Tag Archives: brothers

Raksha Bandan this Year

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Last year we celebrated the bond between brothers and sisters in our first Raksha Bandan. Leila tied a rakhee (usually an ornate string that symbolizes a bond of protection), around Rahul’s right wrist. Leila had to have one as well – that bit is what made it Raksha Bandan – Our Version. They hugged and fed each other something sweet.

We had a repeat of our version this year at our Koh Samui hotel room. My mum was with us on the day, the full moon of August 2nd, so it was all the more special even in the simplicity of our unmade beds, daily wear, and impromptu rakhees – I cut out the bookmark-ribbons from two of L and R’s story books and used them as rakhees. (Don’t tell my little brother;))

Here’s Raksha Bandan – Bond of Protection, the post I wrote last year about this celebration during my childhood.

Father Who? Oh! You Mean Papa Noel.

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I used to get two presents from my parents on the 25th of December, one for Christmas, and one for my birthday. I don’t remember if I was bothered that my brothers, in fact, that MANY people get presents on MY birthday.

I don’t remember if I ever thought that Santa Claus was real. I don’t remember any transition from believing that he exists, to knowing the truth; if there was one.

I enjoyed the Christmas stories that we read at school, and the American movies that were shown on the local TV (Zambia National Broadcasting Corporation).

I even used to cut one small branch of one of the three pine trees (go figure!) in our garden and decorate it with christmassy balls and shiny streamers.

However, I could neither empathise with reindeer in the snow (December is rainy and HOT in Lusaka), nor with Father Christmas sliding down chimneys to fill over-sized socks hanging at fireplaces. Chimneys? Fireplaces? And the milk and cookies; if they were called biscuits I might have held the stories closer to my heart.

When we were older, we attended Christmas parties hosted by the local Rotary Club that my dad was involved with, where a black African man dressed up in coca-cola red, with a long and curly, white hair wig and beard, posing as the main man.

It was fun to hang out with the other kids, as well as with the gregarious Santa, Ho ho hoeing, amidst Christmas trees, shiny decorations, who handed out presents (that our parents had bought for us). We usually donated our own old toys to the club so that some children in need at hospitals, orphanages, or on the streets, could also feel some of the Christmas spirit.

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Rahul has been saying, “Rhino. Papa Noel,” a few times lately. It’s sweet that he likes rhinos. If he hadn’t let me in on how he planned to get one though, I’d have told him he’ll see real rhino’s when he goes to Zambia, sometime next year.

In an English – speaking setting, Leila hesitated for a few minutes before she burst out, “Leila. Papa No-lel. Blue dinosaur.” That’s when I realised that Leila and Rahul had no idea who Father Christmas, or Santa Claus was. The concept didn’t exist because I’d never brought it up.

Maher overheard what Leila asked for and replied: “Est-ce que c’est Papa Noel, ou c’est papa Maher qui va t’acheter un dinosaur bleu?”

I want L and R to enjoy stories about Santa, like most of the kids around them; and I hope they feel the magic of it all. But I won’t go so far as to tell them that he’s sliding down 30 storey buildings, into the living room windows at night, to deliver gifts to them; and only if they are good children. And that he decided that they have to share one big present. Or do they get one each, something smaller maybe? Exactly the same toy, or two different ones?

Does he like chappatis and kheer?

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Any personal Santa stories, books, or movies to share?

Here are a few Santa Posts:

Santa Claus: The Magic of Christmas Or A Big, Fat, Bearded Lie by Jo Eberhardt of The Happy Logophile

Yes, I Torture Them. Gleefully! by Desi of The Valentine 4: Living Each Day

Santa Claus: Kind of an Asshole by Mommy Rotten, Guest Post at Momma Be Thy Name

Naturally Wild and Curly

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I’ve been asked many silly questions about me and my children: How can they be twins if they are not dressed the same? Did you do the IVF so you could have two in one go? Are they identical? (One’s a boy and one’s a girl). And so on.

This one, about their appearance, “Do you curl their hair?” is on my mind today. Believe it or not, I’ve been asked it a number of times.

L and R hardly let me wash their hair; they cry red-eyed, scream, and even suffer through the process. I do it anyway. To comb their hair is another drama; I run after them stroking through one part, and when they are distracted, I get through a few more strands. After a few days of partial combing, R had tough tangles in his hair today. Almost dreadlocks.

There is no way L and R would sit around while I put curls in their hair. Not much chance I’d spend my time doing that to 2, almost 2-year-olds anyway.

If children learn a thing or two from watching what their parents do, I’m no example of neat, done-up hair. My parents still give me an “Are you planning to leave the house looking like that? You hair needs a comb run through it” look. I see my family once, maybe twice a year. It takes only a day or two after the reunion for these thoughts from back in the day to re-surface. But to no avail.

When we met in Calgary a couple of months ago, my brothers spent one whole hour convincing me that I needed to see a hairdresser. My latest (defensive, nerdy) response: “I’d rather blog when I have a spare moment. Can’t you leave me, and my hair alone?”

There might be some truth to their worries; I pay little attention to my hair. I’ve been to a hairdresser 4 times in the last 3 years. But hey, I was in bed-rest for much of my pregnancy, did the NICU time, and now I take care of the two babies, OK, toddlers. So HAH! That’s my excuse. The secret: the ratio would be about the same had it been any other period of my life.

Legend goes, Maher had big, curly hair, wore large knitted red, black, and yellow striped tops, while listening to reggae and sipping on his late-morning coffee. This was just before you met him, I am told repeatedly. The bit about his hair, I mean.

So, NO, I don’t curl their hair. We are happy with (my out of control and M’s lack of) their naturally wild and curly hair. I do appreciate the admiration for it though.

Raksha bandan – bond of protection

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When I lived in Zambia my family celebrated Raksha Bandan, a North Indian festival that honours the love between sisters’ and brothers’. It falls on a full moon in August every year.

My parents, aunts and uncles took a day off work, we a day off school. We dressed in traditional Indian clothes and jewelery, and gathered at one of the family homes.

My mum, aunts and I picked out beautiful rakhi’s weeks in advance. There is a range of choice, from simple threads to more extravagant ones with mirrors and gold fringes. A few years ago there was one that even played a popular Bollywood song. This year the fashionable rakhi’s have green, red, and shiny diamond-like stones on them. I usually chose the simplest threads and tied one around each of my brother’s and “cousin-brother’s” wrists. This gesture was to symbolise my love for them. In return my brothers’ had the duty of protecting me. From what I wasn’t always sure!

After I tied the rakhi, we hugged each other. I always whispered an awkward, “What are we doing guys? Do we need this string to symbolise our feelings?” I was the pain-in-the-ass, no fun girl who wasn’t into rituals, or Bollywood kitsch for that matter because it was over-done and the dances were corrupted versions of classical dances. So after the hugging, we fed each other sweets that my mum and aunts had prepared over the last week or two. My brothers’ then proudly offered me envelopes packed with notes.

Then it was my mum and aunts’ turn. They would tie rakhi’s around their “cousin-brother’s” wrist. He was the only one in Lusaka. They sent the others to India by mail, without fail.

My dad received his two rakhi’s in the mail, usually in good time. Since his sisters lived elsewhere it was my job to tie them. I got two envelopes from him as well.

Once it was all done, we’d have a big meal together, and spend the rest of the day together.

When I left Z at 16, I forgot all about it. One July, my mum called to remind me about it. She asked if I’d sent all the boys a rakhi.  I replied that I hadn’t so she quickly bought some on my behalf.

On the day, she called to say that my little brother refused to wear it since it was my mum’s choice, and not my initiative. I was taken-aback. I had no idea that this really meant anything to him, or to any of them.

I immediately apologised and ever since, I’ve made a special effort. I don’t always send them a rakhi in the mail, but I call or at least email.

This year, my mum only “reminded” me about it yesterday. There is no way I can get them rakhi’s in time. Phone calls will be in order, and a promise of more planning and organising for the years to come.

In my mum’s typically thoughtful and unimposing manner, she says “I’ve sent you a rakhi that L can tie around R’s wrist, if you guys want to do that of course.” I can’t wait to see the mini-rakhi!

My brothers, (cousins and brothers-in-law), are dearer to me than I can express. I do in fact feel safe, supported and strong when they are around. So why not have a special day that celebrates the bond between sisters and brothers?

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Links I came across:

How to make a rakhi
Buy a rakhi on-line!

Yoga House Ahmedabad

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Dec 2010, Ahmedabad

In July 2009 I was put on bed rest due to complications in my pregnancy. I have taught one class since. It was in my grandfather’s house in India. My habit of teaching in living rooms continues. Maher, my two brothers, two cousins, and an uncle took the “Intro to Ashtanga” class that morning.

With 16 of us under one roof, it was no easy task to organise anything. Thanks to Maher and Nanu for making the class happen, Saloni for the lovely photos, and the willing students for trying it out.

One-and-a-half

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R and L are now officially a year and a half. Their love for music and dance is growing with them. R has a very cute new dance move. He shakes his head and shoulders very fast and then swings his arms around freely. Leila does cha-cha-cha type steps around the house. She also goes down down down and then up up up.

When the moment and music inspires them, they hold hands and look into each others eyes. Their smiles are contagious. They make each other laugh. The couples dance turns into a bear hug. Then there is hair-pulling, screaming, and crying. An adult intervenes. We pull them apart and ask them to be gentle. Sometimes there is a make-up stroke through the others hair, or a peck on the cheek. Other times there is no reaction. This is sort of how our days go – the activity might be different, the fun, laughter, drama, and crying always there.

So what has changed for US?

-We haven’t read anything longer than a few pages on a computer screen in a while.

- We only watch animated movies.

-I hum nursery rhymes all day long, even after R and L are asleep.

-Maher plays children’s tunes on his classical flute. He did take it out of its case after many years though.

-We eat overcooked, car and plane shaped pasta. The big secret we are keeping from the Lebanese family and friends is dinner is at six-thirty pm now.

-My brothers and guy cousins are jealous of my big shoulders and biceps. When I was pregnant a friend with twin sisters told me his mum developed strong arms. I looked at him strangely. Now I understand.

-Maher’s practice takes even longer than it used to. The little yogis don’t miss their chance to practice with and even force feed him.

Now that L and R are eighteen months old they will sleep soundly through the night, eat heartily, drink out of cups, and play calmly with each other. No, but one Mum of Twins (MoT) blogged how things lightened up for her at one-and-a-half. So hey, some positive thinking and hoping can’t hurt!

Me…start a blog?

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Over the last two years my world has revolved around only a few things, mainly taking care of Leila and Rahul. So to start a blog now seems a bit strange. What could I possibly have to say? It might seem outrageous, but I don’t know which regimes are being toppled over, I haven’t seen photos of the effects of the recent earthquake in Japan, I don’t know what yoga workshops are on in the region, don’t  know if Federer is still kicking ass, or who presented at the Bookworm literary festival, or anything for that matter. That’s why when I told Maher I was starting this blog his reaction was to ask what I wanted to say?!

Only five years ago I had no idea what a blog was until a couple of  friends in Chengdu complained that they couldn’t access blogspot. A number of blogging sites can not be accessed here in China. When I was in Hong Kong for the birth, bed rest and fast wireless meant lots of time on the internet, so the interest started. But it was only when L and R were five months old and we returned to Chengdu that I started to get into it. It was also the time that my mum returned to Zambia. I came upon some blogs that mums of twins (MoT) wrote about their lives.  For the first time in a long time I felt like I could relate to some people. They wrote how exhausted they were, how they only bathed their babies a couple of times a week, rarely dressed them in anything other than pyjamas….I didn’t feel bad anymore that L and R didn’t go out everyday. They weren’t the only ones. To have them both ready to go out meant nappies changed, both well fed, not too tired, and a big diaper bag full of provisions, some exhaustion as well! I remember a father blogging about how his two-year old twin girls were finally sleeping through the night, most of the time anyways. So my two waking up a few times each every night meant I was still in the norm. We were not likely to get much sleep for a while though.  One mum wrote about her birth story, which was very similar to mine. It included flights, hospital stays for both mum and babies, lots of pumping, stress, fear, relief. Then there was one couple that blogged about their micro premature twins birth, Neonatal ICU stay including all the medical details, the obsession with weight gain, the monitors, breathing, digestion, good days, bad days, etc. They were born much earlier than L and R,  and both made it! It wasn’t the most fun blog I read, but I could relate to a lot of it and realised that I had to deal with this part of R and L’s life one day…soon. There were many funny posts as well like this  one MoT who wrote something called One baby envy! Others complaining about the silly questions they got when they took their twins out.  If I get started on the questions and comments I get in Chengdu I won’t stop. I’ll save that for another day. Other mums of multiples (MoM) were bitching about how J Lo could look perfect so soon after she had her twins. They were on the cover of PEOPLE magazine sometime in 2008.

I related to these parents and it helped with the isolation I sometimes felt being in China without my family and with no experience with babies whatsoever. Neither of my brothers or brothers in law have children. Friends? One has a son in Zambia who I have not yet met. Holding another friend’s tiny baby in Lebanon a couple of times was the extent of my experience. I had a few parenting books. But they only briefly covered twins if at all. But we were together, The four of us. That was our main source of strength. I had help from people in Chengdu of course. L and R ‘s ayis are superwomen who take care of everything for us. A friend as close as I imagine a sister can be was strong and present when I needed her most, now nursing her own baby. Another lent me lifesaving books at every stage along the way  And many others…. So I can’t really complain!

In addition to relating to other mums and dads, I found a lot of useful information and many tips on these blogs: storage of large quantities of diapers, wet wipes, food etc is a must. There was a list with the best double stroller options. There were short videos of calm mums simultaneously feeding their babies. I never figured out the tandem burping. R and L were not often on the same schedule anyway.

So even though I live in this tiny world of eating, playing, bathing, now crazy exploring and still sleepless nights, I feel like I am above water, some of time at least. My blog is an attempt at sharing some stories. Maybe a new mum or MoT will come across it and feel she can relate, find some useful information, or just have a laugh. I would be glad to contribute to that somehow.  These are stories for R and L to read one day if they want to. And if nothing else friends and family can keep up with our lives in China or wherever.

The other day I read a blog about the therapeutic effects of blogging. That did it for me, a few minutes later I signed up! Not really, but it made me realise that every time I put down my thoughts they rarely came out negative or depressive, but rather I managed to find the “funny” in things…now that I am not sinking all the time of course! It reminded me of a phrase from a song my dad often used to say to his not so smiley teenage daughter: “When you smile the whole world smiles with you….When you cry, you cry alone.”