Pandemic Parenting

 Pandemic Parenting. When each word in itself is alarming, one can only imagine how dangerous the combined effect could be.

People knew 2020 is going to be a special year, even back in 2000s. Most policymakers were enthralled by the number and its distance from 2000. Almost every country I know of came up with a Vision 2020. They spoke of Mars missions and robot maids. Now that 2020 is finally here, we have now learnt to wash our hands properly, forget flying cars.

Whilst all of us have been cooped up at home, living through a limbo; those trapped with their children are the real victims. As the neurotic mother who traced the journey of this virus right from Wuhan to where it is today, I kept my daughter under house arrest long before the actual lockdown began; only to realize as to who was really under arrest.

The first few days were lovely and long like the first days of holidays. We slept in, woke up together, played games in bed and generally just lounged around. Then came the cooking phase when we ate exotic brunches and dinners interspersed with cholesterol spiking snacks. Two months in, mornings began at 9.00 am when “Ammaa, TV!” became my daughter’s way of wishing me a good morning. Nay sayers were treated with a bout of crying or ‘angapradakshan’ and on those days when one wakes up on the wrong side of the bed – a combination of both. For the Uninitiated, ‘angapradakshan’ is an extreme Indian bribe that a devotee offers if the deity grants his wish. Roll about on the floor, after the deed is done. Over here, my daughter does it in advance. And truth be told, it does work.   

After a healthy breakfast of toast with cookie spread, she would sprawl on the sofa to watch Peppa Pig, Ben and Holly, Finnie the shark, Paw Patrol, Hatchimals, Super Simple Songs,… let me take a breath; PJ Mask and when all else bores, Alex and Gaby. Alex and Gaby is a brother-sister duo in the UK that speak terrible English and play with sponsored toys, Swarovski crystals, Mercedes Benz play models. Ira is a sport. Although she dislikes playing with any toys, she does love to see these kids play with theirs’.

All in all, she spends about 6 hours glued on to screens of various kinds and the rest of the time is dedicated to demanding my attention or eating junk. Those days when I have some patience and inspiration, I can get her to practice alphabets and numbers. Upon trying ignite her creativity, I presented her with various paints and brushes. She ended up exceeding my expectation by mixing colors and decorating our dining chairs with a disgusting brownish-yellow color. After that, we quite lost our appetites and stopped using the dining table until we bought new chairs.

Outside, the number of Covid cases increased sharply and fell again. Inside, my patience mimicked the graph, it rose in the beginning and fell steeply. Ask the dented pots and broken pans, the know the story. The daughter of mine started to lose interest in screens and began to attach herself to my back. A trip to the toilet started to feel like a luxury. Her pre-school teachers kept our letterbox full of activity sheets and coloring pages. So now, we were also importing paper waste. Ira wouldn’t look twice at them and when forced she took a single black crayon and scratched the faces of Minnie and Mickey, declaring them burnt.

The next activity I chose was gardening. It was Ira’s task to sow seeds and tend to them. This meant that I would get asked every 20 minutes if they have grown and that ‘waiting is booooooring.’ She did learn about plant life but decided that she is a ‘clever clogs’ and knows everything already. Next was the playdough experiment. No big surprises. All clays mixed and flushed down the toilet.

The home office added to the misery. With continuous client calls, team meetings, business calls, escalation meetings and video conferences, one needs to keep Ira away from the room, keep her from yelling or making noise, talk in hushed tones and not switch on the blender. Despite my best efforts, she  managed to slip into some of her father’s meetings to give her precious opinion and ask pertinent questions like “who is that grown up boy? Can you blow bubbles? Why are you saying ‘shh’?”

Calls made to family and friends to keep tabs on their welfare became indirect pleas of ‘save me!’ But what could anyone do if everyone is stuck indoors doing the same things as me? Yet there were a few who continued to call despite the risk of boring conversations and my crankiness. Like someone said, friends are those who know that you are talking crap, tell you so and continue to listen to your  crap.

It has been five long months doing the above in permutations and combination. The only change I see is in myself. Five more kilograms and a double chin later I started to fill the entire mirror with my image. Ira though was just as scrawny as ever despite being a couch potato. Soon people started wondering if I was feeding only myself. Tired of them and the person in the mirror, I started venturing outside.

It was a whole new world. I felt like a long-time prisoner who had been released. The air smelled purer and the fragrance of flowers wafted all around. Each trip to the opposite shop felt like salvation. Every visit to the park was an excursion. That is, until Ira started to get bored of it. And then it was always a customary visit before moving on to other parks. So, I went prepared with a bag full of snacks, water and of course, a truck load of hand sanitizer. We took long walks in pursuit of other parks, discovered new lanes and hidden beauty spots all around the neighborhood.

With half the year gone already and other kids hanging on to online learning sessions, it is the four-year-olds that are caught doing nothing (unless eating their parents’ heads counts.) It is a difficult predicament for everyone. Schedules have gone haywire, both theirs’ and ours’. After a long day of irritating each other, when she finally goes to sleep, I smile in contentment, glad that there is no morning rush, glad for this unprecedented break before she begins the long journey of schooling. Despite all my fears and paranoia, this little dent in time will only remind me of those long walks, laugh-till-cry moments, star struck eyes, pigging away and the sheer relief that we don’t need to be bound by time as yet.
Children grow up too fast, but this period feels like a momentary pause.

And meanwhile, go, Corona, go!