All Work and No Play

I have been training to be a Facilitator at a course that is run by the Pastoral Counselling Ministry of my church. It's an 8-week course and I've just finished the fourth week. It is a really interesting course called 'Search for Life', originally designed by a church in Australia. It's a fantastic course and created a whole new sense of self-awareness and self-discovery in me when I attended it as a participant in 2009. This time I am attending it to be trained as a Facilitator.

Though it is my second time in the course, I realise there is still more I can learn about myself.  The last session on Family of Origin was fascinating for me. and I realise there are many aspects of my childhood that I have not explored or remembered. Thinking about my childhood specifically this time around has made me both pensive and grateful.

One thing that stood out for me is the realisation that I never played as a child. All the others in my small group had fond memories of playing with their siblings and/or cousins, they spoke nostalgically of games they played, but I had no similar memories. I only remember reading, and reading and reading. Because that was the one thing I could do on my own.

I spent a great deal of time on my own because although I was the youngest of 9 children, there was a big gap in years between my siblings and me. The sister just ahead of me was 8 years older and my eldest sister was 25 years older than me. Most of my sisters had left home - either because they were married or for their studies. And sisters in their teens and twenties had no time for a child.

Because I belonged to a small community called the Brahmins, playing with neighbours was out of the question. The other Indians were considered 'unclean' because they were of a different caste and children of other races were 'unclean' because they were meat-eaters unlike my strictly vegetarian family. And unlike the others in my discussion group, we did not live in a 'kampong' where there were common play areas for neighbourhood games. My one highlight was the monthly prayer session that my parents would go to - at  the Samajam, a  place specially built by the Brahmin community for them to have their elaborate prayer rituals far away from the masses. Here I would meet my cousin Jeya. And while the adults prayed, we  kids would talk. But there was no rowdy play. We were, after all, at a mass prayer session, and clad in our long 'pavadais', there was  little room for boisterous behaviour.

Thinking back, I feel a sense of loss that I never played. I think I just accepted such social isolation . Perhaps that's why books feel like companions. Perhaps that's why I like to be quiet and listen to people talk. Perhaps, that's why when my baby was born, I had no idea how to entertain her, except by reading. All the parenting I did was by reading as well. I read books on age-appropriate play for children and religously followed the suggestions. I read about how babies needed to be talked to, how to make mobiles, how to sing nursery rhymes. It was your father who played catch, who played ball games and taught you to ride a bike. And it was me who picked your books :)

I feel sad for that little girl who didn't play. But I marvel at my God who caught that little girl. I look back now and wonder at how I managed, at what I learnt. And looking at the two of you now, my daughters,  I feel sure God was watching over us, giving to you what I didn't know I didn't have. I learnt to play because of you :)