The Censorship Tightrope

I've realised something. Parenting does not get simpler, as one would expect, as your child grows older. It gets more and more complicated and convoluted. Take the issue of censorship, for example.

As a modern-day 'liberated' parent, you recoil from the very mention of the C word. An individual should be exposed to all kinds of things. If you raise a child sensibly, then he or she should be able to sieve the good from the ugly. In keeping with this philosophy, I have never changed television channels when a snogging scene comes up, nor have I stopped Riju from watching Hindi mainstream films. My books are also unlocked and accessible. I believe that adult content implies subjects that a young mind may misinterpret, not necessarily sex and violence that society at large brands as "adult".

But, of late, my belief is wavering. The most recent trigger is a game. I have, in the course of Net trawling and conversations with knowledgeable persons, heard of a famous and addictive game called the Grand Theft Auto. Riju was exposed to this game on a visit to his cousin's. He was completely enthralled and wanted to buy it, with his own pocket money. "Okay," I agreed.

He bought Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas on a recent visit to a mall. On our way home, I was looking at the purchase when I saw that there's "18" written on the cover. Now, why would a PC game be only for adults? I glanced through the booklet that came with the package, and discovered, to my consternation, that the game features, apart from the usual mayhem and murders, foul language in the conversations between the characters, a gay bar that a player can frequent and a strip club full of friendly neighbourhood strippers. And, I found out later, the cheat codes for the game include one that allows a player to have sex.

Whoa! Now that was too much even for me. When I pointed out that this game is meant for people older than 9 definitely, Riju protested loudly. Anybody would; after all, it was his money he spent on the game. He offered to let me play it to see for myself how harmless it is. I couldn't turn that down. I played. And I did not come across anything that could be labelled 18-and-above. So, I let Riju play while I hovered in the background. It seemed innocuous enough. But even then, after he was through for the evening, I locked the game CD in my wardrobe. I haven't given it to him yet, coming up with one excuse or the other.

But sooner, rather than later, I have to give it to him. I can't really ask him to wait till 18, can I? And I also can't keep a watch all the time. So, I'm in a fix. Should I let him play GTA at the risk of seeing him spout foul language and harbouring not-so-innocent thoughts at the tender age of nine? Or should I clamp "Parental Discretion Rule" ignoring my son's protests and my earlier anti-censorship philosophy? Do I protect his innocence or preserve his individuality? Aaargh!

Kids and Consumerism

I wrote this piece over 4 years ago. But the point's still valid.

Raising a child in these times of rocketing consumerism is fraught with danger. One constantly hears stories of youngsters barely into their teens using rather crooked means to get their quota of cell phones, designer outfits, nightclub entries and what have you.

Doctors and social scientists advise us parents not to give in to our children’s demands, but that, like most pieces of advice, is easier said than done. I know. I have a four-year-old who loves his cartoons, but he loves the ads in between the cartoons even better. He doesn’t mind if he misses a minute or two of his favourite Popeye or Tom & Jerry show, but hell breaks loose if we mute the television even for a second during the commercials.

Last Christmas, he asked Santa for a washing machine—not just any, mind you, but of a particular brand—so that his mother, like the ever-smiling super mom in the ad, can have enough time on her hands to bake him a strawberry cake. That his mother doesn’t even know the recipe to begin with, or that even if she did, she would hardly have had the time or the energy (ask any mother, the phrase ‘energy crisis’ holds an entirely different meaning for them) to bake a cake after a hard day’s work seems to have escaped him completely. Luckily for me, Santa didn’t oblige. And I got him a strawberry pastry from the neighbourhood cake shop.

But I don’t expect all problems to come with such simple solutions. There’s a whole wide world of goodies out there, and it’s only a matter of time before he starts eyeing the pricier ones. Therein lies the crux of the problem: How do I explain to a four-year-old that all those nice toys lining the shop window doesn’t really matter in the bigger scheme of things; that he should focus on the smaller (read: cheaper) joys of life; that abstinence is the best policy to reach a higher plane of being? The explanation becomes even tougher in the light of the fact that his parents simply can’t do without their share of the latest gadgets, good clothes, and premium Scotch. We know, of course, that, we are well past the age when we are likely to give in to temptations like clearing out our parents’ bank accounts (we drain our life’s savings instead, but that’s another story), but it’s difficult making that distinction to my son. Consumerism is here to stay, and all we parents can do is pray that we don’t get our throats slit for refusing a camera phone. As of now, my son’s fifth birthday is coming up and he has asked for a house.

All that Fan-Fare

Riju is now old enough to be a fan. A cricket fan. It started, though, with being a Shah Rukh fan. Last year IPL. Shah Rukh in town, doling out sound bites on his team, the Kolkata Knight Riders. Riju had just turned eight then. He was not really interested in cricket. Computer games like Need for Speed were more up his street. Like most children these days, sport, to him, meant a period in school. He had a football at home: deflated and neglected. His father cajoled him to watch soccer ties with him: to no avail. Formula 1 drew more attention.

So this was the situation when Shah Rukh came to town. Riju knew all about 'SRK', as he called the star. His movies are fun and had great songs. And boy, could he dance! SRK's team was a natural choice for Riju. The 8-year-old began watching cricket. Learned the names of the players, learned names of strokes, a few fielding positions and bowling actions. Listened to adult conversation and tried to copy. That was last year.

Then, he wanted a bat, balls, wickets. A playing companion. The last one was the toughest. But even that got sorted out eventually, sporadically. He began to shadow practise. He followed even normal cricket matches and the careers of his team players. Some players were gradually elevated to favourites' spot. He got himself a computer game on cricket and cheered when he learned the trick to hit a sixer.

And now, this year's IPL. Riju saved up to buy the Knight Riders jersey. From Reebok, no less. I winced on seeing the price tag, but then I was never a fan. Not like this. I cheered for India too, especially in Prudential Cup. I shed tears when Sachin got out, but secretly. I prayed for Ivan Lendl to win the Wimbledon and Graf the French Open. I lusted after Gary Linekar and, of course, Klinsmann and Maradona. But I never got myself jerseys: merchandising had not yet become so widespread. And I never become so caught up with team's fortune that I would want to dump that same jersey after my team lost consecutive matches.

Watching a KKR match with Riju has become fraught with danger. As the team miserably lurches from one loss to the next, the 9-year-old howls, sobs, whimpers, throws tantrums and anything around him. No amount of explaining that it's only a game does the trick. It's then that I feel the resentment welling up inside me. Resentment against the team management, coach, owner and the players. All of them. If only they could see how their mismanagement and ego tussles cause so much pain and misery to a single fan — a child who, innocent of the ways of the world, had reposed all his faith in his hero's team. If only they could see how they fail him and countless others like him who dreamt of a trophy. If only they realised how they are making cynics of nine-year-olds.

The IPL introduced my son to the charms of cricket. Would the same IPL make him turn away from the sport? Would the fan'fare' die or would it mature into love? Watch this space to know.

A Small Verse

In Bangla.

Mon kharap brishti holo eto

Shomosto raat mathaar charidharey

Ami tomar swapney pawa angul

Joriye chhilam jwoler adhikarey