Poornima Manco

Author

childhood

The value of self-esteem

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I’ve often talked about the ill effects of social media – the addiction, the need for outside validation, the mental health issues, the ‘all that glitters isn’t gold’ aspect etc. But recently I stumbled upon yet another disturbing trend. Young girls filming/photographing themselves in their underwear/bikinis purportedly to support a body-positive movement.

Now, I’m a strong advocate of women of all ages and sizes being comfortable in their own skin, and I will shout it from rooftops if need be. I believe that every woman should have the right to wear what she wants, as long as she is comfortable with the sort of attention it attracts. However, flaunting one’s body on a public platform to elicit the approval of strangers, is where I draw the line.

Firstly, there is the safety aspect of it. How can one monitor who is watching/downloading these pictures? Where are these pictures being circulated? How are they being perceived? Secondly, there is the sleaze factor. To a young woman, body acceptance by way of photographing herself may seem to be progressive and life-enhancing, to the two-bit scumbag salivating over them, it’s just another way to jerk off. Sorry about the imagery! But there is no other way to spell it out clearly.

What has happened to our social fabric where it has become perfectly acceptable to derive one’s self-worth from the most shallow of sources? Yes, it’s wonderful to be young and beautiful and to enjoy the spring of one’s lifetime. But if acceptance of one’s self hinges on what other people think, then what happens when that body changes through life, childbirth, disease, accident or ageing?

Isn’t it time that we taught our children that self-worth and self-esteem need stronger roots than just body acceptance? Values such as humility, charity, empathy and forgiveness, character traits such as determination, resilience, patience and fortitude, are purer sources of self-love than any amount of pouting and preening before a camera lens can be.

Healthy self-esteem needs a healthy wellspring, and that can only come from working upon what lies inside. Yes, outside packaging matters, but only up to a point. If you unwrap a beautiful parcel and find it filled with junk, what are you likely to do?

The pitfalls of social media are well documented, but the insidious nature of its erosion of our children’s values and self-worth will have far-reaching consequences unless we start to combat it now. But first, we need to turn that mirror towards ourselves and look at where we are investing our time and teachings. It isn’t too late to steer our children away from conversations about their bodies, to conversations about their minds and souls. Perhaps then, they will realise that the value of self-esteem is far greater than the cost of self-doubt.

Decisions, decisions…

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Doesn’t life seem to be a series of decisions sometimes? Good ones, bad ones, little and large ones, accidental ones, subconscious ones and well thought out ones too. Yet, at the moment of decision making, we have no way of knowing what the consequences of that decision will be. Sure, you can probably predict that if you don’t take a shower for a week, you’ll stink. So taking a shower will be a kindness to yourself and others. But my point is more about those decisions that may end up having far reaching consequences.

This came home to me quite recently in the conundrum my daughter is facing. The prospect of beginning University has been a daunting one. For the past year or so, she has been banging on about taking a year out before submerging herself in academics again. A gap year is not a huge deal in Europe. Most students take this time out to go travel the world and figure out what they want out of their lives.

However, I won’t lie, it scared the bejesus out of us! What if she decided never to return to studying? What if, in the process of finding herself, she found herself a boyfriend in a different country and settled down there? What if she went completely off piste doing this gap year malarkey? Quelling these doubts and fears has taken the better part of the year with many persuasive tactics from her, and many many chats with colleagues and friends whose kids have done the same.

In the end we decided that it would be no bad thing, as long as the year was structured and productive. Friends came forward with offers of work, we researched ways she could travel and where to, and the prospect of having our daughter not resent us for forcing her to do something she didn’t want to do, suddenly seemed quite pleasant.

Autonomy can have an interesting side effect.

Once the ball was in her court, she started to truly ponder the consequences of taking that year out. The major one being that she would be that much older graduating, and therefore, her work life would also begin that much later. Whilst most of her peers are taking up the various University places being offered to them, she would fall behind by a year. How would that work out?

Even as I write this, no decisions have been made. A part of me feels really sorry that at such a young age, children have to decide the course of their lives, at least academically. But all of us did it. Some well, and others not so much.

Shortly after finishing my GCSE equivalent in India, while I was still prevaricating about which courses to pick for my A levels, I remember my head teacher telling my father that I should do ‘Arts’. I was a natural fit for the Humanities stream, but for some reason, the ‘Arts’ students in my school were considered the dumbest of the lot. (A terrible injustice, but an unconscious bias that was fostered quite strongly). Neither my grades, nor I, were suited for any of the Sciences, so, much to my dismay, my father insisted that I study Commerce and Accountancy, with a side dish of Higher Mathematics.

For all the people who knew me then, and who know me now, can you see a square peg fitting into a round hole? That was me everyday, for two years of my life. If it wasn’t for some good friends and some understanding teachers, I don’t think I would have managed the marks I did, scraping through with B’s and C’s.

When it came to University choices, once again my father deemed that doing a diploma in Travel and Tourism would open up many opportunities for me, career wise. Thank goodness for that kind soul we encountered, a former patient of my father’s, who showed him the light by saying, “Doctor sahib, why are you forcing your daughter to do a diploma when she is getting accepted into a prestigious BA English (Hons) course?” Sometimes it takes someone on the outside to point out the obvious.

Trust me, I am not resentful of my father’s decisions on my behalf. At least not now. I understand that he did what he did, out of love and concern for me. However, it made me doubly sure that I would never force my ideas on my children.

As parents, it is our duty to guide our children. If we’ve done our job right and instilled the right values in them from the start, then this is the time we need to loosen those reins and allow them to make their own decisions. Hopefully, they’ll make the right ones, and if, Heaven forbid, they do make the wrong ones, nothing is completely unsalvageable. Their safety and their happiness should be our paramount concern. How they get to their destination, what path they take, linear or circular, is completely up to them.

In the immortal words of Theodore Roosevelt:

“In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.”

 

 

 

The ubiquity of abuse

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I was having coffee with a bunch of ladies I didn’t really know. A common hobby had brought us together and as we met (some, for the first time) and chatted and ordered coffee and cake, the conversation veered off course as it inevitably does when you put women together. This wasn’t a business luncheon, it was very much a ‘getting to know you’ do. Our common hobby had brought us together, but we wanted to know if there was something else, beyond that, which could connect us.

As we talked backgrounds, languages, cultures, careers, husbands and children, we delved into each other’s lives, hesitantly at first, and then boldly, asking forthright questions and receiving some compelling and often hilarious answers. A sisterhood was emerging right there in that little coffee shop.

Interestingly, because we were, in effect, strangers to one another, there was a frankness and a candour to our conversation. There was no previous baggage nor was there any judgement. Each one was free to divulge as much or as little as they wished. Which is perhaps why some shocking truths emerged.

I have thought long and hard about writing this blog post. Am I betraying these ladies’ confidences if I do? Is this a kind of treachery to the very sisterhood I espouse? Am I worthy of being a confidante if I am unable to zip my lip?

However, upon reflection, I decided that yes, I would indeed write about it. No names or details of the women in question will be revealed here. That is not the purpose of this post. The purpose is to highlight the vulnerability of young children and how, it is so important for us as adults – parents and carers, to be vigilant about any possible signs and symptoms of abuse.

70% of the ladies at that table had been subject to some kind of sexual abuse as children. This ranged from an elderly relative using his trustworthy position in the family to inappropriately touch a child, to older children molesting a young girl in their midst, to a cousin leveraging his way into his sister’s affections to try and rape her.

Where were the adults when all this happened? Oblivious, too trusting or incapable of translating the traumatised child’s words and actions as a symptom of their ordeal.

Following on the heels of the #MeToo movement, the awareness of society’s ability to use and discard vulnerable adults has emerged strongly into the forefront. Yet, child abuse is so much more rampant and ubiquitous than anyone of us could have imagined.

All of these women were educated, erudite professionals who had carved out amazing careers and on the outside looked as put together as anyone else. Yet, fragments of their abusive past still lingered, making them feel ‘less than’ and handicapped in ways that even they could not articulate. If our pasts are the foundations to our future, it must have been doubly hard to build their future on the quicksands of trauma, betrayal and abuse.

I have spoken freely about the kind of sexual harassment I encountered growing up in India. Thankfully, because my mother was a very forward thinking individual, she was particularly circumspect about the adults who had access to me as a child. I had been told time and again to tell her if anything inappropriate was said or done to me. I was amongst the lucky few.

How many others had to stay ‘schtum’ because of the joint families they were growing up in wouldn’t tolerate any rent in its fabric, even if the casualty was a child’s innocence? How many parents believed that shrouding the truth or simply disbelieving the child were the only ways forward? How many ‘uncles’ or manservants got away scot-free because the ‘good name’ of the family was far more important than offering the victim love, support, understanding and challenging the perpetrator’s dirty deeds?

Too many.

Which is why it is so important that we talk about childhood sexual abuse. Children have nothing to be ashamed of. They are completely innocent of any wrong doing. It is the sick and depraved adults who choose and groom their victims alongside their families, that need to be brought to task.

I hope there comes a day when that coffee table conversation will not be limited to the tales of abuse suffered by young children, but will go on to elaborate the punishment society accorded to the abuser, and the counselling that was offered to the child to overcome that early trauma. As things stand right now, most children have to find their own coping mechanisms and unlike my ladies, can and do, spiral into self destructive behaviours.

I am not naive enough to believe that we will eradicate child sexual abuse completely. Wherever there is a power imbalance, abuse will exist and thrive. Sadly, there will also always be individuals with a sexual predilection for children. A multi-pronged approach that includes awareness, education, therapy, counselling, stricter laws and most importantly, a gradual erosion of patriarchy, may bring about the much needed change that will protect our children and ensure a safer future for them.

 

 

HeartonWheels – Jeanne Meuwissen

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The day is Sunday, the 31st of March and I am holding my first cup of coffee of the day, on a balcony in Greece, with a beautiful view of  the mountains and the sea. My name is Jeanne Meuwissen and I am a 52 year old woman from Holland. Don’t worry I am not going through a midlife crisis or trying to do a sequel to the Shirley Valentine movie or Mamma Mia! I would’t like to give people nightmares as my singing talents aren’t that great!!

This Greek story is about a journey that started two years ago and the first stop was my heart. You don’t need a ticket to get on. Just keep on reading…

Everyone at a certain point in their lives (especially around 50) starts to wonder: where is my path going in life? I guess I got a double whammy as I lost a dear friend of mine while I was pondering this question. Midlife for me was like the Universe gently placed her hands upon my shoulders, pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “Find your path… Time is growing short… There are unexplored adventures ahead… It is time to show up and be seen.”

I do have a beautiful life, surrounded by wonderful friends and family, and I am still enjoying my career as a flight attendant after 25 years. But I always felt that there was something that was missing. I do believe everyone on this Earth has been made for some particular work and the desire for that work has been put in every heart.

So, I started looking deep inside my heart and I rediscovered one of my biggest passions again – teaching children. I was a primary school teacher before my flying career, and to me there is nothing as precious as the ability to be able to make someone smile, especially a child. This world is in deep trouble, but as a teacher you do have a big part in making this earth a better place for every child, and education plays a big role.

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It wasn’t a surprise to me then that I got asked by one of my flying partners to come and help her support children from Syria in a refugee camp in northern Greece, close to Thessaloniki.

The first time I drove into such a camp it felt like my heart was being ripped out of my body. Children were living in tents. It was cold in January with no heating and no appropriate clothing. And their stories! What they had been through on their dangerous journey to Greece in dinghies, being ripped away from their family, friends and familiar surroundings. I fought back my tears as I watched these children doing artwork and smiling. I was astonished by their resilience.

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There in the Polikastro camp, as I stood in living conditions that were horrendous, I found that I was still able to laugh and bring joy to these children. I found the light in my heart. I just had to let it burn brightly.

This is where the idea of the HeartonWheels bus originated.

HeartonWheels will be a mobile bus that will provide mobile education for traumatised children in a safe place. As Article 26 of the UN states:
Everyone has a right to education.
Education shall be free, at least in the elementary and fundamental stages.
Elementary education shall be compulsory.

The HeartonWheels Bus will be that safe place where children can regain their childhood again through lots of play, joy and laughter. Play is a universal language that initiates the human spirit into a life of freedom, happiness, unity, balance, humanity and greatness. These children never had a childhood where they could play and be themselves, freely. Their childhoods were, and still are, tainted by war and violence.

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My journey has taken me to some interesting destinations and I am still travelling  through Greece. Right now, I am working in a nursery school in a refugee camp called Malakasa. The children there are mostly from Afghanistan, and although we don’t speak the same language, I do feel we are making a difference in their daily lives by providing them with education in a safe place, where they can regain some of their childhood with lots of  love, learning and laughter included.

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As we have had some bumps in the road like funding and getting permission to go into a camp, the HeartonWheels Bus hasn’t reached its destination yet. Its parking space is still  in my heart. But in the last two years I have experienced so much love and support from my family, friends, flying colleagues and even strangers, through donations, fundraisers, beautifully written cards and comments.

It has kept the light shining bright in my heart and I know for sure, that one day in the not so distant future, I will be pushing the button of the doors on the HeartonWheels Bus to provide a path to a brighter future for all the children on this earth, no matter which religion.

In every religion, there is love. Yet love itself has no religion!

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If you wish to contribute or follow the route of the HeartonWheels Bus do click on this link:
http://heartonwheels.co

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My name is Jeanne Meuwissen.

I am the proud founder of the grass roots company HeartonWheels.
My educational background is in teaching primary school that I combined with my flying career of 25 years. Last year I graduated with a degree in trauma psychology for children.
Since the Syrian war the world has seen the largest humanitarian crisis since the end of World War II and we know there isn’t a short-term solution. For that reason and knowing that almost 51% percent of the 19.5 million refugees are children living in camps where only their basic needs are met, I started volunteering 2 years ago. I worked as a volunteer teacher at Armando Aid school in refugee camp Oinofyta Greece and in Calais with the Schoolbusproject. At the same time I started studying trauma psychology at the Institute Freunde Der Erziehungskunst in Karlsruhe, Germany.
After seeing children living in horrible conditions and having no access to education, I decided to fly part time and move to Greece where I founded my charity called HeartonWheels.
HeartonWheels stands for a school bus that provides First Aid for the Souls of traumatised children through Mobile Education in a Child friendly Space at various refugee camps in Greece. HeartonWheels is establishing itself since October 2018 through working with various organisations throughout Greece at several refugee camps. Right now I am working in a refugee camp called Malakasa 60 km north of Athens together with a fabulous team of Greek Nursery teachers.
But in a lot of camps there aren’t any provisions like this and children are still deprived of their right to education in a safe place. Although this crisis isn’t that present anymore in the daily media it is still an ongoing disaster for many people and won’t disappear as there isn’t a short-term solution. 
Children are still living in situations of deepest despair. Let’s not forget about them so they don’t turn  into a lost generation. Let’s open these doors of The HeartonWheels Bus together and give these children, no matter what religion, a chance to a brighter future by making a donation and keep on following us through this link:

My rendezvous with God’s angels – Diya Sarkar

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It was just another boring Monday after an exciting weekend. My husband was at the office and my children at their respective hostels. I had nothing constructive to do as usual, except for supervising the daily household chores being done by my maid, when suddenly I came across  ‘Teach For Change’ on Facebook, an NGO engaged in teaching  underprivileged children. I had plenty of spare time and so I thought of killing some.

I was super excited to get out of the house for a couple hours regularly on a weekday, for a change. But nothing seemed to work in my favour. I complained about the weather, about the traditional dress which I chose to wear and yes, waking up early was not my cup of tea. Well, my list of my grudges never saw a full stop.

As my car approached the gates of the government school, I saw from the tinted glasses, tiny feet walking in a line on a not so smooth road; crossing crowded streets, holding hands, each one taking care of his or her partner.

Most of them, unlike our children, could not afford to hire a cab or for that matter, a bus. Most of their parents did not own vehicles. So, they needed to walk miles before they reached their school whether it was sunny, rainy, cloudy or otherwise. But they did not complain.

School shoes were an item of luxury for the majority. They came to school wearing slippers. Perhaps that was their only footwear for walking, running and playing. But they did not complain.

I reached their classroom and there wasn’t a single fan. It was a hot summer afternoon. They were sweating, yet they wore a beautiful smile. They were still not complaining.

They were thirsty and their bottles were empty. Water was rare and precious for them. They had days and specific timings when the water supply came through the taps at their homes. So, after taking my permission, they went, one at a time, to the water cooler at the school, to fill up their bottles. They seemed happy and they weren’t complaining.

I can never forget the first time I stepped into their classroom. They were holding my hands and hugging me. They wanted a secure future, a smooth life, water running through their taps, a good pair of shoes, nutritious food and somehow, they found hope in me. Their eyes were twinkling with curiosity. There was an urge to learn something new, something that would iron out those wrinkles from their road to success. At such a tender age, they had already seen enough … poverty, malnourishment, domestic abuse,  parents separated, being orphaned, beatings on a regular basis, child labour… you name it and they had experienced it.

The bell rang and my class was over. It was their lunchtime. In fact, they came to school for that midday meal. Many of them were hungry since the morning. Still, no complaints. Instead, to my surprise, there were so eager to help me to arrange my things, carry my bag, open the door for me and so on. They were all excited to know more about me and my next visit to their school. As I climbed down the stairs, they joined me. They were waving at me when I walked out of the school gate. “Bye Didi (that is how we refer to an elder sister in India) are you coming tomorrow?” was still ringing in my ears.

No amount of shopping, fine dining, catching up with friends or even holidaying had ever given me the pure joy and happiness that was offered by these God’s Angels.

The bitter experiences, harshness, difficulties, insecurities which life had in store for them had failed to erase the twinkle from their eyes, the smile from their lips or the love from their hearts. Not even their hungry stomachs or the uneven ground on which they were standing upon, could stop them from waving and smiling at me.

Days have turned into months and I am, once again, getting ready to go to school. I’m all excited to teach my students so that I can empower them with education, so that they are not at the mercy of someone, so that they don’t have to use secondhand stuff given to their elders by households like yours and mine. And yes, the weather or that traditional dress don’t bother me anymore. My list of grudges have also reduced considerably. There is something bigger than these irrelevant complaints of mine. The trust which they have invested in me, without an iota of doubt, which, in turn, has brought about the most precious bonding with these little souls. Alongside I have also learnt some valuable lessons for life – to remain humble and evolving.

God bless them, God’s Angels in disguise.

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Hello, this is Diya Sarkar from Delhi, India. I presently reside in Hyderabad, city of pearls, Nizams and biryanis.

After completing my Masters in Journalism and Communication, I worked as a freelancer at ‘The Indian Express’, an Indian news media publishing company. 

I am married with twins, a son and a daughter, who share their birthday with their father, who is also a twin. I have been a part time teacher in a couple of schools… in fact, a teacher to my children, both at school and at home. Now, I love teaching underprivileged children at a Government school. There is so much to learn from each one of them.

I am an avid traveller and have been on the move since my childhood, exploring different parts of the country, the cuisine, culture, landscape etc. In fact, unity in diversity is what defines India in one line. 

I like reading, writing, cooking, shopping for traditional items or garments, and also have an interest in interior decoration and flower arrangement. I am planning to blog in the near future too. Thank you. 😊

Motherhood and what they don’t tell you…

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A young woman pushing a pram looks up and catches my eye. I smile at her and she smiles back shyly then walks on. In that brief glance we have exchanged a multitude of feelings. There is, I hope, compassion and understanding in my glance just as I sense exhaustion and solitude in hers. Motherhood, as I and many other women know, can be the hardest and the loneliest job in the world.

My daughter has just turned eighteen. She is an adult now. She is also my child and will always be an amalgam of baby, toddler, adolescent and teen. No matter how old she gets or how mature, she will always reside as a child in my heart. I cannot explain this to her, just as my mother couldn’t explain it to me. Motherhood has to be experienced, it has to be felt.

When I went through 27 hours of labour and an emergency C section at the end of it, not once did it cross my mind, whether it was worth it or not. One glance at her perfect face and I knew that my life had changed forever. Sleepless nights, colic, worries about cot death, projectile vomiting, explosive diarrhoea, teething, temperatures and tantrums, all became the new normal. My mother had passed by the time I had my daughter and in all the years and the many, many ways I missed her, I never missed her more than at that particular time in my life.

Only a new mother can understand the sheer fatigue and loneliness of taking care of an infant. When the baby wants no one else but you. When the baby cries at the exact moment you take the first bite of your meal. When the restless baby will only sleep if you let her sleep on your chest. ‘My little parasite’ is what I used to call her jokingly. A part of me despaired that I would never have a normal life again. A part of me felt as if my life had been hijacked forever, changed beyond comprehension. Yes, it had, but only in the most wonderful and enriching way.

As a species, we mate and reproduce. That is our biological destiny. As a species capable of producing great art, music and poetry or innovative technology and groundbreaking scientific advances, this simple act of producing another human being remains the most astonishing.

I have been blessed to have a husband who was supportive and understanding at all times. He took on the bulk of parenting when I travelled on work and calmly, efficiently, quietly got the job done. He, no doubt, had his share of lonely moments. Moments where he doubted himself or yearned for a carefree night of putting his feet up and watching Television, instead of having to deal with a fractious child. In so many ways, he has been the better parent, the more stable and dare I say it, less emotional of us two.

When the teenage years began and my daughter and I clashed, I took too much to heart. Each of her actions, designed to hurt, found its mark. Her dismissal and scorn of me, her turning away when I wanted to hug her, her inability to accept my love were scorched into my soul. It was my husband who pointed out that these were ‘phases’, a natural process, a growing up and growing away that was not just inevitable, but also important.

As my daughter is nearing the end of her teens, I find that I am able to go back to a lot of my own pursuits and pleasures. My life, the normal life that I was so afraid I was losing when she clung to me like a limpet, is returning at a faster pace than I had envisioned. Yet, I find, it is I who cling to her now. I, who feel lonely and afraid that she will soon fly the nest, and may only return sporadically, if at all.

Motherhood- what a strange and wonderful journey you are. Now, more than ever, I appreciate the beauty and sadness within you.