One day with a 10th grader's mum

“My cup of woes runneth over,” I said, as soon as my daughter stepped into the much spot-lit grade — 10. I speak for all the highly stressed parents of tenth graders. Incidentally, the teen in question remains rather unaffected by the mother's hysterical histrionics and goes about life with a ‘I couldn't care less’ attitude. I, in my desire to be the liberal, generous mum, take the said teen shopping (who goes to the mall only to study other people's behaviours!) I am interrupted in my maternal pursuit by a friendly acquaintance, who accosts me with — “What are you doing here?” A timely sense of propriety prevents me from saying ‘selling film tickets.’ (That would be anachronistic as film tickets are no longer sold anywhere else but at the counter or on ether). So I exchange pleasantries till the acquaintance accuses my daughter with — “Aren't you in the 10th? What are you doing shopping? Every moment is precious now!”

Mumbling my apologies to the well-wisher (who had very effectively demolished my well-planned mother-daughter time,) I quickly excused ourselves and sped through our sartorial trials. The teen, having no joy in retail therapy, bee-lined for the bookstore.

“No way! How dare you? Let's go home. You need to study.” I brushed aside all protests. Crossword? Starbucks? Read your Physics book with a cup of coffee at home!

Such is the force of my passionate reproach. On the way home, I receive a call from a fellow parent — “Which tuition classes does your daughter go to?” Tuition class? I have a family friend helping her in Math. “What about other subjects? Surely, you cannot let her handle ICSE all alone.”

Mortified by my child's lonely journey in taking the first board examination of her life, I persist — “Well, the school teachers are doing their job. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“Nope,” comes the dire warning. I am now left feeling guilty, perhaps I have not done enough to make my child yet another clone aspirant to the Engineering/Medical entrances. Frankly I am terrified that neither we (the beleaguered parents) nor the blessed young lady have planned anything. How many hours of study? Which tuition class? Which guide books? Why science is a ‘must’ to prove to my neighbour and her uncle that my offspring is truly meritorious? I feel more confused and rudderless than Bertie Wooster did in his conversations with Jeeves.

Ruminating on my lack of foresight and general ignorance, I take the teen into confidence. Alas! No succour comes my way, but the casual utterance of “Just chill, Mamma!”

Chilled I am, indeed, to the bone. I am surrounded by peers running relentlessly, bemoaning the lack of time, stressing the need to ban parties, postpone holidays, forbid guests from visiting and so on. Pray, what am I doing?

Taking my daughter trekking in the hills, celebrating festivals, going for a walk in the rain, writing verses together? I think I know what I am doing. In a few years, we will realise that these kids are only strengthening their wings before they fly out from the cosy nests we have created for them. Till that day comes, I am building a trove of memories to act as a safety net for both the child and me.

Life is not about scores, or which rat wins the race. It is more about how we live it. I certainly do not want my child to remember me as a badgering parent who lived to enquire — “How much did you get? What is the class highest? Who got it?”

The author is a teacher at Billabong High International School, Thane