Naya!

Mommy: Do you know what a journalist does? Naya: Ummm... they work really hard.


And then...
Naya: You don't know how to dance. See, I am Hindi. WE know how to dance.

Naya on sleep and politics

Mommy: Children need to sleep earlier. I am not a child.
Naya: You are a child. Your mom's child.

---
Mommy: I don't know which job I should take. Brand X or Brand Y.
Naya: You should just work for John McCain.

Patriotic Naya-ism

Naya: I want to be Assamese president of New York. No, wait, the Hindi one of Orissa.

And then today, a heartbreaking Naya-ism

Naya: Mommy, I want to travel again.
Mommy: Where do you want to go?
Naya: To Kashmir.
Mommy: There's a lot of fighting there now.
Naya: Then let's go when it's over.

NRI Sojourn

I am back. One day soon, I will post a recap of the day-by-day, play-by play of my time in Guwahati. Until then, just take my word that it was one of the most powerful experiences of my life--between witnessing someone die and being with all of my family under one roof (which finally happened to be OUR roof). Unlike when I went to the village in my childhood, this time I appreciated the rarity of the togetherness and tried to revel in it (in between enlarging photos, hunting for the right brand of mustard oil for use in puja, sitting on the river bank at 6 a.m. for yet another offering to the gods and grandmothers, publishing memorial books, buying more and more disposable cups and plates for all the visitors--all on a diet of boiled rice and potato once a day, the food mandated by someone long ago for the bereaved.)

Because my father couldn't come for his mother's shradh on the 13th day, nor could my mother come for her brother's, I flew to them and we made up our own US version. Shockingly, it was the first formal prayer I could remember my parents having in our house, Naya's annaprasanna not counting. The picture above is courtesy of dear Stony, a friend of my grandmother too, whom he lovingly called Jumbo Jet. Ironically, the gangly white guy at the ceremony of 70 people was the one, who besides we seven Kalitas or Mukuls, had spent the most time with her.

Anyway, once I hit my 20s, I stopped crying uncontrollably when I left India/Assam because the frequency of visits made that seem silly. When I left Assam last week, I felt like I was 12 years old again only I didn't have that angry question I always posed to my parents on the LOOOONG plane ride (usually the awful Romanian Airlines, remember) back: Why did you leave? I don't understand. Why wouldn't we want to live with our grandparents?

Nope, last week, as my uncles (and I) cried more over my departure than when Aita died, I knew the answer, thanks to living here for the last 20 months in an India better off than the one my parents left. As an aside but totally related, the number of people who want me to find government jobs for them in Assam is up to four... My maternal uncle's wife's brother ... does anyone know anyone in public works and engineering in Assam?

The US was more of a blur, although I am glad I went and felt my place for the shradh was more with my nuclear family than the extended. Nitin's show sold out, my brothers took a day off and we went to the beach to relax, etc etc.

On the flight home, a packed Continental nonstop worthy of a ballad, the plane was defined by NRI kids and their weary mothers, all going back for the summer. The one seated in my row was miserable, her mother told me: She has her friends now and doesn't want to spend six weeks in Lucknow. The two boys before me in the customs line were practically bouncing off the walls, they were so excited to see their cousins. And the kids behind me, upon hearing I moved to India, promptly asked their mom: "Why don't we live in India?"

I miss that innocence, miss having a grandmother to go to, even miss fighting with my brothers on the flight.

Naya-isms to round out your life:

(She remains in the US with Nitin, his parents and mine, busy with museum visits, swimming lessons, story hour at library, dance camp and her new best friend Antonio down the street, whose mother MY mother has been having coffee and play dates with. Like I said to my parents, if you had done all this for me, I would have been the most well-adjusted, all-American gal there ever was... No wonder she doesn't want to come back.)

She knows my brothers will let her dress any way she wants so as she wore a yellow-and-blue Fab India kurta with a pink and purple skirt, she did a curtsy before me and said, "In these clothes, I look like a stepmother!"

"Ata (grandpa) eats with his hands so he belongs in India, but I eat with a fork so I will stay in America."

Her pronunciation of binoculars is the definitive Indian accent - BINO-coolers...

And she also has taken to imitating my parents now on the phone. The other day, she sat behind the couch on her play cell phone and said, in Assamese: "Yes we are all fine. Only my mother died."

On that note, I am outta here...

Nayaism

Naya: When I grow up I want to be a painter and a Mint worker.

And then this morning...

Mommy: What colour are your eyes?
Naya: Black and white.

Nayaisms you might not like

Girls only fight with girls because boys are more important.

Mommy: Naya, what should I write my column on?
Naya: Ummmm. How about "good people who eat cheese?"

Naya's story - verbatim

One day Radha and Krishna went to the park. They went on a slide. Then they climbed up the mandir and went to see a movie--with earphones. They went to see Ratatouille. Then they came down a bridge and took off their earphones. There was a big big big party. Everyone was dancing. Even the trees were dancing. It was beautiful.

Naya-isms all in one

Many funny things going on:

Yesterday, my friend Michael and his son were visiting Delhi and when we got back into the house, Naya and Ayaan greeted us.

Michael: Oh, wow, Naya, is this your friend?
Naya: No, he's my boyfriend.

Naya is surely, but very slowly, learning how to read. So she has a book of words and today she spells out: "S-O-C-K-S"
Mommy: Very good!
Naya: S-O-C-K-S spells muja!!
(Muja is the Assamese and Hindi word for socks. So if she never learns to read, at least she can serve as a translator...)

Then she saw the words C-U-P and said, "That spells cup."
Mommy: Very good.
Naya: Oh Mommy, I am so proud of you. (big hugs followed and I think she was hinting that I should have said it to her)
Mommy: Thank you.
Naya: Mommy, what does 'proud of you' mean?

Accepting exile, sweet exile

From Mint

The Tibetans are willing to die for it. The Americans are in a recession partly because of it. In India, we take for granted just how many we have, how complex it actually is.
Home.
Everyone, it seems, is fighting, longing, searching for a place to call their own. I don’t make light of that struggle, but this week—against the backdrop of the alternative Torch for Tibet relay and my own journey to a place that is allegedly mine—I wondered if the concept of home, as in one geographical location to which we are anchored, committed, rooted, might be inherently flawed.
The epiphany came around 1 o’clock in the morning on the Assamese new year known as Bihu. With my husband and daughter, two cousins and a friend, I sat in a cracked red plastic chair sinking into the mud made by a recent rain and watched a woman crooning into a microphone. She didn’t sound bad, but not great either. Nearby, a pack of young men smoked and I resisted the urge to ask them not to, so close to my three-and-a-half-year-old they were. It had taken us an hour to get here, an hour fighting traffic and other festival revellers. And, that was after a day spent dodging relatives’ demands that I come visit all 50 of their homes in Guwahati even as I explained that the goal of my sudden trip was to spend time with my sick grandmother and show my daughter the beauty of Assamese culture during this colourful month. She has celebrated every year, of course, but always in far-off places as church halls in New Jersey, a friend’s place in Washington, DC and an auditorium in New Delhi.
I thought going home would offer a more authentic experience.
“Where are the dancers?” my daughter asked me.
“Where is the laru-pitha?” my husband chimed in, referring to the sweet foods of Bihu. (When I was a child, my parents and their friends used to buy very all-American doughnut holes and offer them to us as a substitute, unable to find ingredients to make the real thing. Eventually, they learnt to ­improvise.)
“This is not New Jersey or even New Delhi,” I responded. “It’s not like you can get Bihu out of a box.”
But when a group of guys offstage started fighting each other with sticks and the police hauled a bloodied ­teenager away by his collar, I agreed it was time to go. In the versions of Bihu my parents regaled me and my brothers with, there was so such violent reminiscence.
Yet, why would they have tainted their picture?
For the transplant, home becomes but a nostalgic figment of the imagination, a make-believe place where you can pick and choose what to crave, to miss, to remember. It is ideal and utopian, even as the quest to recapture it impossible and dangerous.
Somehow, though, we keep trying.
In the case of the Tibetans, it is an understandable desire, an exile that has been imposed. Earlier this month, Mint reported the story of two Tibetan friends who shared a longing for a homeland, a fervour for the movement but held different passports—one Indian and another a refugee card. Explained one young activist: “If you hold an Indian passport, people think you have lost your nationalism.”
If only India did not kowtow to fears and insecurities of China by keeping the torch—a celebratory, unifying symbol of multiple lands and cultures —in a virtual police state with 20,000 officers and countless blocked roads. What a gesture it would have been if India showed the world it was possible to support both an exiled people and the goals of the Olympics. Indians, after all, have mastered the art of straddling multiple homes and loyalties.
And, if only the Chinese understood that the freedom to go back at anytime, to assert one’s place, is what keeps so many of us away. For, all too often there is no going back.
Strangely, this week’s sudden feeling of not belonging anywhere—a feeling I have fought my whole life, from lonely tables in school canteens to the navigation of office politics—was one of great relief, as though a lifetime riddle had just been solved. Like a lot of Indians from places other than the ones they live and work, I will now never have to respond to that eternal question: Where are you from?
That muggy night, we trudged back and crawled under mosquito nets to go to sleep. The next morning, I sat next to my grandmother, suffering from a broken arm, weak joints and severe dementia, as she asked me when I had arrived and when I would be going back to America. We had been through this exercise every day.
I reminded her I live in New Delhi.
“Still, you’re far away. To me, it’s all the same,” she said. “But I am so glad you came. It really means a lot to me.”
I was shocked. My tough-as-nails grandmother has never been the tender, emoting type—except when angry.
A few minutes later, I tearfully touched her feet and kissed her goodbye, realizing her confusion had left me with a lucid lesson and a pure definition of home—among many.
Your comments are welcome at ­widerangle@livemint.com

Naya's first day of school

Report from Nitin:
She didn't cry even though a lot of other kids did. She said she played outside and sang songs. And this being a new big school, compared to the playschool where she always took a tiffin, she told Nitin: We ate in a restaurant for lunch. That would be the school canteen/cafeteria. Hah... I might have missed her first day of school but I caught the Nayaisms.

Mommy guilt

I have to go on a business trip tomorrow so I will miss Naya's first day of school. I was putting her to sleep tonight (after helping her pick out outfit for said first day) and I said, "I will miss you, Naya. I don't want to go."
She said, "Don't go."
I said, "Really?"
She said, "No, you can go but you said you don't want to go so I said 'don't go'."
Then it started thundering...
Naya looks at me and smiles, "It's raining. Now you can't go to Chennai. You don't have an umbrella."

Nursery admissions opus

Everything you could ever want to know about schools, India, admissions and us.

http://www.livemint.com/2008/04/05001858/Wanted-Exceptional-parents.html

Enjoy...

Updates

Everyone wants to know what's happening -- this is rushed since we are late for a wedding BUT...

The maid is now under virtual house arrest until we figure something out. Her aunt doesn't want to take responsibility for her and I won't toss her out on the street (and I also don't have anyone until April 1) so she now sleeps in Naya's room at night. Of course, Naya is still with us...

AND in better news... Naya got into Sardar Patel! We applied to five, she had been rejected from four so this was the last... We are happy and somewhat redeemed but are worried about a few things. It is Hindi medium (although they dont read and write next year anyway so maybe that's okay) and the hours are long (8 am-2 pm, I HATE the mornings with a kid)... But I think compared to the American School, it is a better option? I just worry about her going to school in a place that looks more Dubuque than Delhi. But maybe I am misguided. We are going to check them out this week. I find it so strange that the shortage of schools here forces parents to select a place sight unseen.

Positive Parenting

Naya: Papa, you did a really good job painting. Mommy, you do a really good job ... working. I am so proud of you!

Believing

I think I finally figured out why I am so upset about this whole school admissions fiasco... Despite all that frustrates me about India, I have always hung onto belief in the economy, in the country, in its people. Education, of course, serves as the lynchpin of possibility here. A lack of it holds countless people back. Access to it transforms lives. That this key to India's future remains mired in so much muck, from corruption to connections, is deeply troubling and cause to cease believing. Everyone tells me, "No matter where she goes, she will be okay." Or else: "Look at us, we turned out fine."
But despite having strong beliefs about the type of school I want Naya to be in (open curriculum, lots of freedom, little rote learning, no tracing letters or formal instruction), I worry about sending her to a place where only people with connections can enter. At the age of 3.5, you might say she is too young to "get it" but I think it perhaps begins one of the saddest lessons of India will frame her time here -- hard work doesn't pay off. When you need something in life, just call the right person and it's yours. The same can be said of many of the elite schools of the US, for sure. But the public school system is generally strong or can be moved into (also the result of parents' hard work and ethic, presumably). I'd say the values we most want to pass onto our child are compassion for others and ethical values. So I don't feel like I can be part of something that requires currying favour just because we are who are. The moment I have to do that, it is like crossing a morale line and entering an India in which I can no longer believe. And so this whole process is about more than where Naya will go to school but more about whether this place can serve as home for our family, for the short or long term.

Line of the day

Me to co-worker: So I hear you need connections to get your kid into nursery school. Do you have any?
Co-worker (without missing a beat): You think I'd be working here if I did?

School Daze again...

This time we are really in a sad daze... Tonight came Naya's first rejection, which really is more a rejection of us from an elite private school in Delhi. I won't write the name because there's still a chance of a second list. Today is also the day I think that Nitin and I realize we love our kid more than ourselves. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, I don't think I felt this sad even when I didn't get into Northwestern's journalism school. What's most perplexing is that the system in India still feels incredibly patriarchal, based on what accomplishments parents have made. While we consider ourselves rock stars in the creative sense, we wonder why that didn't work for admissions... I would gladly take 16 Nitin Mukul paintings over an IIT diploma... Anyway we tried to do this whole thing without connections or kissing ass but we are revisiting that policy now. It is the Indian way, perhaps.

Government schools here are a joke, private schools here are few -- education is an issue that the rich and poor are strangely united in being screwed over on. Why hasn't there been a revolt? Tonight is the first night in a long time that we have debated going home because while the opportunities here are great, the possibility that an American education allows you to dream are far greater. With just a handful of decent private schools in this capital, you wonder just how India is going to shine in 20 years. If we don't make the cut and people with connections, bribes and other means make it, then what does that say about a country? And should we even be judging children's potential on their parents' past accomplishments anyway? Isn't education the only way to level the playing field, to surmount the stigma of parents and past? If we are finding it hard to get in, what about lower middle class families or even the poor?

Today we also had an interview at one of the so-called alternative schools that we really loved. But when we sat before the four (!) interviewers, they said, "You both seem busy. Who looks after the child?"

I was momentarily stunned and said, "Nitin works from home. That is the arrangement we have."

Then from my left came another question. "Can your husband verify employment?"

"Well," I said, "there's a contract here but he works mainly as an artist."

Nitin began showing them some of his graphic design work.

"Is there anything on letterhead?" came the woman again.

I must have looked annoyed. Thankfully, Nitin pulled out a New York Times review praising his paintings and the recent TimeOut review and silenced them.

"Thank you," they said.

"That's it?" I asked, incredulous. "Don't you want to know anything else?"

"No, we're fine," she said.

I walked away, shaking my head. How can it be that they chastise us for being working parents on the one hand and then seek their so-called "professional" letters and proof on the other.

Let my melodrama continue -- this country is doomed.

PS - Nitin just called his father to let him know and Dad was his usual optimistic self, "Don't worry. You'll get in somewhere. Naya is really smart."

Too bad she is not the one being judged...

School Daze

We went to an orientation at Naya's school today. It is the Navakriti school, founded by the people from the famous Mirambika school, next to the also-famous IIT (which has shared research on preschool education) and NCERT, which is trying tto change Indian schools from rigid to creative. The sessions started off with meditation and a flower offering to The Mother and Aurobindo. I will confess that my first thought was that this wasn't necessarily the type of place for me or my kid and that maybe we should have stuck with a more commercial school.
But then the parents were asked to line up for circle time and we had to clap our hands and sing songs like kids. I warmed up fast. When we were led down a marigold-strewn path that was decorated along the sides with children's artwork and led into the outdoor amphitheatre, I was feeling like I had bought in. Thankfully, I relaxed and nodded in approval as educators detailed the philosophy of "integrated education", combining the child-centered learning I like about Montessori with the freedom movement of Aurobindo Society schools with the focus on nature as a way to nurture of the hippie movement with quantifiable research on how these are the most important years for a human being's intellect formation. It is hard to practice not saying "DON'T" all the time to a child but I certainly would rather embrace the "DO" and "GET DIRTY" philosophy than what I see in so much of child-rearing.
I should explain why we switched Naya from her old school in the first place. It was a wonderful experience when she was 2. Her teacher Alka was loving and really helped Naya in her adjustment. One of our fondest memories in Delhi is of Naya on stage dressed like a bear, swinging her hips, telling the twins dressed as giraffes how to dance better, and singing her heart out about Jinny and Johnny.
But when she moved up to class for age 3, she started bringing homework asking her to colour a banana yellow. When we went to school for the Independence Day celebration, she didn't seem happy to be on stage at all and a representative from a bank droned on and on about the need to save for our kids' education. The same bank snapped pictures of the babies and asked us for our mobile numbers for delivery - which meant they wanted to make another sales pitch in our living rooms. The last straw came during diversity week when the representative for America was... Ronald McDonald.
It was Delhi at its worst.
I begged and pleaded all the marquis schools to let us in - Step by Step, Magic Years, Learning Tree, Ardee. No seats. Why had I not thought of this earlier?
I did what I do whenever I panic. I researched, reported, asked everyone I knew. Thankfully, a woman who randomly met at a birthday party for a colleague's daughter said she had just been to Navakriti, loved it but because of the distance, she didn't enroll her daughter.
Nitin spent one day at Navkriti, while we both observed another Montessori near our house. I don't think we were really familiar with Aurobindo method at this point but we loved all the space to play (it is about an acre, which is really really rare in Delhi) and the fact that they encourage kids to play in water and get dirty. I also liked that there weren't expat parents there (sorry, I know I am one) and that I saw a little girl with a motorcycle racing t-shirt on and I gathered one of two things a) it was a hand me down from an elder brother or b) she was very firm on what she wants to wear and her mother lets it be. I liked that. (So many of these Delhi playschools have Prada on the kids AND the parents.)
Anyway after three hours of orientation today where I heard from the most articulate teachers I have ever encountered in India about why they do this, what they learn (NOT what they teach) I felt hope about Indian education for the first time since I got here. One of the parents even stood up and asked about efforts to integrate classrooms so poor children and rich children could be educated side by side -- and that the learning methods would extend to the less fortunate. Charity by volition in Delhi!! There also is a lot of art and creativity with natural substances like twigs and stones and dyes and flowers. They teach the alphabet not through drill like A is for apple but more through stories.
We were just about to start looking for another school for Naya but alas she misses the cutoff yet again this year. After today, I think another year here -- if all goes as they preach -- is a blessing.

Of latrines

Just back from Assam. I shouldn't brag but everyone extolled the virtue of Naya's flexibility and easiness. While I think she did get more naughty on this trip, I agree. Case in point - when she enters a latrine bathroom now, she knows to gingerly lift up her skirt. That's my girl.

Homeland Insecurities Indeed

Naya and Nitin are on their way. Naya apparently cried at the airport when she was leaving her grandparents. That sounds familiar. She said, "I want to go to India tomorrow."