady Liberty didn’t beckon just white Europeans. Anyone who has read the poem by Emma Lazarus would know that there is another important line, “From her beacon-hand glows world-wide welcome.”

The people of Indian decent, most of whom are Hindus by religion, make up many significant and powerful pieces of the American Quilt. It is not so much recognizing Diwali, per se, but acknowledging that the people of Asian descent are American too. We are all Americans, and like the Europeans who first came and brought their culture with them, we also have something to contribute to America. We have celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas, and now we should all revel in celebrating Rosh Hashanah, Eid, Lunar New Year and, of course, Diwali. This is what America is, a land of many different cultures and religions coming together.

Some may argue that there are limited days in the calendar, and where do we stop. My response to that would be that numbers have power. If a certain people make up a larger, more significant group in any city, and they voice themselves, we have to find a way to let them be heard. They are just adding another beautiful patch to the changing face of the “American Quilt.”

BABY BLUES....

2015-09-14T08:19:00.002-07:00

BABY BLUES....

In India, after a woman has a baby, she has the help of many people and is surrounded by family...for better or worse. 

In the U.S., many women become isolated and alone in their new journey of motherhood. For many new, young moms this is a  stressful, overwhelming period.  The  uncertainties of new motherhood, the changes  in our bodies,  sleepless nights, and hormonal changes result in Postpartum Depression for millions of women. 

I was was one of those women. I had moved from my home town of Chicago to Denver. I knew many people but none that I could really confide in or call at 2 in the morning.  My husband traveled for work Monday through Friday so basically I was a "single mom."  My son was born prematurely at 32 weeks and had many issues including gerd, asthma, low weight etc.  Doctors had advised that I feed him a little bit every 2 hours.  I recall nights doing a 12am feed and then cleaning up throw up from the bed.  Then getting up at 2 and doing the same. By the next feeding if he threw up, I would just throw a towel on it and go back to sleep. I was exhausted and no husband or family to let me sleep.  I tried hard to enjoy my baby but each day was a struggle.   My husband was supportive when he was in town but he had to work.  He tried to understand but I know he really couldn't. Postpartum  hit me hard!! 

Unfortunately, because of stigma associated with depression, I had to keep it a secret from society.  The secrecy in itself was another stressor.  Looking back on that time, I really don't know how I survived!  

Millions of women suffer from PPD. It is not exclusive to American women.  In places like India, women are surrounded by family so they dont really succumb to the depression.  They may feel out of sorts and "down" but because they are interacting with people constantly, they don't get to the level of depression that many isolated women feel. 

We can't be judgemental about postpartum depression.  A woman can't just "snap out of it."  The hormonal changes and imbalances need time to settle.  The "fog" and "dark cloud" takes time to pass. And it does pass.  

Men try to be understanding about PPD. But they understand it about as much as they understand labor pain!! I believe only other women can understand and be there for each other. How can others help? Maybe it's an offer to watch the child while the mom sleeps for a couple of hours. A phone call or visit, an invite for lunch, shoulder to cry on, can bring up someone's spirits. Best of all, sharing our collective experiences does wonders for a woman who is feeling alone and embarrassed about her situation. It lets them know that this phase in her life is temporary. You've been there and she too will get through it.

Raksha Bandhan .....New Traditions

2015-08-30T13:39:00.003-07:00

Rakhsha Bandhan…..New Traditions

Yesterday, Hindus all over the world celebrated the holiday called Rakhsha Bandhan. Sisters everywhere tied the ceremonial rakhi (a small bracelet made of threads and adorned with beads) on their brother's wrists, did puja, and prayed to God to give their brothers a long, healthy, prosperous life. The sisters, in return, received a token gift or money, and a vow from the brother that they would always be there to protect and take care of them.

Many believe that the Raksha Bandhan holiday tradition originated from the great Hindu epic scriptures called the Mahabharta. In one story, Princess Draupadi is said to have torn a piece of her own sari to bandage the bleeding wrist of Lord Krishna. Krishna is so touched by this gesture that he proclaims her as his sister and promises to always protect Draupadi. Later when Draupadi is being insulted in front of a court of men, Krishna comes to her aid. When one of the men try to disrobe her by forcefully pulling off her sari at one end, Krishna divinely replenishes her sari so she does not lose her dignity or honor in this room full of men.

Raksha Bandhan, in Sanskrit, literally means “bond or tie of protection”. Tying a rakhi symbolizes solidification of a bond of love and protection between a brother and sister. Many people will have “rakhi brother” or “rakhi sister”, a cousin, neighbor or relative that takes on the platonic relationship of a surrogate sibling.

Whether it be Christmas, Thanksgiving, Diwali or Raksha Bandhan, holiday traditions have to have meaning for them to be carried on. Sometimes they need to be tweeked or modified. If we look at Christmas and Thanksgiving, the traditional ways in which these holidays have been celebrated over hundreds of years have evolved and changed. In bygones days, the turkey wasn’t a symbol of Thanksgiving. And Macy’s Day Parade certainly didn’t exist. Christmas didn’t entail having a perfectly lit tree decorated with glass ornaments and presents piled high next to it, around it and under it!! As the world changed, people changed and so did “traditional” customs.

Somehow it seems that many ancient cultures and traditions are more difficult to change. As beautiful as the Raksha Bandhan holiday is, I see a time for change. Raksha Bandhan needs to be brought into the modern times. In following this holiday in it’s most traditional form, it assumes that women still need being taken care of and protected, and it places the male in the dominant role of the “protector.” Educated women are doing puja to a brother, regardless of what age he may be. The brother could be 10 years younger and being raised by the older sister but on this day, he is elevated to the position of a “protector.” There is a certain irony in this scenario….but it does exist.

In a country that is still working towards recognizing women as competent, powerful beings, equal to men, this holiday only perpetuates and underscores the gender inequalities in india. Karva Chauth is another tradition that comes to mind. Women fast from sunrise to moonrise to ensure the health, well being and long life of their husbands. Only after seeing the moon and having done puja to their husbands do they take their first bite of food. Again the males need a long, healthy life so they can protect and take care of the females.

Many Indians will say that since I grew up in the US, I do not know what I am talking about. Understandably, the educated Indians comprehend the symbolic meaning behind these traditions; brothers and sisters need to have a strong, life-long bonds, and that in love, sacrifice is sometimes necessary. However, I worry about the uneducated masses in India who takes these traditions at face value and perceive females to have the subservient, dutiful, passive roles. From their understanding, if it is so in the Mahabharata, then it MUST be so in life.

I too sent a rakhi to my brother this year. I hope he lives a long, prosperous healthy life. However, starting next year, I am going to send a rakhi to my sister too because I wish the same good for her also. This year I decided my sons would tie a rakhi on each other. They are blood brothers and I want them to be there for each other in good times and in bad times. They don’t have a sister but they have each other! They need to look after each other. As families get smaller, sometimes oceans apart, we need to cherish the sibling we have. Raksha Bandhan doesn’t have to be just about the brother-sister bond. Like Father’s Day and Mother’s Day, let this day be a day to show all brothers…. and sisters too….how much we love them. Let this be Sibling’s Day.

Raksha bandhan is a beautiful tradition. But traditions need to change. Change is good. Change leads to progress and equality…….

Anyone Going to Holland?

2015-01-07T08:07:00.000-08:00

I recently sent a narrative titled “Trip to Holland” to a friend whose son is autistic. It’s a beautifully written essay which metaphorically describes a mother’s reaction to finding out that her child is autistic. You really need to read it to truly grasp the poignancy of it, so here it is:

Trip to Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability — to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this…

When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans… the Coliseum, the Sistine Chapel, Gondolas. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting. After several months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives.

You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland!” “Holland?” you say. “What do you mean, Holland? I signed up for Italy. I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.” But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine, and disease. It’s just a different place.

So, you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around. You begin to notice that Holland has windmills. Holland has tulips. And Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life you will say, ” Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”

And the pain of that experience will never, ever, ever, go away. The loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.

This made me reflect on how this “trip to Holland” is all a matter of our perceptions. Whether it’s related to our children, or to life in general, we have all been on a trip to some place we didn’t like at first. We’ve been in those places which made us uneasy, anxious, or scared at first.

My oldest son was born with a 5 page list of allergies. After eating eggs one day, we discovered that he was allergic to eggs and peanuts. After going back and forth to allergists, we learned that he was also allergic to everything from grass, every imaginable tree, all nuts, dust, dander, pollen etc, etc.

The first 5 years of his life, I lived in paranoia and carried an Epi Pen and antihistamine everywhere I went. Being a vegetarian, I ate nuts and peanut butter for protein while pregnant. Had that caused his peanut allergy? I felt such guilt, and needless to say, avoided nut altogether the second time. I never would have imagined that something as ubiquitous as peanuts could possibly kill my baby. So I fought with his preschool teachers who insisted on keeping his Epi pen in the office rather than the classroom, or for not making his classroom nut free. My heart skipped a beat when the caller ID showed his school calling for any reason. I rarely left him with a sitter to go out with friends. On those few occasions when we did, I frightened the poor sitter after demonstrating to her how to use the Epi pen in case of an emergency. I remember crying, asking God why this had to happen to my son.

Like Emily, so many other parents have taken this same detour to Holland and can empathize with her. I feel for my friend whose son is diagnosed with a gluten allergy which is further aggravated by kidney issues. When his body retains water, his cheeks puff and his poor belly bulges out, hard as a rock. Her eyes well with tears and you can feel the pain in her heart, when she speaks about what it is like telling her son that he can't have a munchkin....maybe never.

Then there are children who are born with diabetes and are followed around by a nurse with a blood sugar monitor all day in school. I can only image what the mother goes through. They can't play too hard because their sugar level may go too low yet they need to get exercise otherwise the levels may get too high.
The parents who find out that their child is visually impaired, born deaf or have some other debilitating disease can also relate to this trip to Holland. They also wonder what Italy would have been like. The same sentiment may strike parents who find out that their child is gay. They weren’t expecting to go to Holland. How would the world view their child? Would they be ridiculed or outcast? But now they are there, and like Emily, they are learning to appreciate Holland....and eventually they may even come to embrace it.

My trip to Holland, compared to those of others, turned out not to be so bad. We are given, I believe, only what we can handle. It makes us …and our children…stronger individuals. We all learn to accept ….and love…where we are. Life is a matter of perceptions. What we perceive to be a weakness or difficulty, will be just that. We can choose to complain about never having seen Italy or come to view Holland in a whole new light…just as Emily says in her piece.

For some, Italy may seem like a dream. But who knows, that "perfect" dream could one day... turn out to be a real nightmare.

Making Old Rhymes New Again.......

2014-08-23T13:15:00.002-07:00

Making Old Rhymes New Again.......

For no apparent reason, an old childhood rhyme recently popped into my head. When I was young…..oh so many years ago….. kids chanted these sing-songy rhymes while playing clapping games, jumproping or playing hopscotch and jacks. We even used them to figure out playing order in a game. These humorous, and sometimes outrageously ridiculous poems were extremely popular in the days before kids stuck their faces into I-pads, I-phones and other electronics...when kids actually amused themselves on their own.

The rhyme that came to mind was:

“My mother and your mother were washing dishes.

My mother punched your mother right in the nose.

What color blood came out?”

The child that the rhyme ended on had to pick a color, which was then spelled out.

The first thought that came to mind was….who makes this stuff up? It couldn’t possibly have been a woman, let alone a mother. I had to speculate that it had to be a man!

Now imagine two 21st century suburban soccer moms sitting at a Starbucks, both excusing themselves to check the latest text message beeping on their phones. In the meanwhile, Katelyn and Brianne, their daughters, are playing clapping games and singing, “My mother and your mother were washing dishes.” Both moms look up from their texts and burst out laughing.

The girls are curious but continue with their rhyme, “My mother punched your mother right in the nose.” The moms again look up from their phones, this time shocked at what they hear.

“Girls this is not a nice thing to sing about! Mommies don’t hit! They ‘use their words’,” exclaims one mom.

“Yes we use our words. You know Mommy doesn’t believe in violence,” concurs the other.

The two ladies go back to texting. The little girls carry on, “ P-U-R-P-L-E,” they sing!!

It became obvious to me that these verses needed to be revised and updated to reflect the time and culture we lived in. Little-Bo Peep lost her sheep so long ago and is still looking for it. Humpty dumpty hasn’t been put together in centuries. I decided to bring this rhyme into the 21^st century. I reworked it and here it is:

“My mother and your mother were out to lunch.

My mother told your mother to slim down.

Your mother went and lipo’d her abs.

How much fat came out?”

The kids can decide if it’s in pounds or ounces! Here is another one.

“My mother and your mother were at the gym.

My mother fell and broke her nose.

How much did the new nose cost?”

The kids can decide if it’s in increments of hundreds or thousands of dollars! I thought about making up others… but why? Maybe I’ll work on this one:

“(name) and (name)

Sitting in a tree.

K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

First comes love,

Then comes marriage,

The comes a baby

In a baby carriage!”

Imagine all the possibilities and angles for the 21^st century version of this!!!!

Sam and His Pink Shoes

2012-12-13T19:57:00.000-08:00

Someone recently sent me an article about a controversy sparked by a picture of a little boy, Sam, wearing what appeared to be girl’s pink, zebra- striped flats. The picture, posted on Facebook, received overwhelming support and LIKES but stirred up a heated debate on the internet.

Poor Sam’s mom was criticized by family members who feared that this kind of behavior might turn him gay!! Wow, if that were true! Maybe THEY should read the article published in the journal Pediatrics about a study which found that “children in lesbian homes scored higher than kids in straight families on some psychological measures of self-esteem and confidence, did better academically and were less likely to have behavioral problems, such as rule-breaking and aggression. “
Read more: http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1994480,00.html#ixzz2EzVwGM3q

Judging from the picture, Sam appears to be carefree and confident. He was quoted as saying, “Ninja’s can wear pink shoes too!” Yes, he is only 5 and five year olds do not understand they nuances of the adult world. Five year olds don’t understand racism, bigotry, discrimination or gender specifics. If they do, it’s only because they learned it from the adults around them. Really, if you think about it, most 3 and 4 year old boys would love playing with dolls, strollers and the kitchen sets. But somehow the dads, and moms too, feel that they need to be more manly and start overloading them with Ninja’s, dinosaurs, race cars and such. Otherwise they might become too soft!!

I don’t deny that men and women are inherently, biologically and hormonally different. In Sweden there was a movement at one school to do away with gender specific toys and practice gender neutrality in the preschool. Instead of addressing the kids as “him” or “her,” the teachers referred to the children as “friends", by their first names, or as "hen" - a genderless pronoun borrowed from Finnish. I guess that would be like the English pronoun “it”? Gender neutrality, as it equates to gender equality, is good. But to totally deny our gender differences is wrong too. Being more gender neutral does not have to mean referring to ourselves as IT’s. Gender neutrality is also not an attack on our masculinity or femininity.

I have 2 boys and I see how different boys and girls can be. They play differently; they interact with each other differently. But is it because that is the way we have been programmed to believe for so long? Is it because WE steer our boys and girls in a certain path…or towards certain toys or colors…because of our expectations of what it means to be a man or a women.

The focus on Sam and his shoes makes me ask, is pink inherently a feminine color? In the early part of the 19^th century, fashion magazines promoted pink as the perfect color for men. Red was considered a very strong, masculine color, and pink being derived from red, it was only natural! Blue, on the other hand, was considered cool and dainty. Go figure!! Maybe 50 years from now, after more incidences and debates instigated by the likes of Sam and my son, our society will decree that pink is gender neutral!!

Sorry It's Our School Policy!!!

2012-11-14T10:15:00.000-08:00

When I wrote my book, Pink is Just a Color and so is Blue, it was with my younger son in mind. He is now starting to like Ninjago, Beyblades, Pokemon and other "boy" things but still has an affinity for the pink and purpley things too.

After the publication of the book, I was really excited about going into his school and reading the book to his class. It was these kids that I really wanted to reach with the message of the book. After all, they were my son’s classmates and friends who interacted with him on a daily basis. A few of them have had play dates with my son and I recall one child saying, “He has girl’s toys.” This would be grassroots effort to teach
about gender stereotypes, not being judgmental and keeping an open mind.

I asked my son’s teacher if I could come and read the book to the class. I had developed a whole lesson around the book and was eager to go and speak to the kids. She was also excited but needed approval from the principal. To my disappointment, I was told by the principal that the school does not promote any authors and so I could not come read to the kids. Mind you, I had not asked for a letter to go home announcing my visit or asking parents to buy my book for the occasion.

At first I was upset but decided to approach it differently. The point was to have the message reach the children. I decided to send the teacher a copy of Pink is Just a Color and so is Blue and she could read it to the class at her own convenience. Instead of just putting the book into my son’s folder, I gave a copy to the office to be delivered to the teacher.   After inquiring about it, I received a call back from the principal. This time she had the school counselor on the line with her, as a witness apparently. I was told that as a school policy not even the teacher would be allowed to read my book to the class!!
I taught preschool and kindergarten for many years before I became a mom. Many preschools and kindergartens invite parents to come read to the kids, or talk about different things.   The community sometimes is full of free teaching resources. Yes, sometimes they get a little advertising for their businesses too such as a dentist coming in to discuss oral heath. But these outside, real life resources are a great, valuable learning tool for kids at a young age.   Visits by community resources outweigh  the value of any worksheet or lecture. These are tangible experiences that the kids will remember for a long time to come. For me, going to read at my son’s school was not about selling books. It was about spreading a message about gender stereotypes, not making judgments and learning to appreciate individual differences.

Interestingly, last year I was told by the same principal that it is school policy that they do not discuss or talk about different cultures in school! What better way for diverse group of people to gain cultural understanding of ideas, thoughts and ways than by learning from their peers who represent different cultures.  To me, culturally diverse is not the same as culturally aware. Though we may live in a culturally diverse surrounding, understanding and appreciation comes from knowing.   In fact  there should be a week set aside every year when parents and students of all backgrounds can talk about the various cultures represented in a school. I realize schools have international days but this would be more informative than entertaining. What a wonderful way to learn about the new, global world we live in!

Whether about books or about cultures, closed minded policies create an atmosphere of intolerance and segregation. My first introduction into our school was a child yelling out from the bus window, “Hey you brown lady!” Now I understand. There are kids being bullied or teased for wearing turbans, having “funny” accents, eating a “weird” food or just appearing to be different . Then there kids being harassed for being too “tomboyish”... or not boyish enough.

I can only hope that my children will fare well and not be hurt by the ignorance and intolerance of others. I hope that my son’s friends will somehow come to learn and understand that the colors you like and what toys you play with do not mean much. After all…. pink is just a color and so is blue….what truly matters is what’s deep inside of you! I hope they will come to appreciate that we can all be different but our differences are our uniqueness and they make us special.

As for our principal and her narrow minded policies, some things are just better left unsaid.....

Origins of Pink and Blue....

2012-09-27T09:38:00.000-07:00

Pink is Just a Color and so is Blue……

When my younger was 3, he loved the color pink. I bought him a Dora doll, a stroller and a couple of other dolls he asked for. While in preschool, he wanted My Little Pony, Littlest Petshop and Zoobles, which apparently were marketed mostly to girls. Then one day, I heard my older son telling my younger one that he was “like a girl” because he liked the color pink and enjoyed playing with the kitchen toys . After hearing him taunt his brother, I had to have a serious talk with him. In my mind, teasing like this is what leads to bullying later.

I tried to explain to my older son that they are just toys and pink was just a color like red or blue. I told him how he also liked the color pink when he was little. I needed him to understand that toys and colors did not define who children are. Colors were just colors, and toys were just a way for young children to learn about the bigger world around them. We even talked about how their father loved to cook, so what was the big deal about a little boy playing with the kitchen set.

My two boys became the inspiration for my book, Pink is Just a Color and so is Blue which is available exclusively on Amazon.com.

Anti-bullying and anti-teasing education often starts in middle school. Unfortunately, by this age, many kids already have an engrained set of beliefs and ideals. Research shows that children’s personalities are set by the time they are 5. They have already built a sense of what is right and wrong by the time they are about 10. Teaching kids to be accepting, open minded and tolerant should begin when they are 3, 4 and 5 not 10, 11, 12. If they learn young that we don’t all have to fit into a mold, they will become better “tweenagers” and teenagers.

Pink is Just a Color and so is Blue hopes to break some of the old gender stereotypes about children’s toys and gender specific colors. Why should the play kitchen be considered a “girly” toy. Aren’t most chef men? Don’t we want our boys to be nurturing dads and husbands? So what is the big deal with little boys wanting dolls and stroller? Why are all toys for little girls aimed at making them domestic divas or princesses in the land of all things pretty and pink? Don’t we expect that our little girls should grow to be confident, independent and strong women one day? So why limit them in play with fashion, easy bake ovens and everything from the land of enchantment?

I don’t have girls but growing up I mowed the lawn, helped my father paint and put in pre-glued tiles. I was athletic and loved sports of all kinds. Most of my best friends in college were men. Today, I love to cook and take care of my boys. But I can also figure out how to fix the chain link in a toilet tank! And I still love to paint!

When my older son was little, I bought a kitchen set for him to play with. If the look on my husband’s face could kill!!! He couldn’t understand why I would buy such a toy for our son. I had to remind him that he was a great cook himself! When our boys were little, he helped to change diapers, bathe them and feed them. To me, that made him a greater man!

I did a little research online to find out more about where the whole notion of pink and blue came from. In the early 1900’s, all the big fashion magazines promoted the color pink as a great color for men. Being a shade of red, it was considered strong and masculine. Blue on the other hand, was thought to be cool and dainty, and as such, a great color for women!

A little know but very interesting fact about the color pink dates back to the Nazis. Yes THE Nazis. During WWII, the Nazis captured millions of prisoners. In order to keep track of them all, they established a color coding system. We all know that the Jews were forced to wear a yellow Star of David on them at all times. It was sewn onto their prison uniforms in the camps.

A whole series of color coded inverted triangles, pointing downward, allowed camp officials to identify the “crimes” for which the prisoners were incarcerated. For instance, political prisoners wore red triangles, emigrants wore blue triangles, real criminals wore green triangles, Jehovah’s wore purple triangles, and “asocial women (lesbian) wore black triangles. And finally, the pink inverted triangles identified those the Nazis thought to be gay!!

It wasn’t until as late as the 1980’s that pink for girls and blue for boys became a widely accepted norm in our society. Except for the Nazi reference, many interesting facts are included at the end of Pink is Just a Color and so is Blue on a special “Did You Know? Page. There is also a page full of discussion questions and activities for parents and teachers.

Pink is Just a Color and so is Blue is not a book I want parents and kids to read and then forget about. One of the main lessons I want readers to come away with is that so many of our societal norms and ideals change over time. There was a time when the woman’s place was in the kitchen. But that’s not the case anymore. There was a time when only men wore pants or only women took care of the kids. There was also a time when wristwatches were considered too feminine and real men carried pocket watches. Today, men sport wrist watches not only as a fashion statement but also as a status symbol. Gender roles are changing and so should our attitudes about what it means to be a man or a woman.

Pink is indeed a beautiful color… and so is blue. But what is it about our society, that we have this need to put everything in nice little boxes? Why do we have a need to label and categories everything! Why can’t we just let our kids be kids? Let them play explore and learn more about themselves and their world. Isn’t our ultimate goal as parents to assure that our children grow up to be self confident, happy, secure and productive men and women?

If we as adults become more open-minded, then a positive, unbiased attitude will automatically permeate into our kids. Maybe our children will be more tolerant and accepting of each other and see individual differences as something to celebrate… rather than ridicule. When kids are accepting, they are less likely to tease or bully. So let’s spread the message that toys are just toys… and Pink is Just a Color and so is Blue!!!!

Pink is Just a Color and so is Blue is available exclusively on Amazon.com

The Neighbors Upstairs……………….

2011-10-16T22:16:00.000-07:00

Over 35 years ago, my family and I lived in an apartment of a 4 unit building that my father owned. Dr. and Mrs. Gupta (not their real names) and their 4 children lived in one of the other 2 bedroom, one bath apartments upstairs. Dr. Gupta was studying for his American medical credentials while Mrs. Gupta worked.

Over the years, the Guptas and my parents became friends and so did the kids. My brother and I went to the Guptas apartment to play and the Gupta children came to ours often as well. As time went by, though, there was one issue that was straining the relationship. As would be expected with 4 young children and busy parents who had limited time to clean, the apartment was often filthy. Cockroaches infested the unit and soon were invading the other apartments. The other tenants started complaining. At some point, my father had no choice but to ask the Guptas to vacate the apartment. And so ended a relationship.

Time went by and a couple of years later my parents ran into the Guptas while shopping at Sears. They exchanged pleasantries, caught up on the kids and my father invited them over for dinner. And so began a renewed friendship, one that has lasted to this day. The Guptas have been to my wedding and those of my siblings. My parents have also had the privilege of seeing all the Gupta children married and even attending some baby showers.

I’ve always believed that there is something wonderful about the older generations. Tom Brokaw wrote about the men and women who lived through the Great Depression and the 2 World Wars. He coined the phrase “The Greatest Generation.” My parents generation also saw turbulent times and social unrest during the 1960’s and ‘70’s. Maybe that’s what made them great. Having seen uncertainty, turmoil, violence, death and destruction, I believe, taught them integrity and helped them value human life and relationships.

Today we live in a fast paced, ever changing, transient world where people sometimes don’t know the person in the house next door. Our homes just got bigger with fewer family members people living in them. We thrive on change and get bored with things easily. Fashions and fads come and go. The neighbors we didn’t know move on to other places. Could we be as forgiving and embracing?

2011-10-05T23:31:00.000-07:00

Some Day………………….

My older son just celebrated another birthday. Time truly does fly by. The kids grow up so fast and soon leave the house before we realize it. I still remember that day in October when I gave birth to a baby boy too eager to arrive into this world, presenting himself 8 weeks early. Who knew that that shriveled up little being, hooked up to all the contraption in the hospital incubator would be asking me today, “Mom, Really….?!!”

From the moment they come into our lives, they become the center of our existence it seems. We find ourselves recording every babble, blurb, word and mischief. Some days we can’t stop hugging them and some days we just wish we could beat the nonsense out of them! Some days we marvel at how they learn so readily and some days we wonder where they picked that up.

Last year when my younger son turned 4, I wrote a poem that I wanted to share for my older son’s birthday. Whether it’s the older child or the younger one, whether they are 4 or 14, the feelings remain the same. My son keeps reminding me that he’s not a baby anymore. My answer is still the same, “You are not a baby anymore…. but to me you are still ‘my’ baby!”

Some day……….

Some day,

he might be a pilot
…..Soaring high above the clouds
Holding 200 lives in his hands.
But for now…..
He needs me to hold his hand…
As he traces his name,

“S-I-D”.

Some day,

he might be a great writer
Taking readers to an imaginary world
But for now……
He can’t fall asleep
Until I read him

Dora’s next adventure.

Maybe one day,

…..he’ll be a rock star
With screaming fans and paparazzi
But for now…….
He insists I sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider”

….for the 100th time.

Some day,

he may be a celebrity chef
And open his own restaurant.
But for now ……..
He needs me to make

my “special” Mac N Cheese
Because I make it…

“the bestest ever!”

Maybe some day,

….he’ll be a surgeon
With many others looking up to him
But for now……
He looks up at me for praise
For going to the potty

“like a big boy.”

Some day…..

he’ll be all grown up
Some day…..

…….he’ll be a man
Some day…..

he won’t need me any more.
But for now

……..he does.

And though some days I wish…

he could put on his own clothes

And tie his own shoes
I wish…

I could slow down time.
So that the SOME DAY would come

……. just a little more later.

Happy Birthday, Love!!

Hey You Brown Lady!!

2011-09-22T23:26:00.000-07:00

After having lived through the uncertainties of the job and housing market, we finally bought a house to call our home. We decided to buy in a school district we thought would best serve our 2 boys and where we felt the community was quite diverse.

My biggest concern about moving was my older son who would be going from a very small private school into a school with 3 times the population. For the past 4 years he had been in a school based on a neo-humanistic* philosophy, where the children did meditation every morning and were taught to love each other, their fellow human beings, the earth, and everything on it.

The same group of kids had been together since kindergarten and they truly had come to care for and love each other. They had their differences and like other children they argued, yet if any one of them were to fall or get hurt, they would all come together and make sure their friend was all right. It was an unlikely group, of the sort I hope my sons will have the privilege of knowing again. I can only hope.

I had picked up my boys from their new school one day and we were heading to the car when I heard a boy’s voice call out, “Hey you brown lady!” It came from the bus that had stopped near us, waiting to make a turn. I looked to see if I could see who had noticed my beautiful tan but since the bus was rather full, it would have been difficult to pin point anyone. I decided to keep on walking but those words resonated in my mind for the rest of the day.

From his perspective, the boy was right. Brown I am. But why did he notice just my color? How would it have been received, say, by a black person, to be reminded of their color? Did this child live behind a massive white picket fence with no real contact with people of color or of different cultures? What were his parents like? More importantly, I worried that this child, and others like him, noticed that my sons was “brown” too. How were my 2 boys received by the other “non-brown” children in the new school? Would my boys face adversity and challenges in 2011 for being who they are? Did the school not teach them about diversity and acceptance? I spoke to the principal about the incidence just to make her aware of it. In my desire to shield my children from hearing any further nonsense from this ignorant child on the bus, I had walked away without noting the bus number.

I thought about what I would have said to this child if I had the chance to meet him? I would tell him that yes, I am brown. I am brown and could never be peach or olive or white, even if I wanted to be. But the irony is that many light-skinned people lay in the sweltering heat of a scorching sun, hoping to avoid deadly UV rays, just “to be” brown! Since the school only went up to grade 5, I knew he couldn’t have been any more than ten years old. The logic of my argument would have been lost in his young mind.

I truly would not have wanted to see him punished in any way. How can you blame a child for having been sheltered? A child’s ignorance shouldn’t be punished. What that child needed was a first-hand education in culture, acceptance and loving. Children, I believe, are much more open-minded, loving and accepting than adults if they are given the opportunity to socialize and mix with others. Personally, I would have invited that boy to come to my house and play with my two boys. Maybe then he would find out what people on the other side of his picket fence are really like. They may be brown………. but they are beautiful……………once he got to know them.

……….by the implementation of Neo-Humanism, as put forth by P. R. Sarkar. Simply stated, if extending the sweetest touch of the heart to include all humanity as one's own be termed Humanism, then expanding that embrace to include the animals, plants, and even the elements is termed Neo-Humanism. The fact that the fortunes of all are intimately wreathed together must be recognized, if not today, then surely tomorrow. (PSOLI website)

Will 2011 Be My Year?

2011-01-03T08:38:00.000-08:00

Once in a while, something happens in our world to make us reevaluate where we are in life, what we became and where we are headed. Once in a while, certain events in our lives reawaken within us the desire to find the essence of who we were before we found ourselves buried beneath the weight of daughters, wives or mothers. For some, it might be mid-life crisis. For others it may be a new addition to the family or the death of a loved one. For me, it knowing that this time next year, my littlest one will be in school full day and wondering what I’ll be doing when he’s in school. Motherhood, as I knew it up till now, is ending and I need to fill the void it will create. I need to reinvent myself. Maybe I need to “find” myself.

Many years ago, I gave up my career as a teacher and decided to be a full-time mom. Some women are career oriented but I knew I needed to be home with my children and having done so, I can tell you, it is one of the hardest, unappreciated jobs in the world. I don’t look back on it with any regret and know that it was the best decision I could have made. And the fact that my teacher’s salary would have just barely paid for daycare didn’t really leave me many options either other than to stay home.

Somehow, the kids grew up faster than I expected and now I find myself trying to get my teaching credentials in order here in the state of New York. I’ve been told that despite having many years of teaching experience, I may need to do student teaching and will eventually have to go back to school and get a masters degree which, by professional estimates , will take about $30,000. The bigger struggle still is questioning myself, “Do I really want to teach anymore?” But what else am I qualified to do? Being a mom and teacher are all I really feel trained for. Hence my need to find myself!

The thought of going back into the workforce after so many years is a little daunting. Also, there’s still the desire to want to be home for my children, be home to greet them, help them with homework, talk about their day, and still be a mom. Unfortunately, society places such a premium on work outside the home that we fail to notice the value in having a parent, mom or dad, stay at home to raise the children. That’s why so many moms turn to real estate, jewelry making, selling Avon or some other home-based business so they can fulfill their need to “work” and be there for the children.

I recently met a woman who gave up a marketing career to stay home and raise her only child. Being handy with the sewing machine, she started making ladies handbags at home, in her dining room. After overwhelming response from family and friends, she started designing and manufacturing the handbags to sell to retailers all over the country. She has rekindled an old wish.

The ideal job for me would be one which had no set hours, no office, and no boss! What I really want….need… is to be my own boss. Being a children’s writer, would be a great option if I could get myself into the industry somehow. A few years back, I started writing children’s stories. I spent countless hours sending my manuscripts to many publishers. But just like in show business, for every Dr. Seuss, there are thousands and thousand of would-be, wanna-be writers just struggling to find a publisher. I know, J.K. Rowling and Dr. Seuss were rejected a 100 times before they became big. So I guess I still have many more rejections to face if I want to see my dream to reality.

In the meantime, I keep thinking about my other options and the next “million-dollar idea!” I know it’s out there. Who would have thought that kids all over the nation would force their parents to buy useless rubberbands in the shape of cars and dinosaurs? If Sillybands can make it big, well, I’ve got a couple ideas of my own! Now I just need to find time, money and most importantly, ….guts! Let’s see if 2011 is my year.

Santa Gets Dora!

2010-12-29T10:19:00.000-08:00

It seems Santa did have an extra Dora doll for my Siddy! He's been enjoying it ever since.

All I Want For Christmas…..is Dora!!!!

2010-12-12T12:07:00.000-08:00

Some of the most memorable moments in our children’s lives we get to experience as unobtrusive bystanders, watching them as they play with friends and siblings.

I recently overheard my 4 year old, Siddy, talking to his brother Nikhil and asking his opinion on a matter of utmost importance. “Do you think Santa will ‘X’ out the Dora doll? I promise next year I’ll ask for Power Rangers, cars and a soccer ball.” How precious, I thought, that he had any awareness of social norms to try and rationalize with Santa Claus.

When the boys made their list for Santa, I explained that it was a “Wish List” and Santa would get them 3 to 4 things depending on how good they had been, what Santa’s inventory was like and where they were on his delivery route. Some things, apparently, he just runs out of!! Siddy is not a demanding child and kept his list short but among a few other toys, he asked for a Dora doll. I felt I had to explain to him that if Santa had any more Dora dolls left after giving it to all the girls, he would give one to him.

As a mother of 2 boys, I feel it my responsibility to teach them about equality and respect, especially as it applies to the opposite sex. The seeds have to be planted early on and childhood play takes on a crucial role in teaching these values. Through play they learn about compromise, sharing, following rules, and respect for toys and friends. But despite being a highly progressive nation, our society still dictates that certain toys are “boy toys” and others are “girly toys”.

When Nikhil was about 2, I happened to come across a nice, “masculine” blue and white play kitchen so I bought it for him. My husband’s reaction was that of a typical male. He said to me, in no uncertain terms, “Why the h#@* did you get that for him?!” This coming from a man who happens to be a great cook himself! I had to remind him that most of the greatest chefs in the world happened to be men. The fact is that the kitchen was the most popular toy with all of Nikhil’s and Sid’s friends, girls and boys alike, up until they became more aware of gender biases.

When Siddy was younger he wanted a baby doll and stroller. So, to my hubby’s horror, I bought it for him. I swayed away from the pink and went for the more “neutral” purple since that was all I could find. Siddy spent hours holding, feeding and putting his baby to sleep. I realize from having 2 boys that it’s innately male to want to jump, run, build, break, burp and fart. (Boys love jokes about farting and burping!!) But they also have the capacity to love, care for and nurture. So why are all toys made for girls related to babies, home, domesticity, beauty and fashion and those for boys about building, destroying, science and sports? Kids learn early that pink is for girls and blue is for boys. I think we are the only nation that abides by this ideology. I find it disturbing that Legos, for instance, are marketed mainly to boys. Ask any great inventor or scientist of our time and they will attest that Legos, blocks and tinker toys played a major role in influencing their interest in science and technology as children. Why shouldn’t we give girls the opportunity to create something other than cupcakes from the easy bake oven? Why shouldn’t boys be taught to cook and what it means to take care of someone other than themselves?

Exposure influences who and what children become. I have yet to go to the house of little girls and see a bucket of Legos, or a telescope, or a doctors kit or tool set. It’s usually an explosion of pink and a magical land of fairies and princesses (which, by-the-way, Siddy is asking for but I am truly grappling with!) For now, I’ve decided Santa just might have an extra Dora doll for a sweet little boy. I’m sure after hearing her singing, “We did it! We did it!” for the 100^th time, I might want to send Dora to a magical place of her own. I am confident that he will grow out of wanting to play with Dora dolls and such one day. But my hope is that the lessons he learns about loving, caring and nurturing will stay with him for a lifetime and make him a better man.

Technologically Advanced Socially Deficient

2010-11-17T08:38:00.000-08:00

Technology is getting more and more nano-, faster and readily available to all. On one trip to India, I was shocked to see that even the poor rickshaw drivers carried cell phones and didn’t hesitate to talk and drive. Technology and advancements are great and necessary but can we admit that we have become all consuming and addicted to our gadgets and gismos that we’ve forgotten common courtesies and general, social etiquette. We’ve forgotten to enjoy “the moment” and have the need to be “in touch” all the time, anywhere and everywhere, forgetting the little things that matter. We are becoming a nation of ADHD adults who don’t know what to do with a few minutes of silence or free moment of time.

Women’s purses, or pocketbooks as they call them on Long Island, have become bigger and heavier and cell phones have become so much slimmer and lighter that I usually scramble trying to find mine in my big monstrous bag. I remember my very first cell phone, which was about the size of a brick. All I could do on it was…well …talk. Today cell phones are our lifelines, our windows to our world. I’ve known people who’ve lost their phones and it was as if they lost a dear loved one. With texting, GPS-ing, emailing, web browsing, videoing and picture taking capabilities, that cell phones have become such an essential, fundamental part of most people’s lives. From my perspective, we are becoming, unfortunately, technologically advanced but socially deficient.

We teach our children about manners, proper behavior and social etiquette but somehow adults think themselves exempt from what they preach. We tell our children to use “inside voices” yet we’ve all seen adults roaring on the phone as if the world cares to hear what they have to say. We tell kids to say “excuse me” when they bump into someone yet I see people texting and walking, not caring who they elbowed out of the way. One of the most shameful and deplorable social faux pas I have had the displeasure of witnessing was at a dinner party. Inquisitive, or should I say nosey, as to what was captivating this woman’s attention and keeping her from mingling with the company, I leaned over, only to see that rather than socialize, she was actually playing video games on her Blackberry!!! I guess she figured we were too ignorant, or drunk, to notice because she held the phone under the table.

Incidences such as the one above are inexcusable but there are other blatant indiscretions occurring all the time. I’m sure many people have gone out to dinner or lunch with someone who can’t be torn away from their Blackberry or I Phone. It’s right beside them, on the table. Do we not tell our children, “No toys at the dinner table”? Now, if the kids are at home with a babysitter, or there are elderly parents at home that may need tending to, I can understand. Or if the hubby is at home watching the kids and he’s pretty clueless in this capacity, I get it. You’d better be ready to rescue the hubby and tell him where the diapers are! But if you made special time to go out with someone, then answering phone call from others is just plain rude and disrespectful. Most adults realize this and get clever. You’ve heard people say, “I have to take this call. It’s really important. It”ll just take a second. ” Well about 3 “important” calls later, the other person should have the right to say, sure take that call. In fact, take it all the way to your car. Maybe then you can call them and actually have a conversation!

Our technology is making us asocial. Rather than actual face-to-face interactions , we thrive on communicating with people via cyberspace. Rather than enjoying the moment at a soccer game, recital, weddings, church or wherever, people are texting, emailing, commenting on Facebook updates or updating their own Facebook statuses as to where they are what they are doing. Is time with friends and family no longer valuable or sacred that the cells can’t be switched off or put aside for a brief moment?

Am I an American or am I an ABCD?

2010-11-08T10:43:00.000-08:00

When my son Nikhil was about 5 years old I tried to explain to him how he was lucky to be both Indian and American. Since he was born in America, he was American. The fact that Pappa and Momma were born in and lived part of their lives in India made him Indian too. To my bewilderment, he started crying and screaming, “NO, I am Spanish!!” His 5 year old brain went on to argue that he watched Diego and could speak Spanish too. The fact that his playgroup at the time consisted of 4 Spanish-speaking boys only substantiated his argument.

I could have argued that being able to say,”Hola” and “excelente” made him about as Hispanic as eating pizza made him Italian. Not wanting to battle with a 5 year old, I decided I needed to educate my children about their Indian heritage. I wrote and bound my own books about Indian mythological Gods such as Krishna and Hanuman. I organized a story time with a few of Nikhil’s friends. After the story we would have related activities and try Indian snacks, some with interesting, made-up names like Indian donuts (South Indian mendhu vada.)

Another time I was trying to explain to Nikhil that he needed to address all Indian adults as “Uncle” or “Auntie”. He was rather perplexed since in his school all the teachers, including his kindergarten teacher, Sangita, were addressed by their first names only, not Ms. Sangita, just plain Sangita. I explained that in the Indian culture no one called an adult by their first name. He looked at me and said, ”Well, I’m not Indian. I’m American!” As much as I wanted to smack him on the behind, I had to admit that he did have a sound argument.

Since becoming a mother, I’ve done some soul searching and introspection . How can I teach my boys to be confident and proud of who they are if I am unsure of who I am? And who am I? Am I “American” or am I “Indian” or am I an “ABCD”? If I am truly an American why do I feel the need to teach my children about the Indian culture.

At times I did feel like an ABCD . This is the acronym made up by the Indian community to classify each other. The idea is that if you just came from India, you are Fresh Off the Boat or an FOB. If you were born here or have basically grown up in the US, you are somehow confused about who you are and hence you are labeled an ABCD (American Bred/Born Confused Desi), Desi being what Indians call each other.

Back in my high school days, I was often mistaken for being Hispanic. As a teenager, frustrated with the restrictions placed on me by my parents in the name of following traditional “Indian values”, I was actually glad not to be seen as an Indian. My biggest gripe back then was when people asked , “So where are you from?” I usually appeased them by telling them that I was born in India but what I really wanted to say was that I was from the Northwest side of Chicago! Jhumpa Lahari’s book The Namesake touched on this topic. Gogol, the main character of the book, went through a stage in which he alienated himself from his family and everything it represented. He gets involved with an American girl much to the dismay of his very traditional parents. Without giving away the book, it’s not till the end that he comes to grips with his family and culture.

The irony is that as culturally diverse as the US is today we still classify people according to the way we see them. It’s human nature. People are Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Saudi, African, etc. I still get the occasional, “Are you Indian?” The fact is that I am from India. I cherish the Indian culture for making my life richer . I love Indian food, which we have at least 3 nights a week. But we also eat Italian, Mexican and Chinese too. I love Indian clothes and wear them at Indian weddings and family affairs but I’m most comfortable in jeans and yoga pants. The fact remains that the outside world will perceive me as being an Indian no matter how “American” I may be or feel. But despite how others may see me, I know I am American. I love America and could see myself living nowhere else. This is the land of the free and being a women, it’s all the more important to me that I am here.

Christmas has always been one of my favorite holidays ever since I came to the US. During the holidays my house is decked out, inside and out , with all the lights, glitz and gold. The fact that I love Christmas may be due to the fact that people are generally in better spirits and more kinder, friendlier and more giving. Maybe it’s because we tend to do more socializing and partying around Christmas time. All I know is I’m still “fa la la la la-ing” way past December 25^th and my husband remind me that it’s almost Valentines Day!!

Motherhood has a way of eradicating any and all confusions, insecurities and doubts a mother may have. I am not confused anymore. I know who and what I am and I value the fact that I am Indian too. I’ve made a choice to hold on to my Indian heritage and pass on what I can to my boys. I am proud to be part of a country that invented chess, the place value system, decimal system. Yoga, Algebra and ayurvedic medicine also have origins in India.* India is rich in history and culture. It even has Bollywood which produces more movie per year than any other country, for better or for worse!!!

My boys are, without question, American but I want them to learn about their Indian heritage not because they need to, but because it will enrich their lives too. Like me, they too can be Indian-Americans. They speak mainly English but I want them to learn Hindi too. If they can learn Spanish in school, why shouldn’t they know the language of their ancestor. They will always celebrate Christmas but why not Diwali too. They can eat hotdogs for lunch and curry for dinner. They can learn about the “Christ in Christmas” and Krisha in Vrindavan. They are fortunate to be able to experience the best of two different cultures and the values and merits of both.

America is not really a “melting pot” as some declared it to be . I hope my boys will recognize that the different ethnicities have not all blended into one homogeneous group. America is more like a salad bowl. Each ingredient of a salad adds it’s own unique color, texture and flavor to the dish. Without the individual items, it’s just lettuce…bland and uninteresting. And who wants plain lettuce when they can have lasagna, burritos ,biryani, falafel, kababs, Chicken teriyaki, sushi, chow mein, Thai curry and soooo much more !!!!

My First Halloween

2010-10-31T18:58:00.000-07:00

I came to this country on October 30^th, 1976. Being one of only a handful of non-white children, I had the privileged opportunity of being initiated into the American mainstream by being pummeled by snow balls, asked why I was so dark, and my all-time favorite, being called a camel-jockey. Yes, a camel-jockey! How could I tell these children that I had never even been close to a camel before let alone ride one.

The fact that I had a small nose ring at the time, didn’t help me blend in either . Today I would have fit in with the bohemian, hippie type crowd but in those days having a nose ring was considered strange not fashionable. Children would look at me quizzically and ask, “Why do you have a ring in your nose?” Needless to say, I had my parents let me take it out.

While all the American girls had beautiful flowing blond or brunette hair, my mom would put my hair in two long braids on the sides of my head, very much like Pippi Longstocking, and stick a bindi on my forehead. How could I escape answering the question, “What’s that dot on your head?” It was futile to point out that it wasn’t on my head. It was on my forehead!! I survived without any scars or trauma, thank God, and in fact I can laugh about it today.

I still remember my very first Halloween. My mother had decided to dress me up as an ”Indian Princess.” Dressed in one of my Indian chaniya-cholis* , with my midriff showing, I looked like Princess Jasmine from the Disney movie Aladdin . Only thing I was missing was a veil so I could hide my face. The following year my parents splurged and let us buy facemasks. My brother and I would improvise and put together the rest of the costumes from old clothes or from brown grocery bags. One of my favorites, ironically, was being an American-Indian. It was fun making a fringed Indian vest and my very own feathered headband.

Halloween on the Northwest side of Chicago in the 1970’s was different. Parents were at home passing out candy while the kids trick-or-treated. We were out for hours and came home with literally a pillowcase full of candy. Those to me were times of innocence and goodness, before people figured out how to contaminate candy or stick needles in apples to hurt children. Those were also less commercial days when people did make their own costumes. I remember my friend Andi’s mom stitched adorable costumes for her and her sister which could probably be sold at Pottery Barn Kids today for $100.

Every year the PTA held a fair during the different holidays. These were simple fairs with everything from cupcakes to planters homemade by the PTA moms. My parents usually gave us no more than $.40 but we were still able to get something. I remember buying cupcakes for 10 cents apiece. Today when my son has a fair at his school, he needs at least $ 5!! Also, I don’t recall any mom wearing plastic surgical gloves so as not to taint my cupcakes. There were no allergy alerts. And no one cared if the toy had small parts that could be swallowed. Somehow we survived . For better or for worse, times have changed. I still like to look back to a time when life was less complicated, less commercial and childhood was pure and fun……………

*Chaniy choli-a long flowing embroidered skirt worn with a short top

A lost Art

2010-10-23T08:04:00.000-07:00

My son Nikhil recently turned 8. The night before his birthday, I wrote a short letter to him telling him how much I loved him and how proud I was of him.  I placed the envelope in his homework folder so when he opened it up in school, he would get a surprise.   The mothers reading this are thinking, "Oh sooo sweet!!"     The men reading this are saying, "God help her son!"

When Nikhil came home from school that day, I asked if he saw anything special in his bag.   As only a typical male would respond, he said, "Oh yeah, thanks Mom." So much for my tears and staying up at night writing the letter.   But I'm glad I did it! As a matter of fact, I'm going to do it every year on their birthdays, even when they say "God, Mom really? I'm not a kid any more!"

During the summer of 1928, the late Prime Minister of India Jawaharlal Nehru wrote many letters to his then 10 year old daughter Indira (Gandhi).

" I am going to write you short accounts of the story of our earth and the many countries, great and small, into which it is divided I hope [these] will make you think of the world as a whole and of other people in it as our brothers and sisters . . ."

In all,  he wrote some 30 letters to her that summer .   I can't image the thrill she must have felt while tearing open each letter knowing that her father, who was hundreds of miles away, had sent this personal gift to her. It contained his writing, his emotion, his love. Imagine looking at the letters years later, after her father passed away and thinking back to the day when she actually received it.   What memories and feeling it must have evoked. I love history and nothing teaches more about the past then old letters.   They take us back to a time….to a place…to a life.

Today it seems everyone is too busy to write letters anymore.   Letter writing is an old lost art. Except for the quick email or text, most people don’t actually put the pen to the paper anymore. The most thought or emotion we show is in our preprinted Hallmark cards are, “Love, John Doe.”    And oh, and let’s not forget the very heartfelt and classy, ”XOXO!!”   Are we really that busy? Or have we just forgotten how to write?

The Hallmark company has become very profitable. The irony of it all is that if someone today were to take time and effort to write us a short letter rather than buy a card, we would be inclined to believe that they were just being frugal…to put it nicely. Cheap is the other word I was thinking!    Come on now, be honest, how often do we flip the card to see how much the card cost.   I have to be honest and say that I always go for the cheapest one….because I know it’s going in the trash anyway!!

This might sound silly but I still have an old note that my sister wrote to me when she was about 6 and I was 16.   She had jumped on me while I was laying on the bed and I got very upset with her.   She wrote that it was an “axcident” and I was to circle “YES” if I forgave her and “NO” if I didn’t.    I chuckle, at this moment, as I write this because I can actually remember that day .   I really beat her. (XOXO Bina!!)

That’s the beauty of a handwritten piece of writing. I might be able to save all the cute emails I get in my “SAVED” folder or on my computer.    But nothing can compare to the joy of opening an old letter written by a father to a daughter, mother to a son or a friend to another friend.   Touching those old letters is like being with and touching the person who wrote it.

It saddens me to think of what the implications of this new trend in our society means to the future generations. I hope my sons will save whatever letters I write to them and be able to talk about how mom was so mushy!!