Last week a friend forwarded a review of her recent article in the Statesman. It was a scathing review and took her completely by surprise. I commiserated with her, having been in the same situation with music critics. When an unflattering review of my concert appeared in the paper, with the critic sparing no words, I had cringed with shame. The accompanying photo only added insult to injury. That’s when I remembered my aunt’s sage advice, “Any criticism, however unwelcome, is better than no feedback at all!”

What is the worst that could happen in such a scenario? My friends and family would recall the offending review for a day, at best a week and then move on. But I still hadn‘t. I had also conveniently forgotten the good reviews that had appeared in the same press. In my naiveté, I’d assumed that the world revolved around me. Luckily it didn’t.

No one likes to be criticized. Why do we find it difficult to accept criticism? In my opinion, how criticism is delivered makes all the difference. A soft tone of voice, a pleasant expression, and relaxed body language while communicating, is the key. It’s non-trivial especially when we’re frothing at the mouth and have worked ourselves up to face our unsuspecting quarry. Like a well-made sandwich, criticism has to be layered. Start with a compliment, then go for the jugular with your constructive criticism and finish with another compliment. When criticism is warranted, don’t hesitate. It takes grace to accept criticism, and courage to dole it out. Winston Churchill’s quote comes to mind. “Criticism may not be agreeable, but it is necessary. It fulfils the same functions as pain in the human body. It calls attention to an unhealthy state of things.”

If you plan on visiting your old uncle or aunt in the evening, think twice. Chances are their favourite serial is playing on television at that time and your visit may not be that welcome. I'm not sure if these serials are a boon or a curse. Some of them are so bad with hackneyed plots and terrible acting I wonder why our seniors settle for such dismal viewing fare. Whenever I talk to them, each would insist that their favourite serial is a cut above the rest!

My mother vehemently argues that it's good entertainment for people like her as she can't go out on her own in the evenings. Failing eyesight means that those books have to be put away. 'Listening to music 24/7 isn't enough', she declares. When I make an attempt to understand the storyline behind some of these serials, I get confused. Either that or my comprehension level is that of a first grader. In most cases, the heroine turns out to be a hard nut to crack after undergoing the worst traumas, or there are a lot of evil people out there in the world. Some of the scenarios are X-rated with extra-marital affairs galore and actors wearing costumes showing less cloth and more sizzle. When I listen to an aunt empathize with the pathetic heroine or villify the wicked sister-in-law, it's hard to distinguish reality from fiction. There is so much passion in her narration, I'm ready to give her an Oscar. But your wicked sister-in-law or mother-in-law would never identify themselves with the characters on screen even if its their story being played out. And that's the reason for the long innings of serials like Kyon Ki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi.

So the next time you want to visit your octogenarian uncle, remember to call first.

Recently I had been to a Diwali party where a renowned dancer did an impromptu session of abhinaya for the song "Himagiri Tanaye", composition of Muthiah Bhagavathar in Ragam Shudha Dhanyasi. As I sang and watched her execute the dance steps all the while explaining the mudras I was amazed at the ease with which she related to the kids. There was magic in the air that night and the children couldn't stop smiling.

The incident reminded me of my own music teachers and how their patience and guidance motivated me through my learning years. Teaching fine arts to children is non-trivial. A teacher has to encourage and inspire the child to scale new heights.

In an age where Bollywood culture is part of our lives, pervasive in almost every corner, training in the classical arts requires a lot of discipline, both mental and physical. I believe that kids have it tougher now than before. When I watch my older child juggle her dance and music classes with a ton of school homework, projects and what-have-you, I realize that time management is critical in her case.

The social milieu makes a big difference too. In Chennai learning Carnatic music and/or Bharata natyam is more common and children there are exposed to a high quality of performances all the year around in almost every neighbourhood. They have role models who seem to be getting younger day by day. But I see a change in the newer breed of classical performers today as they use modern technology and tools to make the classical arts more accessible to the youth. Podcasts, lec-dems, workshops, seminars, learning on skype, and fusion programs help to draw more of the "Pappu can't dance/sing" crowd to the classical halls.

My children are writing their first term quarterly exams this week. My older girl has a morbid fear of exams. Halfway through the three hour session, she loses her concentration, and gets an anxiety attack. But if she were to attempt the same paper at home, she would have answered almost all the questions correctly. So what goes wrong in the examination hall?

The pre-exam tension simply pulls her down. Subsequently, the poor results erode her self-confidence and she finds it hard to get past this. Once she confided in me that she felt she was a “failure” because of her poor grades. She is not alone in this. A lot of students in this country are affected by their school performance. Somehow they directly link intelligence to grades and consider themselves “stupid” if they score poorly in their exams.

What is our definition of failure? Does failure mean scoring poorly in tests? In my view, school exams are but just one measure of how well the child has understood the concepts of a subject.  It is no way a measure of your child’s intelligence. I know my daughter is a multi-faceted personality and has a good aptitude in a lot of areas. Whether it is painting a canvas in oils, or picking up the latest dance steps in her Bharatanatyam class, or writing a poem about bullies in school for the newspaper, her talents are phenomenal. I don’t need tests to prove whether she is “smart”. But I want her to enjoy the learning process in school and develop the skills and confidence to explore and analyze whatever she sees around herself. Learning must be a joyous experience. If children undergo a rigid curriculum that involves constant testing, will they become successful people in the long run? Hasn't the system failed them?

With nearly one lakh people killed annually, India has earned a needless record as the country with the second highest road accident rate according to the World Road Statistics 2007 data. This was brought home to me when I opened my door this morning and found my 13-year old standing there sobbing her heart out. I panicked; certain, that something horrible had happened to her. As indeed, it had. A motorcycle had hit the poor child after she finished her basketball camp. Just as she had stepped off the pavement to cross the road and join her father waiting across the street, a motorcycle had come racing around the corner and hit her on her arm. Fortunately, she had fallen on the side way and had not been run over.

My daughter, even as she sobbed, insisted that she had looked both ways before crossing the road. She had definitely not anticipated a speeding maniac appearing out of the blue – and at that a family man with a wife and child riding pillion! The rider stopped just for a second and rudely claimed it was my daughter’s fault before driving off, without even checking if she was okay!

This incident only highlights one of the biggest dangers on our roads. Indian drivers seem incapable of following road rules, even the most rudimentary ones intended to prevent deaths. Speeding appears to be the norm with most drivers. Everyone is in a hurry – motorcyclists driving on the pavement, buses overtaking other buses and people going the wrong way even on one ways. There is no dearth of rules but utter absence of enforcement. As the statistics show, we are clearly not prepared to follow the rules on our own.

The fact that most Indians overseas whether in the Middle East, Singapore or elsewhere are law abiding and safe drivers clearly indicates it’s a matter of enforcement rather than a national shortcoming. I wouldn’t want anyone else’s child to go through the harrowing experience mine did.

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This article originally appeared in the San Jose Mercury News

The other day I overhead my 4-year old daughter, Ragini and her friend talking about the absence of a TV in our house. Ragini was explaining, "My mom said if I watch TV my eyes would break!"

After a few minutes of silence I heard her friend state authoritatively, "No they won't! You'll just have to wear glasses and then you can watch TV."

Predictably, the rest of the evening was spent explaining to my daughter why we did not have a TV. The incident brought home to me, though, how big a role my daughter's friends play in her life. My own self-importance as her parent was probably a little misplaced!

My children constantly amaze me with their insight and understanding, which belie their age. Ragini, who is in preschool, is curious. Her whys and whats need to be addressed instantly and are never-ending. Every question, when answered, only leads to another.

The quizzing stage

I must admit that now I approach these marathon sessions with less trepidation than before. Especially as my 2-year old Malini approaches her quizzing stage.

Having two tireless and inquisitive daughters keeps me on my toes. I find myself wondering at times how good a parent I am. And what is parenting all about?

Much as I hate to admit it, we probably make parenting more difficult than it actually need be. When my husband and I first decided to have a baby, I found myself worrying about the whole idea. I had never been around babies much.

I remember my husband laughing off my worries. "This isn't a test," he assured me. "There are no rights or wrongs in parenting. All you have to do is love the baby and the rest will fall into place!"

When Ragini finally arrived, despite my homework it dawned on me that nothing really prepares you for parenthood. As my friend Rita, a mother of two teens, was fond of saying, "It's like swimming. You can study it all you want, but till you get in the water none of it really matters. You get down to it, do the best you can, learning as you go and hopefully remembering to enjoy yourself in the process."

Once Ragini and I got home from the hospital, I was a cool and unflappable mom. Not! Everytime the baby sneezed or had colic or displaced a lack of appetite, it led to a flurry of calls and e-mails to the grandparents. And, of course countless trips to the pediatrician.

At times, it seemed as if paranoia and parenthood went together. Surprisingly, my husband appeared to have no trouble slipping into his role. He changed nappies deftly, and never hit the panic button at the first sign of the baby being sick. For me, though, it took a while to get into a routine without the nail-biting, hair-tearing and teeth-gnashing.

When my second daughter, Malini was due, I was confident it would be a piece of cake. But I was blissfully unaware of the challenges of raising to children.

Sibling rivalry, insecurity, regression on the older child's part - the endless list made me recall my sister-in-law's rejoinder when I fretted over parenting issues with Ragini "You ain't seen nothing yet, honey - wait till you have your second!"

I was unprepared, too, for how different my two daughters would be. Both wanted my attention, often only exactly when the other wanted it. They wanted the same things at the same time and just as often did not want the same thing. I found myself playing the referee.

More to learn

After years of domesticity, two kids, and wading through the gamut of illnesses, injuries, pre-school jitters and what-have-you, I feel I've been through it all and yet there's more to learn.

When I talk to parents who have older kids, their constant refrain is, "Can't say it gets better, only that it changes!" Instead of diapers, toys and bottles, you switch to PTA, schooling, computers and other bigger toys.

Parenting seems like rock-climbing except that there is no peak, no summit in sight. And all too often you are just hanging in there by your fingernails, with a load of dirty laundry on your back. It's an exhilirating, ehausting, exciting, roller-coaster ride with gauranteed downs as much as ups, and possibly some bruises to boot.

But I would do it again in a jiffy.

This article originally appeared in the San Jose Mercury News

"Can I ask you a personal question?" I was having dinner with my husband and his colleague, who posed this query rather hesitantly. When I nodded he continued, "I've always wondered what that dot on your forehead means. Is there any special significance to it?" I was silent for a few minutes. "It's called a bindi," I finally said. "Much like a wedding ring, it most often indicates that the woman wearing it is married."

Though my husband's colleague appeared to be satisfied with this answer, I found myself pondering my reply. It isn't just married women who wear the bindi, after all. And it also wasn't the first time someone had asked me this question. The bindi probably has its roots in an earlier tradition of married Hindu women applying kumkum, a vermilion powder, to their forehead. And if she became widowed, a woman lost the privilege to wear the kumkum.

I recall as a little girl in India watching my grandmother each morning go through an elaborate ritual. I secretly called it the bindi ceremony. She would sit at her antique dressing table facing an oval vanity mirror and carefully place the small red box containing the vermilion powder in front of her. Then she would vigorously apply Vaseline to the center of her forehead and using her index finger, carefully make a perfect vermilion dot on top of the Vaseline.

I never grew tired of watching this fascinating moment. A few years later, when Grandfather died, my grandmother stopped wearing the bindi. When I saw her face bereft of its perfectly circular red dot, I felt a pang. It was as if a vital part of her had been plucked away. She had had such a glowing face, with a peaches and rose complexion, and now it seemed so barren. I was puzzled when I saw the change in her, but was too young to understand.

Today as I dress my 4 year-old daughter and apply a colored bindi that matches her new maroon dress, I realize that a lot has changed over the years. Recently my friend Rita, who is in her mid-30s and has two young children, lost her husband. Rita has continued to wear her bindi despite her family's conservatism.

And the bindi itself has evolved from its traditional red to every imaginable color. The dot has also morphed into numerous shapes. Moreover with celebrities like Madonna and Naomi Campbell sporting bindis, the custom has entered the mainstream.

To me, the bindi is a statement of who I am - I don't wear it to flaunt my marital status or as a fashion accessory. Yes, it is all of the above, yet something more. It reminds me of my roots and upbringing. It also serves as a link between the past and future. It will be one of the traditions I will pass on to my daughters.