Star bright, star mite

I was in Kerala few weeks ago, in Cochin, where my daughter and I went out to lunch one day. She’s 30 months old, rather pretty (I say this as statement of fact and not with any conceit) extremely expressive and animated. An hour into our time at the restaurant, another guest who had been watching us for sometime walked over and said he was a ‘director’ and is currently working on ad films; would I be interested in having my daughter be a part of an ad he was making? I am not sure he was just doing it for entertainment – because I did see him go up to other guests and talk as well – but I said no.

He said, “Oh it’s not you we want, it’s your daughter.” I said yes, I perfectly understood that and wasn’t interested. “Don’t you want her expressions and antics to be recorded and for all to see,” he pressed, looking puzzled. I politely declined again but said I’d check with her father and let him know. He left it at that but I left the restaurant amused at the shock on his face. Really, has no mother said no before to him?

But it brought to fore something that troubles me more and more. Children in the media and child actors. With a slew of reality shows that are geared at finding “super” talent in children – dancing and singing, primarily – and a hit film that stars a child meaning instant celebrity a la Darsheel Safary and the like, I find this exactly the kind of hazardous profession that the Child Labour Act in the Indian law talks about. The Act, last touched upon in 1986, lists out, among other things, the categories in which a child (defined as below 14 years) should not be employed. The most widely rejected category is the army but others include eateries, cinder picking, fire and match works, and diving (?) among other things. The categories, however, do not include feature or ad films.

There’re two things that worry me about this issue.

a)      That parents are so struck by the immense potential of fame, the intoxicating idea of their child becoming the next big sensation, that they don’t think twice about pushing their kids towards public performing – whether it’s acting, singing our dancing.

b)      That adults – parents as well as others involved in employment of a child in entertainment – may have very little awareness, or give little credence, to how this whole experience shapes the child’s personality.

As a child, when I happened to watch an interview of child stars of Hollywood, I remember being awed at their poise, what seemed like maturity and their quasi-adult mannerisms. Today, I feel sad for them because I believe they spent their childhood being adults without being allowed to do all the things that adults do.

Which is why I believe this should also be on that list of hazardous professions in the Child Labour Act. Why should a nine-year old or even a 13-year-old have to hang out with adults for extended periods of time? Bad enough that they’re adults, worse that they’re so-called actors. A child may love to act, it may be exciting for her to be chosen to play a certain part, it may be fantastic to not go to school. But are those reasons enough for you to deny your child of all that is bound to give her basic skills she can hone on her journey to adulthood?

Like each one of us realises as we get out of college or school, education is so rarely about what we learn from books. It was in school I learnt that there are as many kinds of people as there are different ways to deal with them. It was in school that I learnt that teachers are not gods but if you found a good one, you definitely should worship him. It was school that taught me that children are unkind; that I too was capable of being unkind if it meant being popular. In school I learnt that if you played a sport, your confidence, your outlook towards the rest of your life would be different from those who didn’t play any. Heck, it was in school that I learnt boys can be complete asses but I would still like them. And that girls have it tough and pick up how to be mean little bitches very, very early, but they’re fun as hell.

Take that environment away from a child and you’re gearing her or him up for near-disaster, I believe. On one hand, home schooling appeals to me greatly because I honestly believe there is a lack of schools that will nurture children’s individuality. The cookie-cutter robots that come out of prestigious schools in most Indian cities are academically sound but largely lacking in softer skills to lead happy, content, holistically successful lives. But on the other hand, like someone long ago – on a blog too – pointed out to me, home schooling severely restricts social interaction, which is beyond essential to a child. Unless you have six kids yourself and a couple of neighbours with as large families, home schooling is a bit of a double-edged sword.

Home schooling a child actor on the sets and taking time for lessons during their “shooting schedules” ensure you might get your child past class 12. But is she going to have the opportunity to be a child? I am not sure. If nothing else, it really isn’t healthy or normal for a child to get exposed to all that grown-up talk. The definition of being a child is vast and so I will not attempt to elaborate on that too much here. But I think what I essentially mean is for the child to have the space and time to find herself and her source of confidence and inspiration from learning to deal with situations that might seem mundane to adults but are entirely new to children.

On another level, all the fawning that a child receives in a situation like that cannot be in any way tempered by any amount of level-headedness you may try to employ at home. Besides if the parents are star struck, I do believe there will be very little level-headedness at work in that home. I am judgemental like that.

And I am not even going to talk about too much coming too early – really, are children equipped to handle the fallout of fame, or just fame even?

Apart from the above, strong lights, make up, and the over-stimulation a set can induce can’t be very good for little children. Which is why I am appalled to see little babies in TV shows. No wonder they’re bawling all the time. I could, of course, be wrong. I have two kids of my own and I see how much they try to reach into an adult world to try and understand the things that go on there. While they may understand the words, I doubt it greatly that they understand context or subtleties of adult interactions.

On another note, I was faced with a slightly confusing situation a few days ago. My brother, who is an avid photographer, decided to start up a photoblog. The first post he had up was beautiful pictures of my daughter. Now, I understand his need to display the best of his work, and it’s very touching that he used pictures of someone he loves to bits. I was really very touched but I was also uncomfortable with pictures of her being put on as public a platform as a blog. I made it clear that I was uncomfortable with it but he refused to take the post down. His logic was if I could put pictures of her on Facebook, then he could put it up on his blog. Call me stupid or call me an alligator in the middle of a bad PMS, but I don’t see his point. Yes, I understand that if someone wanted, they could get right into my FB account and do what they wanted with the pictures, and that privacy settings might be only a false sense of security. But I’d much rather have that sense of security, however ephemeral, than have her pictures up for just about any perv to see.

Anyway, it so happened that I got a bit worked up about it and I am sure he totally misunderstood my reasons for asking him to take them down (which he stoutly refused to do till my mum intervened – yes, we’re grown up like that). Soon, morning came and I wondered if I had overreacted. I tweeted it to my  bunch (honestly, the things we know about each other on my timeline is disturbing if you think about it) and except for two people everyone said I overreacted and that there is no harm in having those pictures there. I am still not convinced although I feel bad and want to tell my brother he can use the pictures for his blog.

What do you think?

When you don't know how much you miss something.

Did you know that celebrating the new year on January first is completely arbitrary? There is no religious significance, there's no astrological significance, nor anything to do with seasons or harvest or the moon. It's just a random date someone chose to have a lark. Ever since I found out, I've been wondering what celebrating new year on the 29th of June would be like.

Ignore that. It has nothing to do with the rest of my post. It's some random piece of information that I wanted to share. Because that's what I do. Share. Borrowing from the extremely funny Crystal (Hi, Crystal) "...some people overeat, I overshare."

I've started work again. And I positively sparkle! Not at work, that will come later but as a person. I am smiling bigger and better, I can feel the charm oozing out of me and I am on a total high that I am being productive in a sense that doesn't relate to progeny alone.

Two days ago, I was sitting here at work and listening to all the sounds of the newsroom. People yelling across the hall: to shut pages, to ask if a story was complete, a reporter speaking on phone to a source, a photographer showing his pictures to check if they will do. And I actually felt goosebumps. It's a far cry from anything in India but at least I am back where I love to be the most.

I have thought long and hard about one question for a few years now. "Where are you from?" I can never answer that question. I feel most at home in Bombay; I was born there and lived some of the best years of my childhood and adulthood there; nowhere else is home for me. Not even where I grew up. But would it seem pretentious to say Bombay is home when I no longer have family there? Also I speak Malayalam fluently, my surname is very obviously Malayalee, I am even married to a Malayalee but I can never bring myself to say I am from Kerala. Because I have never lived there, my mother has never lived there and I have no sense of roots there. But I worry if I come across as someone who is negating her Mallu-ness if I say I am from Bombay. Yes, yes, I care about what people think, sometimes.

So now when I am at work I realise, this is another place I feel very much at home in. The newroom, among stories and sub-editing, among opinionated Bengalis and overfriendly Malayalees. I absolutely love being here. So much so that I don't miss the kids as much as I thought I would. Maybe it'll get worse once I get used to this newness but right now, I am truly happy.

What makes work worthwhile and other musings

Work gets funnier day by day. Really. I've cribbed about it often enough to make everyone think that I am stuck in the wrong place. But of late, the kind of copies I see make me laugh till someone (usually the writer of the piece) looks at me like she or he wished I choked on my laughter and dropped dead into the little blue trash bin near my desk.
But how can you not laugh at these?

"The watchman shouted with his head, 'You may be an MLA in MLA'."
I have NO clue what the watchman or the writer was on about.

"Bipolar disorder: A sort of mood disorder caused by disturbance of mood."
Right.

"It was a moonlight day."
Aahhhhahahahahaha.

"The music was installed in the park so that visitors would have a reluctant time."
By the time this one came I actually did die of trauma.

And these wonders never stop. I painstakingly change their English (or what they think is English), meticulously clean up copy and put it out for the world to see. And then they'll give me the same filth the next day.
These days, I just accept it as bad karma and laugh my way through it. At least this way I beat statistics and laugh more than the usual six minutes a day.

*****

I've been obsessively reading Crystal's (Hi, Crystal!) blog. She's that rare, rare combination of way-out humour, sensitivity, intelligence and decency. You know, it's not just sense of humour. It's plain, mad, tummy-aching laughter inducing funny. She's crazy, really! And I am addicted. I don't know how I am going to get through work when I am done with her archives!
But the point of this entry was not to increase traffic to that blog but to make the observation that I have NO idea how she writes so funny! Or anyone who writes funny for that matter. Like P G Wodehouse and his Psmith.
I read that and I was in love, dear reader! Truly and completely in love with Psmith. He's all I ever wanted to be and all that I thought my knight in shining armour would be! Greatly recommended reading.

*****

Speaking of books, I loved Doris Lessing's sangfroid at winning the Nobel. She sets her shopping down at the steps of her home and plays to the media hounding her door. For God's sake woman, you've won the Nobel for literature. The least you can do is not look like some poor woman in Russia who doesn't have potatoes and vodka for the weekend!
Having said that, I also must admit I am saying it out of envy. Envy of her equanimity in handling the news and envy of her writing skills.

*****

As you would have now guessed I have nothing of relevance to blog about today. Hence this rambling. Incidentally, I'll be turning 28 in a few days and I still plan to be offended if friends don't call or sms or mail and wish me! Suresh says that's okay behavior till one is 23, now I should just be cool as Manali and go on with my day. Hmmph! That's rich coming from him - considering his late-30-something birthday was full of people getting drunk and trying not to fall off the balcony of a lovely Bandra apartment!
Also, just wondering aloud. Should I be worried about the babies not happening yet? I really want at least one before I am 30. Pray for me.

*****

Everyday Mathew gives me at least two reasons that reaffirms my idea that he's the most perfect man alive. And every day, it's two different things. I am completely spoilt for choice. Like yesterday when he decided to surprise me with take-out Chinese when I asked him to marinate some fish that we could fry for dinner. Now I know what to do next time I don't feel like cooking.
Or giving me a tight hug in the morning and saying, "Come here, booze breath." Sigh, I melted at the romance of it.

*****