the child for me

He was playing inside the car. His grandma and ayah were having a tough time keeping him within. And as soon as he saw his mother coming towards the car, where she had left them to do a quick errand (everything has to be done quickly in her life these days, he rules it, you see) his face transformed. Oh, he continued to look every inch of the brat that he is, but a special smile erupted on his face and reflected the softness that came to his mother’s expression. She- his mother, my friend- doesn’t have that kind look otherwise these days- its usually too troubled, too cynical, too burdened, too defeated. Anyway, that little exchange I caught between the two brought up the question again- do I want a child of my own?- a question that is getting posed way too frequently not just by others who point to the biological clock ticking away but one I find asking myself way too often for my happiness.

Do I want a child then? I really don’t know. It’s an awful world to bring up one. And I would share the hypocrisy of the progressives- critical of and yet choosing the mainstream. Kids judging themselves according to what they have, what brands and how much. Parents pushing them to become super kids. Schools streamrolling children into marks producing machines. I fear ever having to tell my child- be practical. But more than that, doubts over my own ability to bring up a kid. What if I get bored. What if I don’t love my kid. What if I resent the disruption in my life. And as I keep saying, no more film festivals for a long long time. The irreversibility of parenthood is nothing less than horror. And then I don’t know if I want to go through the pregnancy. I would like to adopt, but would I discriminate. Perhaps I fear a child also because I suspect a tendency on my part to want to completely own another person. People I know say that is no cause for worry because this and all other decisions will be worked out with a partner.

That’s more scary if you ask me. I wonder if there really something by way of an equal parenthood. I don’t see much of it anyway. All I see is irony – the mother who is simultaneously both overworked and guilty and the father who ends up being loved more precisely because he has less time to give. And then I see competitive parenthood all around, most partners don’t share the child or the experience with each other, they try to prove to each other and everyone else how they are the better parent, and especially how they are the child’s preferred parent.

So, please no partner for child rearing. For romance, yes. In my imagination, its always been me and my child. This ultimate example of romantic partnership is for me the last bastion of singlehood, and I hold on it fervently.

state of life

For those who wondered at the bizarreness of the last post, a tiny defence- it was written in a state of near delirium. As I was struggling to stay put in office, my pounding head was creating in-the-body sensations I was trying to escape by typing away. And though the fever went off in a week, it has taken me a while recovering the confidence to write and for my life to provide me with something to write about. Much was written in-the-head and disintegrated right there. A post about me conquering the swimming pool collapsed (and along with it the dreams of conquering rivers and seas), my stint in the pool abruptly ended just as I showed sings of more than just floating. But hope floats and maybe next season, I may survive longer. And while the rest of the world went on about the feeling of being there and having done it all and having nothing to look forward to, here I was with all the to-do lists and no where near crossing any thing off yet. But now, I have seen Chak De (and relieved to have actually seen it finally for I was getting left out of social conversation a little too often and was under threat of losing my reputation as a film buff), read the final harry potter (on my computer, the first and hopefully the last time I ever read a novel like that), splurged money on the clothes I don’t really need. Even my car revs up so delightfully these days, having got a face rather engine lift to tide over its mid-life crisis. Through all this I have acquired intimate insight of what it feels like to be a third world country caught in a debt trap. Confusions have re-risen about career moves and whether what I am doing is what I want and whether I want this for the rest of my life and do I even know what I want. With spondilysis making an entry in my life and my landlady landing up soon to harangue me on the lack of cleanliness in my house (I don’t clean door hinges, mirrors, buckets, taps, floor mat and the soap dish everyday u see) I should be all set for as many battles as I could wish for- against imperialism, capitalism, the culture of elitism, competitiveness, consumerism, unhealthy lifestyles et al. The thing is, I am too tired to fight. I may get just bored half-way. I do wish I was a warrior sometimes.