Rude Kids

‘Maji Satak Li’, ‘Panga Mat Lena’....these hoardings greet me everywhere in Mumbai these days. They are for a new reality show (is that what these are called?) to find India’s Dramabaaz kids. 

And these hoardings anger me. As if we Indians are not rude enough, we want to now also showcase how obnoxious our kids can be.I have never quite understood how parents don’t control their kids on flights, and look on indulgently as the child talks loudly, messes around, kicks the seat in front all the time. Or when kids run around restaurants, call the stewards again and again with innumerable demands or when kids push and shove for a turn at the swings. Or when parents are amused that the kid talks like an adult with all the expressions and drama! I can’t stand kids who act too big for their boots, and their parents horrify me even more. 

And much as we are mistaking our right to expression in the democracy, I think we are missing the boat on allowing kids the freedom of expression too. The right to express yourself does not mean being rude, being precocious and unmindful of people’s feelings. It does however mean letting people know how you feel, in a manner that is age-appropriate and in a language that is civil . It means being mindful of how others might receive it. And being prepared for the repercussions if someone is offended. 

I don’t think kids can process all that at an early age. They don’t have shades of grey like adults do - for them things are pretty much in  black and white. So when we indulge their rudeness in our love, they don’t understand that the same behavior can appall someone else too - and they may become outcasts or clowns in their peer group. Over time, most children learn to modify their behavior in peer groups or with superiors but it is not a happy situation. And it  does not ever leave them - rude behavior rears its head in crisis situations. 

Rude kids make rude adults. And really parents are responsible for this - not the media, not the extended family and not the peer group. 

I allow my kids to express themselves - often I am told that I am way too indulgent with them and talk about too many things with them. But I would be appalled if they were rude to me or to anyone else. That is not part of my liberalness. 

For me polite behavior is not about saying ‘Sat Sri Akal’ or touching someone’s feet (though that is nice too). But politeness is about not deliberating hurting someone, of having the courage to apologise if something inappropriate has been said or done, and about not showing off what you possess. It is also about keeping quiet in situations that will not benefit from your input. It is being nice to people who are not as privileged as you or whose needs are greater than yours. 

Good manners are not about being fake. They determine the sense of wrong and right in all human beings. They are one’s way of making the world a better place.

So if a kid ever tells me ‘Maja Satak Li’ and the parents coo with delight  -trust me, my brain will also go for a toss, and I will pinch the kid hard when the parents are not looking. 

Cancer Etiquette

Rano’s weekly chemotherapy schedule was to change to a fortnightly one and she was quite relieved about it. 12 weeks of constant in and out of the hospital, and feeling sick all week is quite exhausting and she was looking forward to not feeling so sick. 

And I walked into her house one evening and told her about a friend who could not get out of bed for 10 days post her fortnightly chemo coz it made her so sick. Little did I know the impact it would have on my sister. She was stressed all night and inconsolable. And I got the dressing down of my life from my Mom and bro-in-law. 

I am not alone in putting my foot in my mouth (atleast in this case for sure)!

Cancer brings out the best in most people. Strangers help each other and try to make life easier for the cancer patient. They step out of line to let a cancer patient go ahead, they will pay money if the person runs short while buying medicines and will commiserate.

And one way of commiserating is to tell stories of other cancer patients. Sharing their stories becomes one way of trying to reduce a cancer patient’s fear. So when someone narrates the story of how an aunt had cancer, and only lost a breast,  or that a relative developed a lesion in another part of the body, or that a neighbour died because the cancer came suddenly , it is meant to allay the patient’s fear. It is a way of making the patient understand that they are blessed and that others have had it worse.

But it comes out all wrong. The moment a person realises they have cancer, it creates an unimaginable fear. The dreaded C is something to be combatted and the treatment is almost as bad as the disease. Ask cancer patients, and they will tell you that they have nightmares about their mortality. They worry about themselves, about their kids and their loved ones. And then to hear stories - and most of these end badly- trips them big time. 

So what do we do? Clearly we care...and want to show the patient that we are there for them. So here is what works (atleast in my experience).

• Telling someone ‘you have the good cancer’ is not funny. Cancer is cancer...and scary in any form for the patient. 
• If you don’t have the courage to visit them or are not in the same city, it is fine. But let them know you are there. Rano’s friends would call her, sms to her and put stuff on her FB or BB to let her know that they were there for her and were thinking of her.’Not knowing what to say’ is not an excuse. 
• If the patient is looking really sick, there is no need to tell her she looks fabulous. Tell her that you can see she is feeling awful and ask if can you do something for her? Maybe cook up a favorite dish or read something funny or watch a stupid movie together so the beast is forgotten for sometime. 
• Give the patient an opportunity (if he wants) to talk about how he is feeling. So when you ask ‘How are you feeling?’, be prepared for the patient to detail to you exactly that. They need to vent, they also need validation and support. 
• Most of the patients feel more depressed when they lose their hair - be gentle, not patronising. They look different, not bad or weird. And tell the patient that. And don’t wear the ‘pity’ eyes. They are fighters and survivors and need no pity. 
• Don’t get offended if the patient takes off on you or says something nasty. Their bodies are full of chemicals that play havoc with their emotions. They go through too much turmoil and therefore get angry and hysterical. They may not respond to your messages or take your calls. They need energy to get well - it is not their time to make you feel special. 
• Above all, don’t give gyaan. They don’t need it. They don’t need to be told what diets are good, what treatments work, why they are feeling sick and so on. Remember, they are processing all that information from their doctors - so refrain from imparting your knowledge. 

A smile that tells them that you care about them, a deep felt hug and your genuineness are all they want. 

My Maruti and I

I don’t have a thing for cars. I couldn’t care less if I sat in a Skoda, Mercedes, Lamborghini or Rolls. The other day, my kids were discussing cars  they want Praneet to buy, and one of them said ,‘the car I hate the most is the Maruti 800.’

And I thought to myself - Little do they know! What the original Maruti 800 meant to a whole generation of middle-class Indians.

When we were growing up, Dads had scooters, and as they moved up the corporate ladder, a company or self owned car. The world then was divided between people who drove Fiats and those who drove Ambassadors. And both of them considered themselves superior. We were Aamby drivers and scornful of  the Fiat owners. They looked cooped up inside those matchbox cars and the steering wheel seemed to move a lot more than it steered the car! The Fiat was slower than the slowest cycle on the road and god forbid if you got stuck behind one. For us, it was always the fuddy-duddies who drove the Fiat. The Aamby was the King of the Road - strong and solid with loads of leg space. Ofcourse, many a morning (esp in the winters)  the street would be full of cars that owners were trying to start up desperately. And it was common, and fun , to push cars to help them start.

And then came the Maruti. I remember the pride on my Dad’s face that we were the first few hundreds to receive our Maruti in Oct’83.People would stare at the red car with envy and admiration as it hit the road. 

Our red Maruti was a dream! It was fitted with an original engine and had all imported parts . The car was so silent that Dad would check it at the traffic light to ensure the engine was still running. It had great mileage compared to both the Aamby and the Fiat and it came in funky colours too. My parents had lived abroad so we were used to various cars, but all of us loved our little red Maruti. 

Marutis changed the way young Indians drove their cars. It spawned a whole generation of cool dudes. It was the done thing to roll down all the windows, put blaring music and cruise through the GK 1 market, and pretend you did not know people were watching you. At night, loads of Maruti cars at the ice-cream carts at India Gate had the hatchback open with people sitting in the boot, feeling important! 

I used to be delighted when I was given permission to drive the car to college. It was thrilling to overtake every car on the road and zip up and down the flyovers in Delhi. The whole day we would drive around CP and other favourite haunts.And like all good ‘Indian’ things, we ‘please adjusted’ in the tiny Maruti car too. My bunch of pals used to fit into the car, without a complaint, and tumble out when we reached our destination. 

When I think back on my college days, it was the Maruti car that gave me a sense of safety. I was super confident that the car would never stall. That its tiny-ness and pick-up would help me escape any unsavory event. The Maruti car liberated me - it enabled me to travel anywhere , at anytime of the day. My cousins and I would sneak away regularly to grab a quick bite at those dirty chinese vans, do a recce of the current crushes’ houses and pick up stuff we did not want parents to know!

Ofcourse, we all moved on to other cars - bigger, better, more expensive ones! But today if I could hunt out the Maruti we owned, I would buy it back and preserve it forever!! 

That was the only car I truly loved!!