The observer observed

Following on from what I wrote in the last blog about Maya thinking that Lily is her baby, yesterday while I was writing, not only did I hear Maya being very bossy to Lily, but also to poor Deepa. When I asked Deepa later what all the commotion was about, she told me that Maya yelled at her not to touch Lily because she was her baby!! Oh dear...think we need a serious conversation about this.

A brief observation I'd like to write about today...This morning we went to the bookshop where, on many weekends, they have storytelling and craft activities. We thought this was something Maya might enjoy. So we turn up and there we see rows of small children sitting quietly, waiting for the story to begin, with not a parent in sight. This is because all the parents are browsing around the bookshop or sitting in one of the comfy chairs provided to read books (isn't that great?). Fantastic, we think, we'll leave Maya with the storyteller and do the same. Yeah, right. Every time we look around, there she is, climbing over the chairs, singing loudly, throwing her snacks around and generally causing a disturbance and completely and utterly distracting all the other kids. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Maya is a noisy, tearaway child or anything of that sort, but compared to Indian children she is a little terror! I just cannot get over how obliging so many of the Indian kids I've come across are. The storyteller asks who wants to come to the front to tell a story and every single little hand in the room shoots desperately skywards. Then up to the front they go, gush out their tale and then they sit in complete silence listening to the Jungle Book, generally only speaking when spoken to. Truly, it's extraordinary. Then with the craft activity (today was designing a crown) - they are all amazing perfectionists. Maya's crown was one big (beautiful) mess of glitter and glue whereas with the other kids, even the tiny ones, they spent forever designing perfect little patterns and motifs.

I've noticed this at her nursery too, that she would come back each day with works of art which, beautiful though they were, were on the whole not Maya's work. Initially when I asked her if she did the picture, she'd enthusiastically say yes, but as time wore on, honesty kicked in and when I asked ' Maya, did you do this?' she'd say 'No, lady did it!' Oh. So much for that then. If she was lucky, she'd get to do some sticking. But why, oh why, this need for perfection? Give me a big, messy picture that the child has done themselves anyday, even if the dog looks like a fish and the mango looks like a deformed turnip.

So the bottom line is, I don't think the bookshop activity this morning was a wild success. We're still learning, constantly trying to find 'Maya-friendly' activities, but sometimes we're way off the mark. Take last night for example, we went to a busy, manic, bustling market called Bazaar St to find a length of material to use as a sling. We thought this would be hard work with the girls because it really is a crazy part of town. But Maya loved it. She absolutely loved it. After we'd found the material we turned down a side street and came across a huge, impressive temple where there were hundreds of Hindus praying, singing and milling. Maya danced in and out of the ancient stone pillars like a little fairy, listened to the devotional music and shook hands with many people fascinated by the child with the golden curls. And then when she had announced she'd had enough and it was time to go home, we jumped in the back of a rickshaw and as we tore through the streets of Bangalore, her grin was as wide as the Danube. (See photo!)