K - Kids & Mental Health #AtoZ #MentalHealthAwareness

According to the surgeon general, approximately one out of every five children has a diagnosable mental illness. Children can develop the same mental health conditions as adults, but their symptoms may be different.

Children, however, are developing mentally and physically, and their behavior may be difficult to analyze. Actions such as anxiety, anger, and shyness can be a part of developmental growth or a temporary condition rather than an illness. When troubling behaviors occur over a period of time or in a way that disrupts daily life, they are considered symptoms of a disorder.

Studies have shown that these children, if left untreated by a mental health professional, will likely to grow up and repeat these same behaviors with their children.

Children need to have a good mental health status if they are going to live up to their full potential and truly live a life that is filled with positive experiences and the willingness to do what is best for themselves and the people around them. Children with mental health issues will have a difficult time acclimating to different situations.

Some children have to deal with a childhood that is filled with angst, resentment, hatred, distrust, and constant negativity. They have a difficult time coping with their emotions. Many children just naturally feel depressed or have anxiety issues. When these issues are not dealt with in the proper fashion, the children tend to have lower self-esteem and they struggle in the educational environment.

Initial diagnosis is based on reports of behavior from parents, caregivers, and teachers in order to understand how the child functions in different situations. The following disorders are common in childhood:

•         Anxiety

•         Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD)

•         Eating problems

•         Bathroom issues

•         Feelings of sadness, or moodiness

•         Disruptive behaviour

•         Learning disorders, such as dyslexia

•         Involuntary movements , or tics

•         Schizophrenia, or distorted thoughts and feelings

Some disorders begin in childhood and continue into adolescence and adulthood. Others go away or improve with age, and some begin later in life. Alarmingly, however, 70% of children and young people who experience a mental health problem have not had appropriate interventions at a sufficiently early age.

If they have a warm, open relationship with their parents/caregivers, children will usually feel able to tell them if they are troubled. One of the most important ways parents can help is to listen to them and take their feelings seriously. They may want a hug, they may want you to help them change something or they may want practical help. 

Some tips for parents:

• •         Be aware of your child’s media use - TV, movies, Internet, gaming devices and online games.
• •         Provide time for physical activity, play, and family activities.
• •         Be a role model by taking care of your own mental health: Talk about your feelings. Make time for things you enjoy.
• •         Associate no shame or fear with mental illness.

DISCLAIMER: All the information being provided her has been sourced from the internet and books and some also via personal experiences. It has no medical authentication per se so suggestions if followed must be done in consultation with a trained mental health professional.

References:

http://www.kidsmentalhealth.org/

https://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/a-to-z/c/children-and-young-people

This post is a part of April Blogging from A To Z Challenge

You can find all my posts here.

Don't say you love me

Image : Google Images

Chooses the tenderest words

to describe a lost love

if you choose to remember me

sometime, in a rooftop cafe

whenever on a beach, if

a receding wave brings back memories 

of my impossible dreams with you

smile at the sea

the moment your newborn

clasps your finger in his palm

whisper my name in his ear

tell him he lived in my dreams

if you write an autobiography

leave a chapter blank for me

for ruins can't be mentioned

in stories about homes and families

Choose to move on

for burials must be brief

no words are ever appropriate

don't say you love me

that is the worst part !

An Infant's grave

The cursor throbs in pain

of aborting a word

that was a dream

A writer's heart 

is a tender womb

where life hope plants a seed

and life's forceps

pull out forcibly

the last remains of 

a half-formed love

they say an infant's grave

often glows

that's the light

you see in my eyes !

Candy Shop

standing outside 

life's candy shop

I count my pennies

the shiny price tags

all beyond me

peace, love, success

in their shiny jars

like nasty kids

sticking out their tongues

they silently smirk and 

say L-O-S-E-R

I can't surely afford

what I want

and would never want

what my pennies can buy

so I turn around

and throw the pennies

above my head

making a wish

that some other kid

might pick them up

and have her dream

fulfilled !

Rigor Mortis Revisited

Science says
brain shall live
ten minutes
after death

before the memory center
the last one to die
flashes a slideshow
of life gone by

so lets pick the slides

• my father's snowboots
• Shimla's cedars whistling
• little fingers dipped in paint
• a dark lonely corridor
• the smell of books
• first blood in panties
• the rush of a love letter
• first dead body
• waves and sand
• scars and bruises
• cobbled streets of Brugge
• touch of a surgical blade
• a Sufi shrine
• a little Buddha
• two small feet kicking
• Ardas in a Gurdwara
• papers and destiny
• Screens and calls
• blinking cursor

the last moment of my
Rigor Mortis love

THE REVOLUTIONARY

This story was first published as a winner of Muse of the Month, September 2016, at Women's Web here.

This was a small town in Chhattisgarh, about a hundred kilometres away from the remote village that was home for her. Kamayani Bose was here on her monthly visit to buy school stationery and medicines. This was also where she sometimes used the internet at a Cyber Café to look up current affairs and government policies or the fate of her various Right to information applications lying pending with this system in slumber.

Today was momentous, as she was reading an article on upcoming public food supplies policy on a news website a familiar face stared at her from a pop-up window- Subroto Ray, an advertisement for his next book launch in Kolkata.

She looked at his receding hairline, the grey curls, and the sly smile and finally into the eyes of that face, they were still the same, charming and deceptive. Kamayani smiled to herself as an old chapter from her story was reshuffled by that face. She had forgiven him and moved on, yet memories shall remain.

It was the early 80s in the most prestigious university in Delhi that Kamayani had first seen those eyes following her and observing her intently as she went about the political meetings and protests by his side. She was the only child of two famous communist ideologues and living up to that reputation had joined socialist student groups in college and university. He - the Che Guevara of Delhi as he was famously known then was one of the most famous faces of the students’ movement - the much-respected, idealised Subroto Da.

Like all other ‘petit bourgeois’ kids of the 70s and 80s they were all high on the idea of rebellion. Other than her marriage-seeking relationship with Subroto, Kamayani had broken all traditional rules- short hair, smoking in public, pre-marital sex, abusive language, her mother worried that no good Bengali family would accept her as their son’s spouse, she feared that the well-reputed, politically and financially powerful Rays would only accept her if she changed her ways to become a proper ‘Bhadralok’ daughter-in-law.

But Kamayani was blinded by love and ideals and she rarely cared, she lived her ideology, at least she thought so, everything about her was so anti-establishment. She was inspired by the Paris’ Sorbonne university upheavals and anti-Vietnam protests across US campuses.

Soon they started travelling in groups to villages with their lofty ideals of a revolution by the commoners. She dreamed of setting up an idyllic country home somewhere as Mrs. Subroto Ray and then show-off her tribal and organic lifestyle when they travelled back to their elite families in Kolkata and Delhi respectively.

She imagined them travelling together to International Conferences and in her tribal-patterned kurtas and jeans walking to the prestigious podiums becoming the face of the rebellion against the oppressive government in India. Teaching English, Marxism and Feminism to villagers and bringing back international prizes for the work.

Unfortunately her dreams had a lifespan of only a few months. Subroto, the Ray scion could not bear with the heat, mosquitoes and unhygienic living conditions in the rural areas. The recurrent news of police atrocities on members of the group if caught with Marxist literature or any other association with the movement heightened his blood pressure so much that her rushed back to Kolkata for a short stint to regain health, but never came back.

Next Kamayani knew he had flown to Boston for a Doctorate and she was left alone to stay on if she wished. She survived the abortion by an untrained midwife in the village and realised for the first time what a real revolution here demanded- a lifetime. Being a true revolutionary she had to overcome all her traditional ideas of marriage, family, and society and start her life afresh as someone who had undergone a radical soul-transformation.

A decade later, the radical movement had fizzled out, Kamayani Di as she was now known ran a school for girls and a few friends ran a small clinic in the village. She had realised the system could only be changed from within.

Her father had passed away and her mother had moved to live with her uncle’s family in Kolkata. Kamayani had sold their house and every piece of precious heirloom to buy infrastructure for her school.

Her long lustrous hair had greyed in corners and edges, her crude cotton saris were woven right here in this village by a women’s cooperative, she had forgotten all her elite swagger and now spoke their language, ate their food. She never went to any conferences even if invited, just sent articles by post to a few publications and periodicals about their projects.

Her screen had turned on a screensaver of bouncing balls by the time her reverie broke; she clicked back into her email-account and was happy to receive another contribution from a friend in Delhi for the hospital they were planning to build in place of the clinic.

Kamayani no longer wanted a handsome, intelligent, go-getter husband or a perfect idyllic home; she did not crave for recognition or acclaim all she wanted was a better life for the tribals she lived with and this was now her only lifelong commitment.

As Nilanjana Roy says in The Girl Who Ate Books,” It was a choice that turned in another direction from the freedoms she had so often longed for and fought for….” , but Kamayani now knew for sure it was a worthy choice and now her life was her revolution.

Metaphysical musings on Republic Day

Representational photo of small tableaus on The Ridge, Shimla
Source: Google Images

 

Sitting atop an Electricity Board tableau that had the permission to drive through the generally restricted The Ridge and The Mall in Shimla, my 4-5 years  old self back in the eighties understood nothing about republic or the need to celebrate it.

 

A  small procession that began from the old Telegraph building up to the Christ Church  and the perk of a good refreshment was enough to get me excited about it.

 

That year the theme was how electricity had changed lives in remote areas and the moment the bulb hanging on my head was to be lit , I had to give excited expressions sitting there with a book.

 

All the "artists" were chosen from the residential complex of the board for ease of access.

 

Cause and effect are such a strange phenomenon, what we think is the cause might be the effect of something previous to it.

 

For decades I had completely forgotten about this  but now as I struggle to pinpoint the meaningfulness of a republic or its celebration, the memories are back.

 

My father's family paid a huge price of freedom in 1947 and lived for years with the label "refugees" from across the border. Home was always a very fluid concept for them.

 

I spent a large part of my life in the hills and in some parts of my state democracy or republic has still not changed quality of life services much.

 

The city I live in now, the glorious capital is struggling to find clean water and fresh air.  The disparity between the "haves" and the "have nots" we overlook everyday because we are all helpless in its face.

" Things are changing" is such a lame argument because I feel my 7 years old girl is still as unsafe as my grandmother was in 1947.

 

Yes I am the sceptic, I am alright with being labelled  "naysayer" for asking the cause and effect questions, for asking what use is a latest radar to me if I don't have clean air.

 

To me glorifying the soldier without his human rights is pseudo, to me the façade of a republic where all voices are not equal is a sham.

 

I was reading  Emil Cioran earlier and I so relate to - I feel completely detached from any country, any group. I am a metaphysically displaced person.

 

PS: I will do a follow up post for all the trolls labelling me "traitor" after this, if need be.

Break the Silence #MomsForABetterWorld

“Let’s raise children who wont have to recover from their childhoods.” —Pam Leo

 

As every other parent the things I want to tell my child is a never ending list. A few weeks ago for the #MomsForABetterWorld initiative I had to prioritise and re-order this list and I wasn't surprised that Awareness about Child Sexual Abuse topped my list.

 

Almost every person I have talked to about this has recalled some or the other incident of some kind of abusive behaviour they have witnessed or experienced as a child. So I am sure this is an issue even larger than we can ever imagine.

 

I have always hated the festival of Holi because I was once forcefully coloured by an inebriated neighbour, a friend hates chocolates because her uncle would make her kiss him for those, an online friend recalls how horrified she was when as a child a grown up relative exposed himself to her.

 

These are real incidents that may/may not damage the child physically but leave deep scars for the rest of their lives, we cannot even imagine the horror a childhood becomes when abuse is persistent and under the covers for years.



 

 

 

 

 

India is still largely a traditional country where issues related to sexuality are largely taboo.A large number of our children are still made to view their bodies with shame and fear. We rarely speak about bodily functions openly and our social setup does not bar unsolicited physical contact like hugging or patting on the back.

 

We have a country where toilets are still unavailable to a large number of children making them even more vulnerable and easily accessible to sexual predators.

 

A lot of parents from my generation are shy to speak about touch and pleasure to our children because we were brought up in times when even mothers or teachers would not talk about even mensuration or puberty.

 

Often parents think its too early to talk to children about it but the sooner they know the better. Also it happens to only girls is a huge myth- all children, boys and girls run a huge risk of facing abuse. 

 

The only way we can protect our children is by educating them about sexuality in an age -appropriate manner without scaring them

 

The increasing number of sexual crimes against children and the alarming trend that most often the perpetrators are people known to the child and the family makes it even more imperative that our children are aware of the risk and know what to do when.

 

Here are a few things that I often repeat with my six year old :

My Dear P,

• Our private parts need to be named and these are just like our other parts but private because we do not talk about them in public or show them in public.
• Always remember good touch and bad touch, try to know the difference between a simple/normal hug and an uncomfortable hug.
• Even when you feel the slightest physical discomfort with any person run and tell a parent /teacher immediately.
• You and me keep no secrets especially the ones that hurt.
• Say NO to physical contact whenever you are uncomfortable. Go offend the world, all I care about is your comfort and safety.
• Use your vocabulary well, use and know words and actions like cuddle, hug, kiss, hold, rub, show to indicate anything inappropriate.
• Know that whenever you report any such incident or even intuition YOUR version will always be trusted by me, I am here to listen even if at first it sounds funny or awkward.
• You can dial 1098 (CSA Helpline) and seek help for yourself or a friend whom you feel needs help.

 

A few reminders for myself and all other parents:

• If our child is a survivor of sexual abuse he/she or us have no reason to be ashamed about it.
• No tradition or family honour is greater than the childhood of a child so speak up , whatever the odds.
• Stand by your child ,only love can heal even the deepest wounds.
• We can prevent our children from being silent victims.

 

We need to be a loud and clear collective voice Against Child Sexual Abuse. Yes maybe awareness alone would not prevent all incidents of abuse but by speaking about it openly, strongly and clearly we are initiating a social avalanche that may save a lot of our children from suffering in silence.

 

This post is a part of #MomsForABetterWorld Blogger Contest at Women's Web.

Yell Silently ( in the memory of my late father)

Y

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

Today 

I will just say

don't just listen to

the loud voices

the evident noises

listen to

souls

that mourn alone

and yell silently

 

 



Tea & Travel ( in the memory of my late father)

T

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

 

 

I try to remember

all the places

and all the types of tea

 you had with me

 

 

In mud cups,

in fine china

roadside glasses

trains, buses, cars

in the comfort of our home

and across journeys

 

from aluminium kettles

ornate flasks, travel mugs

wherever ,whenever

there was tea

we were always ready :)

 

 of the many gifts Papa

I wish my girl would inherit

 from you and me

 

one of the best would be

our love for travel

and our passion for tea.



Q & A (in the memory of my late father)

Q

 

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 Did you think of me one last time?

Was the going away painful?

Am I doing fine without you?

Are you fine now?

Will this emptiness ever go away?

Is there actually a hereafter?

 

Will you always remember me?

Will we ever meet again?

 

The necromancer promises

Me all the answers

I prefer your memories.



Pay it Forward Parenting (in the memory of my late father)

 

 

Today when I am a parent myself, I feel some of my most special lessons in parenting come from my father. These were not written in some kind of a rule book or spoken aloud like quotable quotes but these came to me in actions that were louder than any words.

•  About three and a half decades ago in a quaint little town you were a diaper dad by choice. I understood parenthood as being better than the highly popularised motherhood.

• I always saw you helping mummy around the house, especially with my tasks- tiffin, getting the school dress in order, homework. My first lessons in gender-neutral parenting and partnership.

• Unlike a lot other homes, me and mummy would watch a cricket match and you would make us tea. So the first person who broke down gender stereotypes within the family for me was you.

• In teenage years, periods or sanitary napkins weren’t a taboo, I could talk to mummy or I could talk to you. It made me so much at ease with my body and my sexuality.

• Unlike a lot of parents, contrary to public opinion and even your own preference for the Sciences you supported me when I opted for Humanities right after school. There was no pressure to be someone I was not.

• You kept struggling with your own patriarchal upbringing to accept my male friends, boyfriend, my independent lifestyle choices, but you never held them against me even when some of them went horribly wrong. You allowed me my mistakes and their lessons.

• You always told me no matter what you were proud of me and that you would always love me. This realisation is such a huge part of my self-worth.

• You always believed and displayed so much of confidence in my abilities that I could push my boundaries every single time. You gave me all my strength.

Trying to raise my child with self-belief, gender-sensitivity, an independent mind and a strong voice, just like what my father did for me.


This post is an entry for father’s day contest by kreativemommy



Open Letter to Papa (in the memory of my late father)

O

 

Blogging from A to Z Challenge [April 2015]

 

 

 

 

Dear Papa

Almost 45 days ago you ceased to physically exist in this world. A couple of days after that while I was sorting your drawers I found the few letters I had written to you over the years and the cards and messages your grandchild had sent you neatly arranged in a folder labelled :special mail.

So today I am writing another one for that folder because I know this longest-distance relationship that we have now will not stop you from reading this. There is still so much to be said.

As you were aging and your ailments were taking their toll on your health and memories, we often talked about death and the hereafter. I do not know many parents who do that but I know it was another of your valuable life-lessons for me. We were both learning to come to terms with the inevitable.

You were preparing me to face the known miseries of the world without the comfort of having you there and I was letting you slip gradually into the unknown hereafter.

No tribute can rightly summarise what I want to say to you now. But if physical existence is some kind of a chance at learning life I say Papa you always were and will be my spine and my voice.

Despite my personal shortcomings I am proud that you have shaped me into a strong and independent mind and a compassionate and sensitive soul. Ever since I first held a crayon or read a word you have done everything to unlock my creativity and imagination and so it is alright I guess if by genetics I also happen to pick up some of your annoying habits and traits. J

Almost every day there are times when I shatter to a million pieces, when I feel like a rootless tree which will not endure the next storm, when I call out for you over and over again. But I know you are always watching over me and my little one. I have lost a parent but I have gained a guardian angel.

Keep sending me and her your love and life lessons. I promise I will keep growing in your memory.

PS: I remember you had once told me – no real learning is ever without pain.

Love

P

CHILDREN'S DAY SNAPSHOTS

31st December
my frozen hands
want to loose
their painful fingertips
long after the party is over
the dishes are done
I make a new year wish.

20th January
The shiny new flyover
is not a road
its curved underbelly
is home
cold, unsafe, no walls
the NGO people
tell us fairy tale


14th February
I sold 100 roses today
the money and mother
are gone
Are all policemen bad?


23rd March
I serve tea
to intelligent people
in the university
while they talk about revolution
someone called Bhagat Singh

17th April
My mom died
father is in prison for it
I am now a parent
to three of us.


27th May
The little girl
in the big house
where mom works
has something called vacation
I am sure it must be pretty

20th June
She says touch is love
Love cannot feel so bad
the chocolate she leaves behind
always tastes bitter
even when
I be a good boy

16th July
I polish the pretty school shoes
I iron the beautiful pinafore
I pack the tiffin
I walk the dog
I sometimes feel hungry.

15th August
I sold flags
at a traffic light
the tar burns
into my soles
what is In-de-pen-den-ce
who knows?

25th September
I can never forget
I can never tell
what he does to me
but I want to go to school....

19th October
The Diwali sweets
my fingers
my skin
tastes like gunpowder
my eyes can't bear the light
I make crackers.

14th November
CHILDREN'S DAY


 

boxes and hoaxes

an old melody on the radio
the strange resemblance
of a fellow morning walker
to a person 
may stir open
the Pandora's box we call past.

sometimes its nothing,
nothing and the box opens up ,
horrors and joys
 come tumbling out,
each slightly coloured
by the other ,
by remaining
in the same box for long.

Am I the instrument or
am I the subject of your experiments, life?

Like children playing cat's cradle
you twist the thread of my soul
around your invisible fingers
and I often fall twisted in myself.

Rituals and more rituals
for the beginnings and the endings,
why do we believe, why we don't?

hanging
between auspicious and inauspicious
a grey cat
scared of all the noise
waits for the traffic
to cross the road.

kids behaving like adults
adults carrying
child-like fragile egos
topsy-turvy
we live your hoaxes

Goosebumps
what did you just do?
 

I wish instead....just a rant

• I wish during my early years in Shimla instead of pouring all my attention on books I had explored the fun outdoors more.
• I wish when single I had travelled more instead of worrying about a career.
• I wish when young instead of valuing people for their achievements I had valued them for their essence.
• I wish instead of being just an armchair activist I am able to do something to make a difference to a girl child's life other than my daughter in this lifetime.
• I wish instead of the boundary walled apartment complex and the hostile-to-women city I lived somewhere I had a beach for a safe evening walk.
• I wish instead of following the Indian style of parenting including "protect the child" I had travelled and gone out more with P.
• I wish instead of this list I had written something better.

:p

BITTER CHOCOLATE

He was always
a known face
in school,at home
a library or a park

whether it was a bruise
a forced kiss
or a gashing scar

she never slept
to dream a dream
the shroud of shame
the conspiracy of silence
never let her scream

this is the last
to herself she would lie
but that it was
always a lie

his smell would never
leave the room
the chocolate
he left was always bitter.

She had noticed
long back that
that there it sat
in a dictionary
-'trust' the pseudo word
interceded between
'truth' and 'tragedy.'


(This is inspired by Pinky Virani's book by the same title about child abuse.We celebrate children's day,its time we celebrate childhood only when we are ready as individuals,families and societies to speak up against our children being exploited and abused.)

Tale of the Tiffin-Box

Whoever said ,'life comes a full circle', probably meant it for only the higher philosophical concepts like aging,maturing of human relationships and the like.However for me this has come true in a very mundane yet intersting routine way,in the form of a tiffin-box.

I remember when I was a school student myself tiffin meant food packed by mothers(mostly) to be shared with friends during lunch break in school.It hardly had any glamour attached to it,the boxes were mostly steel ,round ,rectangular or square,alien to paper tissues ,cling wrap and silver foil.They were independent of brands and the unwanted classism that comes with it.

The contents too were often not too fancy- a simple aloo parantha,poori-sabzi and simple toasties made in manual toasters.The essence was yes the cliched mom's love and the sharing with friends,the mischief of making unequal shares and avoiding politely a baigan bharta or karela sabzi.

Now I sit on the other side of the fence,a mom who has to plan and pack a nutritious and non-junk tiffin for my toddler as the school suggests.The humble tiffin -box is now colourful and branded,it has multiple compartments and fewer friends.The sharing depends on how haute your cuisine is and your popularity in class.

Mom's love is a little diluted in the stress to make a new recipe every day and the tale of the tiffin-box goes on,may its joys come back !

Yuletide tidings

It is that time of the year again,when all everyone does is wish,enjoy,evaluate and speculate.All the inboxes,walls and tweets are flooded with greetings and wishes.The whole world appears to be shopping,eating and merry making. Its Christmas tomorrow and a new year is at the threshold 1-1-11 ,as a friend pointed out.Long back when I was in college a teacher had pointed out much to my displeasure then that all my writings became highly sceptical ,specially around happy occassions.

Luckily for me The scepticism doesn't crop from a bad or deprived childhood,or a traumatic adult life.I now admit It is there but only due to my way of looking at not to so obvious things around us.As my two year old plays with her stack of toys I see a 10-11 year old in a house across whitewashing the walls for the christmas party,and then of course there is Anita(you would know her if you are a regular here),children you and me witness everyday working at homes,farms and shops.

Girls we see everyday being discriminated against.Women we see being mistreated in homes and workplaces.

I am trying to be cheerful this yuletide and push all these images behind a thick gaze of  devil may care.

Be it Diwali,Christmas,New Year or any celebration I am sorry to have a tinge of grey in my heart and mind about things that must but don't change,things to change which my little solitary effort is but too little.

A friend made a spelling error in his Facebook Post saying "marry christmas",but gave me the idea to request all my blog friends to marry this merry christmas with some good deed and charity for those who need it.Those of you who can help financially do so,but more importantly share some time,attentiona and mental space.Make your Christmas merry and the new year meaningful as you rub on joy and happiness.