Jumper

Beckett is a Jumper. 

Like her father. 

I can tell you tales of all the glorious jumps I've jumped - from 6 inches to 15,000 feet; but that would be a digression.  

She jumps on mattresses, on the carpet, on the floor, on the kitchen platform, on me, from the stool, in the bathtub, in the park, in the bouncy castle, in the pool, from the table, from the window pane, from the chair, from the jungle gym. I can go on.

Everything else she does like her mother. 

But jumps she like me. 

The jumper, also suddenly, like the turning of a switch, started speaking English, a month and a week into pre-school. While we were relieved at first, because this meant she was no longer going to have to be silent in class, this week we've realized that english is quickly becoming her preferred language and that has left both Missus and me confused and alarmed.

Pre-school has had its fair share of challenges for all three of us. Finding one, paying for it, and getting acclimatized to a strange new daily routine initially took its toll. But I have much to be grateful for. It is close enough for us to be able to walk to, frees up significant time and bandwidth for Missus, but more importantly, Beckett learns different things from different folks. Already I see her saying Thank You, Please, and Sorry as an intrinsic part of her vocabulary.

Okay, got to go! The jumper is calling me for a pre-sleep jump session. 

   

Beckett @ 3

Beckett turned 3 on the 18th of June.

She has also developed a personality and a few habits. Much of it is for the worse and not something I expected to see or have to deal with. She gets aggressive and enters shouting matches when her bidding is not done, she cannot stand rejection or being told that hitting someone or making a mess is not cool, and starts crying at the drop of a hat. 

But the worst and most heart breaking development is that she's stopped trying when encountered with something tricky or difficult.

In laws and Missus have tried hard to bully me into accepting that this is normal behaviour,  but yours truly is not buying any of that crap. Beckett @ 3 is a far cry from the fiercely determined Beckett, who at 8 months learnt to crawl and grab my far away placed phone, and who at 2, relentlessly kept trying till she learnt how to jump with both feet. 

The first blame for this heart breaking behaviour is mine - Having a part time father is not good for a child. Hopefully that is behind us and Beckett will have a full time father for the foreseeable future. The second, which unfortunately is a corollary of the first, is being exposed only to consumption and always having someone at her beck and call to cater to her whims without any pushback, instead of learning basic constructs of acceptable social behaviour and importance of effort.

Hopefully Pre-school, Missus realizing that mollycoddling can be very pernicious, and I being a voice of dissent (and sanity) will help undo some of the damage. But this is a situation I would have wanted to not get into in the first place.

But not all is bad.     

In the time between the post on April 5 and this one, Beckett has learnt to speak 3 new languages. Hindi, English, and phrases of Marathi. Hindi - because of her playground friends in Vile Parle, Marathi because a couple of the nannies of her friends would talk to her in Marathi, and English because she has recently started going to Pre-school here in SF.

She has learnt how to name objects. She has a stuffed monkey who she named Sitaram and a penguin who she named Shitole. She has a doll whose name changes daily - Jignita, Vruddhi, and Elila being some of the names that I remember.

She is completely potty trained (that is another story I will tell someday), has learnt to jump on to mattresses from a height of 3 and a half feet, hates being photographed, and does a great job of cooking me make belief food in make belief utensils. She's also discovered public parks and public libraries and makes full use of them.

I'll keep you guys updated on how things go. Right now I'm taking each day as it comes.

P.S: I hate it thoroughly when someone calls Beckett a princess or doll. It is a devious social construct to shut down possibilities for her. And more often than not, it is women who are more likely to indulge in this stereotyping. I wish they would be more specific. I would be a lot less agitated father if they called her an amazon princess or soccer girl Cassie.

Happy Father's Day

I've recently had the misfortune of having to endure listening to extremely disparaging, unfounded, unwarranted, and blatantly false things about my and Atman's upbringing. By folks who are supposedly my well wishers. By folks who have no idea about what my past was like. Ironically, it was something that my father taught me some 25 years ago, a couple of years before he died, that made me let it go and not react. While the whole episode will not be forgotten, it led to a good riddance moment of sorts for me.

But it also reminded me of how much I still miss my father, even after 23 years of his passing. I remember his voice, what he looked like, and the things that he taught me and how they've shaped my life.

My father taught me to fight for what I believed was right (and as its corollary, being open to being proven wrong, and apologizing when in the wrong and mending ways). He taught me that freedom of one's own spirit was worth dying for and worth going to war for - with one's own self, family, and the entire world. 

He taught me to be progressive. For him, respect was a result of achievement and admiration, not of age or authority. He never expected blind obedience from me and expected me to call out inconsistencies in his behaviour. Almost nothing was Taboo to him - he introduced me to my first double entendre jokes, swear words (although he never used swear words in conversation), alcohol, and centerfolds in addition to math and music. He believed that his son should be able to share everything with him. I now think it was something that he didn't find in his father, and maybe also saw this as an effective way for me to avoid falling in bad company.

Lastly, he gave me my love for books. Mom should get equal credit for this too. But he bought me my copy of Atlas Shrugged at age 11 (crazy, right?). Maybe he knew he wouldn't be around when I needed to read it, so this was advance preparation.

I wish, as a father,  I can pass on these things to Beckett.

My father was a loving man, mostly gentle, but firm and stern on fundamentals. But he had a dark side too. He was a free spirit bogged down by the responsibilities and expectations of family from a young age. He was a free spirit trapped in a closed economy in the 80s and early 90s. He was a free spirit trapped in a regressive and corrupt society. And although it was a minor road accident, and the horrific subsequent medical negligence* that killed him, I still believe, it was the inability to break free that did him in. 

When I look back on the last 23 years of missing him, how the things he taught me shaped our lives, the things I've had to learn myself and teach Atman, and my desperate search for father figures, I feel immense gratitude for Sanjay Fua, Kalpen Maasa, and my manager at Mahindra Mr. Sharma - for showing me compassion when I needed it the most, for showing me the mirror when I needed it the most, for teaching me how to embrace conflict, for turning me into a life long student, and for being my father in spirit when I needed one.

Happy Father's Day Pappa ! I miss you, this year more than usual.

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* I lost my father to blatant medical negligence where the doctor missed tell tale signs and didn't order requisite tests. Last year I almost lost my mother because of ill advice from another doctor who asked us to ignore certain test results. 

Medicine is a sketchy science that is based on incomplete knowledge, guesswork, and now a days massive commercial interests. 

There is nothing more pathetic and pitiful than a pompous doctor who is out of touch with the latest research and findings talking you down on topics where you have read tomes of material and definitely know more than them.

The good ones talk to you, agree with what is right in your points, and when flawed, help you understand the inconsistencies. 

The bad ones pull the age and authority card, something my father always warned me against. Get rid of them as early as possible.

    

Happy Mother's Day

Kids,

This Mother's Day I wish all of you and your future generations a mother like mine.

One who not only takes care of all your needs, but also gives you roots and branches when you need balance.

One who worries terribly for you, but also gives you wings and skies when you need to fly

One who not only loves you, but also prepares you for life alone.

One who respects and appreciates the value of books, music, performing arts, and sports.

One who teaches you to laugh, but not at the expense of others.

One who teaches you to avoid like the plague, but still be civil to those who mooch off you.      

One who teaches you to respect yourself and your freedom, but also the basic decency to afford the same courtesy to everyone else.

Blank Window

Beckett: Who is that?

Missus: That looks like Superman!

Me: (sighing in my mind) How did I ever decide to marry her?

Me: That is Captain America. There is no Superman in the Marvel universe.

Beckettt: Who is that?

Missus: That is The Hulk.

Beckett: Who is that Aunty?

Me: First, she is definitely not an aunty! Second, that is the Black Widow.

Beckett: Heh? Blank? Window?

Me: Actually, I'm not even mad!  You are not even supposed to know the words Blank or Window.

Beckett: But what is her name?

Me: Her name is Natasha Romanoff. Can you repeat it for me?

Beckett: Natacha Lomanoff !

Me: Close enough! That's a win.

Of Snow White and Cinderella

Beckett now understands numbers, has become better at empathizing, is obsessed with poop, and has started grasping the concept of death.

My apologies for having gone away for such a long time.

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On a recent visit to a relative's house, when a Maasi jokingly told her

'We kids have just one job. Eating and Sleeping!'

Beckett snapped back with immediate elan, 

'That's not correct!'

We were all expectantly waiting to hear playing, listening to stories, pooping, and taking care of Cinderella being added to the list.

But she had other ideas.

'That's not one job, that's Two!' (એ એક કામ નહીં, બે કામ કેહવાય.) 

The whole room burst out laughing. 

She also told the cleaning lady to come later than her usual time. When asked why, she smilingly said, 'So that I'm awake when you come and I can meet you.' (હું સુઈ ગયી હઉ ને, તો તને મળાય નહીં ને, એટલે ! )

She's funny without trying to be.

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On another day during my trip back home, at the playground, I tried to teach Beckett how to do a reverse flip. I held her hands, asked her to climb on to my legs and thighs, and then turn reverse turtle to land on her feet.

In my adventurous mind, I was being the cool, Bezosian dad who was encouraging his kid to try new things. In her paranoid mind, Missus was freaking out that I was going to cause permanent bodily harm to Beckett. In Beckett's trusting mind, she wanted to try the new thing that Pappa told her would be fun.

Unfortunately for all three of us, the back flip didn't go as planned. The end result was a struggling Beckett hung upside down. It took us some time to get her feet back safely on the ground. Missus glared at me, Beckett went back to playing after telling me 'I thought I was going to fall down', and I was crestfallen, my grand olympic plan having not materialized.

A day later, I asked Beckett if she got hurt during the acrobatic misadventure. She nodded in the positive. It completely broke my heart. I told her to always tell, create a ruckus if needed, if she was getting hurt, else we may not know. 

That's when she showed me her empathetic side. 'My hand got strained a bit, but I hadn't said No. I wanted to try the flip (મારે ગુલાટીયું ખાવું હતું ). You should not worry about me (તું મારી ચિંતા ન કર).'

I didn't know what to say.

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Beckett is obsessed with Poop. She has to announce to the entire house when she is in the act. She also has to ensure that her toy Cinderella does it on a daily basis, and she has to announce that to the entire house as well, the whole thing being make believe notwithstanding.

One of her favourite things is to get me to lift her by her legs and then hang upside down (મને ઉંધી લટકાવ) like a bat. One day she asked me to lift her upside down after lunch. I politely refused saying that she will vomit the food she just ate and that it will go inside her head. She understood and agreed. But after a few seconds, she quipped - 'You should lift me upside down when the food gets turned to poop and it has reached the poop place. Then it won't go inside my head.' 

I cringed and laughed, both at the same time.      

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A few days later, Missus was reading out Snow White and the Seven Dwarves to her. When they reached the part where Snow White apparently dies after eating the poisonous apple, Beckett started crying. And then asked Missus the dreaded questions - 'Why did she die?' and 'What happens after she dies?'

Pappa is going to have a tough time answering Beckett's questions. Lots more leveling up to be done to keep pace with the questions.