Monday, March 26, 2012

Of wearing white and other important things...

Yesterday, something rather strange happened on twitter to mamma. Some random person informed a dear friend that he had "seen the bad news about me" on television and naturally, said friend, all in panic pinged me. After I had reassured her that I was very much corporal and far from ethereal, I took myself to her timeline to read the conversation which had been floating around. I butted into the conversation and asked said person where he got his information from and reassured him that I was not dead, dying nor diagnosed with any terminal ailment. That settled down, like all unpleasant stuff should, within a couple of hours of me tweeting violently to assure people I was still around.
The suggestion though had put thoughts of the very morbid variety into my head. I reached home and pulled the brat to me, having built up visions in my head of looking on beatifically on him from the spiritual plane and showering blessings on him, and such like, in case I happened to shuffle off the mortal coil closer than the due date.
"Brat," I asked him, "What will you do if mamma dies?"
I thought to myself, having lost a parent barely six months down the line from brat's current age, he should know that parents don't come with an extended warranty.
He looked thoughtful, I prepared my speech about how it wasn't likely but how he should be a good boy and do justice to my memory and not just by ODing on the edible stuff.
I looked at him questioningly for his answer. He contemplated hard and one could see the wheels whirring in his cranium. "I'll wear white kurta pyjama."
Errm.
The maternal heart was quite crushed, but part of me was chuffed that all said and done, the brat would keep the sartorial flag inherited from me flying high.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

CSAAM April 2012 is here

Remember April 2011 on Twitter, Facebook and blogs? We talked about Child Sexual Abuse – the hows, the wheres and the whens. We were overwhelmed by the response it generated, humbled by the weight of the personal stories of despair and courage. It’s that time of the year again and we’re going ahead with Child Sexual Abuse Awareness Month – April 2012. Do you have a story to tell?  Tips to share? A video, a link, an ebook? As a parent, as an adult, as a child? As before, we honour all requests for anonymity. Bring your experience and your expertise to this awareness initiative via Blog posts with the logo (you can copy the image above), linkback to our blog, with the words “CSAAM April 2012” in the title
  1. Twitter posts or links to @CSAawareness, tagged “#CSAAM”
  2. FB notes linking to our Facebook page
  3. Emails to csa.awareness.april@gmail.com
Or just simply show support by displaying the Picsquare badge 
on your site/page/profile.
    This year, we hope to increase our focus and reach with our new CSAAM App and our sensitisation workshops. You’ll find both in our blog come April 2012.

    Sunday, March 11, 2012

    Of signature flicking....

    and not in the sense you would think.

    I have a pretty basic signature. I sign K Manral. And it is legible and not a higgly piggly squiggly mess of heiroglyphs that would have signature experts tearing their hair out to decipher. My abbreviated signature is KM and pretty simple at that too. The child has been seeing me sign and compared with his father's indecipherable scrawl of a signature, mine seems much more identifiable.

    Yesterday he brought home a form for his karate exam for a promotion to the next level of belt. From yellow he moves to orange. Within the form there is a space which says applicant's signature. He had me fill out all the blanks within the form and then grabbed it back with an unseemliness when it came to that particular space, plucked the pen out of my hand without a bye your leave and happily signed K Manral in his painstakingly uneven print script.

    "Dere. I signt it."

    But, I sputtered, that is my signature, you can't have the same signature as me, brat, you need to find yourself something else as a signature, something different.

    "No," he said stubbornly, lower lip and jaw jutting out, arms folded defensively. "I tookt this signature. Now you go find anudder one fer yerself.