A hundred years ago celebrated writer Mark Twain said, “When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.” If Mark Twain was around today, I’m sure he’d add, “Now that I have children of my own, I’m amazed to see my parents reduced to imbecility once again.”

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No, I’m not talking about the Seventh Age of Man “sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything”, but of robust grandparents deputed by their busy sons and busier daughters to babysit their young. That is when these stalwart seniors find that their own sons and daughters, who gave them total trust and respect until this moment, have suddenly morphed into hectoring know-alls, relegating their Ol’ Pop and Mom to zombie-land.

The classic American novel “To Kill a Mockingbird” has a hilarious sequence where the little tomboy Scout is reproved by her first grade teacher for being able to read well. “You must follow my phonetic method. Tell your father to stop teaching you the wrong way.”

What a perfect analogy for the plight of Indian parents invited by their offspring settled in the US, to care for the grand kids! Suddenly they find that grand-parenting, which they thought was a natural process, is really an exhausting teleological struggle. Marooned in sanitised suburbia, the visitors sweat to learn the alien child-rearing regulations of a new continent. A nanny cam provides surveillance for chidings and correctional instructions. New and mysterious words are hurled at them: environment reconciliation, conflict syndrome, procedural acculturation... It takes a long time for the senior citizens to understand that these terms refer to the grandchildren’s “problems” in adjusting to the newcomers from the old world!

The dilemma is that the grandparents are somehow expected to root the youngsters in Indian culture. But not so much that the kids’ identity as US citizens is jeopardised in public spaces such as school and playfield.

Things are not so very different in upper/middle class urban India. My grandma friend confided her frustrations, shared by many today. “Why, the grandchildren are no trouble at all. But my children drive me up the wall with endless lists of dos and don’ts. What-how-when to feed the children, inflexible schedules for playtime, TV time, bedtime, even what not to say in case they get confused by our ideas! Fortunately, when the kids come, they revive me with their delightful ways!”

Another said, “I don’t know why my daughter went to this office party at all because her mind was certainly not on what was happening there. She was calling me all the time to ask, “Did Rohan eat two rotis, drink all his milk, go to sleep on time?” I had asked the boy to help me cook and he hugely enjoyed that, ate heartily. Mind you, he did not even remember the iPad where he always watches cartoons at meal times. And he was fast asleep before my daughter called to check if he had gone to bed.”

Listening to these stories, I realise that times have changed indeed since I raised my kids. My sole source of knowledge about a mother’s duties was a popular book by an American doctor: “Baby & Childcare”. It was Dr Spock who gave me insights into the mystifying would of Babydom – how to sterilise the feeding bottle, when to start solids, how to tie the baby’s diaper, how to know why the baby was crying. If the wailing stopped after feeding, the baby was hungry, if not it could be anything from stomach ache to nappy rash, even a bug in the bed. Fever and rash spelt measles, whistling breath was croup, sweating could be simply due to hot weather...

With such vague guidance and hit-n-miss methods, I felt immense relief in handing over my kids – right from infancy – to the experts: my parents and parents-in-law. I reasoned that after all they had done a fine job with me and my partner! I had greater trust in my mother-in-law – she had raised six kids to my two. It never struck me that I could give these grandparents any advice or instruction about feeding or bedtime, play or homework. Whatever they did was best, certainly better than what I could do. Back then, parenting was no mammoth project requiring multi-pronged planning. When in doubt you consulted your parents, uncles, aunts, even grandparents! Yes, I had it easy.

Today, my adult daughter and son still trust my judgement and seek my opinion. But I wonder: when and if they have children of their own, will they see me reduced to imbecility?

The author is a playwright, theatre director, musician and journalist