Comedy of Manners

The Telegraph. 19^th August 2003.

Comedy of Manners.

I literally had to coerce my son to attend his classmate’s birthday party. ‘But Ma, I don’t play with Suhel…he’s not my friend…yesterday he bit my finger… here…see. I am katti with him and for life!’ wailed my six years old son. I had to explain politely yet firmly that it was bad manners to decline an invitation unless it was absolutely necessary. But he was firm in his stand. I tried another line ‘Well see, the fact that he’s invited you means you are his friend.’ My son lifted his sulky face and replied ‘No Mamma, that’s because you are friends with his Mamma.’  True. And for the first time in my life I felt guilty for having a friendly disposition.

Everyday, as I go over to pick up my son from school, I bump into mothers like me. And as we wait for the last bell to go, we chat. Initially, our conversations used to revolve around the children: classrooms, teachers, homework, and exams. But gradually as the daily interactions have become a well settled routine, we have veered towards the personal. Children have moved into the background as we explore everything – households, hairdressers, husbands, with each other. Little groups have been formed. Everyone wants to befriended Parikshit’s mom (‘He is the first boy after all’). While Prakash’ mom is persona non grata ( ‘Doesn’t she have a horrid dress sense! And Prakash is so wild. Why doesn’t she do something about it?’). mercifully, it’s a 15 minute a day bonding session, except for special occasions (like the above invitation) when they spill into ‘real time’.

The venue for that evening’s party was a posh city club. To save my son some heartache, I decided to go in rather late. The place was chock full of ‘school moms’. And it was pretty obvious that the mothers were having a wonderful time. They were dressed to the nines, shrieking with laughter and talking to each other like long lost friends. In total contrast to the frolicking mothers, however the children looked somber and forlorn. Though they studied in the same school, in the same class, they were hardly interacting with each other. Some even looked lost and out of place. I couldn’t help commenting on that. My friend, the hostess explained, ‘It’s quite natural you know… after all kids also have their own groups and they rarely play outside those. But honestly, if I had to invite all his friends along with mine (courtesy: son’s school) the guest list would be never ending.’

Fair enough. But as I continued to stare at the children, my friend went on to explain, ‘Actually, Suhel wanted to invite Harsh, his current best friend. But you know his mother, don’t you? She’s a perfect horror. Who’s going to invite her? That’s why Suhel is sulking.’

That was the beginning. A few days later, our small family of three was invited by another boy’s parents; this time to an up market and happening restaurant. I wondered about the occasion. My friend gushed, ‘you see, my husband hasn’t met his son’s friends’ parents. And I keep talking about you all. So we just planned this get together.’ The concept seemed to be an instant hot with other ‘moms’. There was a collective ‘Of course. We should all host such parties once a month. Next time it will be my turn.’ And after fountains of drinks and mountains of food were consumed, the guests thanked the hosts profusely, and the sleepy eyed jittery children followed their parents home.

Days passed by and the ‘mom’ sorority continued to flourish. But the more the friendships crossed the threshold of school and made inroads into our lives, the more uneasy I felt. It wasn’t as if it wasn’t a nice and pleasant lot. But the nagging feeling that the children were becoming peripheral in our concerns just wouldn’t leave me.

And just as I had managed to lull my conscience to sleep, it happened.  One afternoon my son returned from school, all excited and happy. ‘Ma, I’ll finish off my homework right now,’ he jumped up and down in excitement, ‘Jai has invited me to his Birthday in the evening.’ But when I asked him where his friend stayed, my son was taken aback ‘That I don’t know! He just said that his mom would not invite me but that he wanted me to be there. So he asked me to come on his own…so many people are going. And I am after all his best friend And Ma, his cake will look like a giant bike……’

I did not know how to explain the intricacies of the adult world to a six year old. I put in an alternative suggestion: ‘Why don’t we go to Nicco Park instead?’ My son looked puzzled-----‘But you said the other day that it was bad manners to refuse an invitation unless absolutely necessary?’

Nandini Basu