I always had this misconception about calling Inaaya as my child. My child- knowingly unknowingly a sense of pride builds up the moment I term her as mine. She never was, she never will be. Yes I gave her birth but she’s not mine. Not that she is a girl if she would have been a boy I would still not say him as mine, because he is not.
From him we came and to him we shall all return.
You cannot claim a soul as yours it will never be. Yes, you do share a relationship with that baby but you don’t own it. What you are responsible is their well being, mannerisms, etiquette, speech, dressing, food habits. And other things that are required for them to be civil and social.
I often get angry when my daughter doesn’t listen to me. But now at times I give her a free hand so that she becomes conscious of what she’s doing. I keep telling her that there are two angels on either of her shoulder so always think before you say bad or do bad to anybody. She’s conscious at times and at some occasions she all a big fat liar. But I love her for the times she came to me and talk about how she didn’t push the other guy in school and how she didn’t say anything bad to Batool when Batool said that she is a monkey.
I never ask her how was her day at school. I never ask her what did she do. I leave it to her. I don’t want to get nosy. I leave it to her and by the end of the day she tell me what she did to get a star on her hand and how the colouring book got spoilt.
Things she loves doing these days are talking, singing punjabi songs, dancing on the drumbeats of local marriages. And I always accompany her in doing all these. In fact I danced way too much the other day. She stopped me and said, ‘Mama you are so funny!’ I like it when she use good adjectives for me.
My way of parenting cannot be categorised because I have imbibed things and tricks from everyone around me. I have learnt a lot from my sister-in-law, she has a son who is 2 years elder to my daughter. She never used ointments on him whenever he was hurt or in pain. A simple age old oil massaging was enough. I picked it and I never used ointments on Inaaya till now. My mother is a helicopter parent, she is precise and very particular too. I have taken a part of it to inculcate mannerisms in my daughter.
I am a ferociously protective parent which many of you mostly take in a wrong perspective as being a controlling parent. I may seem like I’m controlling but I truly am not. I always leave it on her to decide and do things. I am protective towards her way too much. I abhor strangers staring at her be it for her hair-clip. I cannot let the other guy bully her- I have always asked her to hit back and I have never asked her to hit first. I taught her to respect elders and to not answer to strangers be it an elder.
These are all my grounds, my ways there must be flaws in this. But it’s me and my daughter. I am loving her the way she’s growing and becoming. And this journey we are commuting together.
I love it when somebody says she’s like you. And I also love it when somebody says she’s not like me. I want her to have my chromosomes and mutate them further. I cannot see myself again. I don’t want her to be my shadow. I want her to be her own light, her own shadow, her own self. I gave her birth she’s Inaaya – gift of god.