Lessons from a Pandemic: Quit Pressuring People into becoming Parents

Why pressure people into contributing to the population problem? 

Whenever possible, I try to watch a movie on Saturday night. Nowadays, a lot of time is spent in indecision as I wade through the countless choices, wishing I would just hurry up and make up my mind. Should I watch one of those award winning movies? This one is tricky. Highly feted movies like Parasite, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, Marriage Story, to name a few, are well worth the laurels heaped on them. But there is also the risk of watching criminally overrated garbage like The Shape of Water which has exquisite visuals and little else or something like the Irishman, adored by critics who are determined to like anything at all Scorcese makes but which turned out to be an extremely tedious saga about ageing bulls which put me right to sleep.  Horror is usually a safe choice but there are hardly any standouts in the genre. The latest releases throw up some interesting options and I enjoyed War and Ala Vaikunthapurramuloo recently, which is why I settled on Dharala 

Prabhu, the tamil remake of Vicky Donor as last night’s viewing choice with less than my usual indecisiveness.

Is Harish Kalyan TN's answer to Ayushman Khurrana and Vijay Deverakonda?

It is a lovely movie made by Krishna Marimuthu with dignity and a fine sensibility. Films on sensitive topics such as sperm donation rely on clumsy humour which is extremely cringe – inducing. But this film was refreshingly different. Aided by great performances from the promising Harish Kalyan, evergreen Sachu and Vivekh as well as the delightful Meera Janaki Krishnamurthy, the film goes about the business of telling a story with minimal fuss and fanfare while being hugely effective. It does weave in messages about how there is still so much stigma attached to non – traditional methods of childbearing, adoption and even squeezes in a same – sex couple, but without being preachy or self – righteous. All of this works beautifully.

But since, I was born a contrarian, I felt that a few more issues need to be addressed when it comes to these things. Dharala Prabhu is very sympathetic towards people who are desperate to have children and are hounded by practically everyone in their lives and of course, society at large for imagined failures in this department. Many childless couples are pressured into spending truckloads of money to somehow pop out the little ones via sperm donation, in – vitro fertilization, surrogacy etc. Of course, I sympathize too but isn’t it high time we eased up on the pressure, quit idealizing parenthood and pretending that babies magically fill our lives with love, happiness, fulfilment and meaning while erasing all cause for complaint, sadness or despair?

Let us be honest. Parenting is one of the most high – pressure jobs out there. Raising children takes its toll physically, mentally, emotionally and financially. As for babies themselves, it is true that some days are magical and your children light up your life. But in the interest of full disclosure, let me tell you that there are also many more days when your precious boos or moos are perfectly capable of being jerks not above throwing tantrums, engaging in emotional manipulation, being extremely demanding of your time, attention and rights to the remote, and fully capable of provoking you into tearing out entire chunks of your hair and running out into the streets towards the nearest Covid – 19 positive patient.  

Not everyone is cut out for this and if folks decide they are not suited to be parents and would rather do other things that don’t involve poop filled diapers, we should stop judging them and making them feel bad for their eco-friendly choice. And no, please don’t tell them ‘If your parents had been this selfish, self – indulgent and unwilling to wipe your nose and bum, you wouldn’t be here.’ As for those, who want to have kids but cannot for various reasons, it is imperative that we leave them alone and stop piling on the hurt even if it is inadvertent or well intentioned. The last thing such couples want is ‘friendly advise’ about the ideal temples to visit in order to be blessed with a bundle of joy, rituals to perform that are guaranteed to ‘cure’ childlessness, fertility doctors and treatments, ancient remedies and what have you. And do me a personal favour, STOP asking newlyweds if they have ‘sweet news’. A little sensitivity goes a long way folks.

Finally, as the second most populous nation in the world, Indians are all too familiar with the perils of population explosion. In fact, if the pandemic has taught us anything it is that social distancing is next to impossible in a country as thickly populated as ours with its history of unfair and unequal resource management. It is high time we re-examined our overzealous commitment towards faithfully contributing to the national as well as international population problem.

The silver lining in a cloudless summer sky

Look closely, squint a bit, summon your inner optimist, perhaps you just might spot the silver lining in a cloudless summer sky...

Summer is here. And it sucks worse than usual. Especially for us, Indians, who are placed uncomfortably close to the equator. I live in one of the hottest, driest places in the world. And believe me, when I say that after spending a single summer in Sivakasi, all the fire, brimstone, boiling vats of oil, rivers of lava, and the rest of the horrors of hell featuring extreme heat described in weighty religious tomes, fiery prophets and the poetry of Dante, will seem like a vacation in the snow clad Swiss Alps. I exaggerate not.

The heat is something else. You can cook eggs on any available service or even a fevered brow. Watermelon and tender coconut are sold at exorbitant rates and it is way too hot to bargain. All my plans to allow the excess fat to melt away in the heat, come to naught because I can’t walk past an ice cream shop without resisting the lure of a white chocolate and raspberry bar or a double scoop of the sinful palghova ice cream available at Puppy’s Bakery. Hence, though my mother refuses to buy it, the excessive heat of Sivadump is to blame for my weight issues (How is a girl supposed to survive the summer without ice cream and IPl damn it!). But there is worse…

Even those who are not as green – thumb challenged as I am, have trouble growing anything other than cacti, given the scarcity of water. ‘We need rain…’ we keep saying to each other unnecessarily, hoping Mother Nature or whoever is in charge of the weather will pay heed. Some brave the heat and crowds to visit temples and pray fervently for a few life-giving showers. I daresay, desperation drives a few to perform the rain dance which though it sounds improbable totally worked for Ted Mosby on How I Met Your Mother (If you haven’t watched the show, please do and then call me so we can crib together about the series finale which ruined the entire series.) But the brief showers are few and far away and invariably gives the impression of a medium – sized giant with a Urinary Tract Infection, pausing briefly above my town to take a reluctant piss only to change his mind and stop mid-stream.

This summer, I have been daydreaming uselessly about somehow meeting Tansen, (one of the nine gems in Akbar’s court who sang so beautifully and with so much command over the ragas, legend has it, he could actually light the oil lamps when he sang the Deepak raga) and begging him to teach me the Megh Malhar raga, so that I can summon clouds and rain at will. Wouldn’t that be swell? And why stop with rain… Perhaps I could learn to sing the blues away and heal the worst of injuries be they of the mind and spirit. It would be lovely to conjure up comfort with the power of your voice or soothe the hatred, pain and anger, simmering deep within the soul. Of course, I confess, it would also be cool if I could turn a few things to ash as well using that Deepak raga, like unwelcome intruders who have brought the entire world to its knees and then busted the kneecaps.

For all the non - existent people out there wondering about the extent to which I have succeeded in achieving my impossible daydream, allow me to inform you that Tansen saab hasn’t been very obliging so far, which hasn’t stopped me from belting out a few tunes with my painfully inadequate voice over the protests of husband dearest every once in a while. So there is hope. Or not.

Meanwhile, it is as hot as it always has been in these parts with every promise of becoming hotter still. With no sign of rain. But the silver lining in the cloudless summer sky is that it seems impossible that anything could thrive in this scorching weather. Not even a stubborn virus, or Coronasura as some refer to him (It is a him, of that I am certain!) So, perhaps there is hope after all.