hand-me-down; pull-me-up

There is all the nostalgia and emotion associated with wearing or using baby things that have been in the family or with friends for generations. Beyond that, there is the (admittedly virtuous) feeling of satisfaction that I get in not adding to the mindless consumerism/ eco-waste already present in our world. 

The fact that it is economical does help. 

I was a little appalled when I saw the prices (and utter uselessness) of most baby stuff. The five star baby-buggy that PP and I saw when we were shopping for a pram, cost more than I sold my car for and it should have been able to sing lullabies and change diapers at the price. I think parents, particularly first-time parents, get totally suckered by the avalanche of not-so-subtle, guilt-provoking advertising specifically targeted at them.  

Then there are the designer clothes. I felt positively ill when I realised that someone I knew had spent close to ₹100,000 on a garment for her four-month-old who would wear it for all of one grand season. Sure, it's great to indulge your kids and I respect that, even if I don't always agree with the form it takes. But one lakh for a few months? For a babe who actually can't be bothered about what s/he is wearing as long it's comfortable and warm/cool according to the weather?

So I was very happy to take on and pass on stuff. Between two friends whose kids had outgrown their things, I got car seats, blankets, a much-loved bunny and other toys, bathing chair, rocker, high chair, baby carrying ring-sling and wrap, nasal aspirators... My best buddy gave me the cot that both her kids slept in and a pregnancy book that I was the third mom to use...Another two friends gave me a bunch of very useful books.

In turn, I have passed on cloth diapers, feeding pillow, baby sling and wrap, books, mobiles, nappies, clothes, toys, to three other young mums. Old saris found a new lease of life as nappies and clothes for K; Carefully preserved baby clothes were pulled out - mine and  PP's  - for the obligatory airing and wearing.

Do we really need to buy so much new stuff? Yes, there are some things that you want to buy new. But there are an equal, if not more, number of things that can be happily passed around. It's not as though a baby has time to wear them out! 

I already have my eye on these lovely, traditional gararas that my honorary niece has outgrown  and am waiting for K to grow into. 

When things are shared around, they create a sense of belonging and closeness. Especially since everything has it's own history. Such and such cot was made like this and we painted it in this colour, originally... Or such and such sari was bought for the princely sum of 200 rupees by so-and-so and "you just don't get work like that anymore". 

I remember totally lusting for my older sister's clothes and later, for my mother's saris and a lovely, ancient jacket that was older than me and belonged to Dad, which I wore for the longest time. 

So go on, spread the love a little. Beyond your immediate family is great - you end up extending your family through sharing, caring and building memories together. 

On that smugly virtuous note, adios.

Fruitful thoughts

There they were: all glossy and smooth, nestling in cardboard boxes. "Frauds," I felt like sneering at them. "You are just a glossy advertisement dressing up as the real thing."

 

They were shiny jamuns and bers. Shop-bought, obviously. Seeing them and in the recent context of this piece on me by the Alternative, it came to me with a pang that my daughter is unlikely to grow up thinking that fruit can just be picked or shaken from trees.

 

 

The first time that I saw the humble jamun and ber all dressed up in cardboard boxes, I felt a shock. These were the spices of childhood pranks and certainly never meant to be sold.

 

There was a venerable ber tree on the Golf Course in the Roorkee cantonment. I remember that my 10-year-old-self with my best friend and partner-in-crime has suddenly acquired a deep interest in golf. Bored of the putting green, we wanted to play "real" golf, so we were shepherded out of the way to a safe practice tee with a bunch of old balls and a caddy who was more in the nature of a minder.

 

The aforesaid tree stood there and a lucky accident with the club and ball materialised into a bounty of rich, tawny bers. Of course, the chipping practice was re-scripted at that very second with each ball going straight into the tree despite the remonstrations of the hapless caddy. What can I say? We were brats bent upon our ber fix. Having exhausted both, our stock of golf balls and the caddy who was haring hither and thither after them, we proceeded to greedily gather our harvest.

 

Since I knew carting them home would earn a reprimand at the least and confiscation at worst, we decided that, for safety's sake, they were best stored in our tummies. And yes, the tummy-ache and sore throats the next day were totally worth it.

 

 

Mulberries (shahtoot) and jamuns used to be the pickings of lazy afternoons, meandering through grounds; guavas were picked straight from the tree, with the tender leaves serving to soothe a mouth sore; mango tree branches were a source of sour green kairies and were my favourite lounge after my reading nook in the amla tree hammock which was accessed via an Enid Blyton-ish adventurous rope ladder; Strawberries were picked directly from the patch... even our summer vacations in the village translated into me having a tiny charpai slung on a long rope from the massive desi aam tree - it was there that I spent much of the afternoon, swinging in the shade, reading and languidly reaching into the bucket below for yet another mango cooled by well water...

 

K loves fruits. Adores them. She crams her mouth full of them. But something pinches my heart when I see her do that. With the world becoming the way it is, and our lives turning to fruitless directions, there is little chance that she will learn befriend of fruit trees, recognising their best climbing path, have conversations with them, treat them as confidantes after life's little heartbreaks as I did.

 

So, today, my darling daughter, I have a wish for you. May you know the joy of fruit trees, have a relationship with one, nurture it with your love as it nurtures you with its fruits. And yes, they do taste a darn sight better than the shiny cardboard boxed variety.