MyJammyThoughts

 A few friends recently reached out, expressing concern about my blog posts. They questioned why I seemed to be critical of my parents, particularly my father. As a father of three myself, I understand the complexities of parenthood. My wife, Noufira, is my best friend and confidante. Unlike my own upbringing, we've consciously chosen to create a nurturing and supportive environment for our children. We believe in fostering their individuality and encouraging them to explore their passions. My father, though a loving provider, was a product of his time. Perhaps influenced by societal norms, he believed in a strict, almost authoritarian, style of parenting. He often appeared to suppress his own joy, creating an emotionally distant environment. Looking back, I believe he may have suffered from a form of suppressed sadness, a hidden sadness that subtly permeated our childhood. Despite his shortcomings, my father was a hardworking man who dedicated his life to providing for his family....

Adolescence – that curious period of life, a time of burgeoning emotions and a yearning for freedom. For me, it was a time of both joy and constraint. Shihab's departure left a void in my social circle, leaving me feeling increasingly isolated. My parents, ever vigilant, restricted my movements. I was allowed to run errands, but only for short durations. A prevailing belief, subtly ingrained in my mind, discouraged close friendships within the village. This, I later realized, was a significant misstep. My father, ever the disciplinarian, maintained tight control, even through frequent phone calls. My mother, ever fearful of his disapproval, rarely challenged his authority. I yearned to break free from these invisible chains, but the fear of my father's wrath always held me back. Curfews were strictly enforced. School trips were out of the question. Staying with relatives in my mother's absence was forbidden. I felt like a bird caged, monitored constantly by the watchful eye...

 This era, despite its limitations, holds some of the most cherished memories of my life. While I enjoyed the company of my school friends and the vibrant personality of Shihab, a truly local boy, I still felt a sense of isolation within my own home. My days followed a rigid routine: early morning school, a long walk home by evening, followed by homework, and the inevitable "teaching dramas" as my parents ensured I completed my studies. Sundays were reserved for a visit to Shihab's, the only break in this monotonous routine. My parents were understandably cautious, restricting my outings, perhaps fearing the unknown. This overprotective environment mirrored my son Jithu's current experience. He too faces a similar schedule: early mornings, late evenings, and even Saturday school. I'm actively trying to encourage him to explore his surroundings, to forge friendships within his own community, just as I yearned for those connections in my childhood. We'll discuss...

 My life took a positive turn when I transitioned from the confines of the hostel to the freedom of a day scholar. My father, ever the provider, arranged for a pickup bus to stop at Monnamkallu, a kilometer away from our home. This meant a daily walk, a welcome change from the monotony of hostel life. Though my parents restricted my bicycle to within our compound, fearing accidents, I enjoyed the walk. Sometimes, I'd even run, driven by the fear of missing the bus and the dreaded prospect of returning to the hostel. The walk through Monnamkallu Palam was a delight. The bridge, flanked by towering trees, created a verdant tunnel, offering shade and a sense of tranquility. I'd spend my time throwing pebbles from the bridge into the Kanoli canal, a river flowing beneath, challenging myself to increase the distance with each throw. Despite the newfound freedom, I still felt a sense of isolation. Being away from home for so long, I was often treated as an outsider by the other child...

 My childhood was a mix of joys and challenges. Growing up in a large, joint family, I initially felt a sense of belonging. However, my earliest memories are deeply intertwined with my time in Dubai with my parents. My father worked for Etisalat, the UAE's leading telecom company. I've heard stories of his immense struggles to reach Dubai and secure that job, which makes me incredibly proud. As a father, he was undoubtedly a good man, but his strict upbringing and the numerous rules and regulations often left me feeling stifled and depressed. After my first sister was born, my mother and she returned to India, leaving me behind with my father in Dubai. This period was particularly challenging. I was a picky eater, often refusing food and even throwing away meals my father prepared. I was also incredibly mischievous, hiding books from school and generally misbehaving. Perhaps I was subconsciously acting out due to the trauma of being separated from my mother. My father, already ...

Hey there, World! Meet Jam So, here I am, diving headfirst into the world of blogging. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Jamshir, an 80s kid born and raised in India. Nothing too fancy, just a regular human trying to navigate this crazy world and share some of my thoughts with you from wherever life takes me. Most of my friends call me "Jam," and it's a story worth sharing. Back in my college days, it became a bit of a running joke. Whenever someone asked my name, I'd proudly announce, "Jamshir, but you can call me Jam." There's actually a sweet story behind this nickname. During my school days, my dad, in his wisdom (or maybe not so wise, as I'll explain later), decided it would be a good idea for me to board at a nearby hostel. Homesickness was a constant companion during that time, and it still is to some extent! One day, I met this amazing senior, M Rahim. Everyone called him "MR," and he was the kindest, most cheerful per...