Celebrating Differences with Different Yardsticks

“Ayush, come and have your lunch.”

“Coming, Mom. Two minutes.”

The rest of the Mehra family sat down for lunch without its youngest member. Mr Mehra, the HR head of a multinational FMCG major, who was now working from home three days a week, occupied the sole chair on the head of the table. The tall and fair Mrs Mehra, a school teacher who wore sarees all seven days of the week, sat on the chair to his right. Preeti, their twelve-year-old elder child more interested in books than worldly affairs, filled the chair to his left.

“What is Ayush up to?” Mr Mehra asked his wife. “He seems to be a lot busier during summer vacations than he was when school was open.”

His daughter chipped in before his wife could reply, “He is playing with my discarded dolls. He found a bunch of them packed in a trunk Mom had carefully put in the store.”

The older Mehras exchanged glances. They had been worried about their eight-year-old son for quite some time.

Ayush was an intelligent child who kept mostly to himself, except when raising his hands to ask questions or answer them in class. Mrs Mehra was also Ayush’s class teacher in school, so she had a chance to observe her son more closely in the last two months. Her son kept away from boys his age. During the interval, she often saw him play footsie with other girls in his class on their side of the playground instead of playing cricket or football with the boys.

Now he was playing with his sister’s old dolls.

“You have to do something about Ayush’s behaviour, Priya.” Her husband’s words brought Mrs Mehra out of her reverie. “If he doesn’t act and behave like other boys now, we will have problems later.”

“Papa, why does it always fall on Mom to correct our behaviour or take care of us? Why can it not be you?” Preeti asked.

“Quiet, Preeti. Don’t ask such silly questions of your father. Have your lunch. I will go and see what Ayush is up to,” Mrs Mehra, forever the peacemaker in the house, said. She took pride in her ability to nip a problem in the bud before it grew to a full-blown challenge.

She got up from the chair and traced her steps to her son’s room.

Sights of immaculate dolls greeted her on the floor there. A sumptuous lunch for them was laid out on the play table, but they were busy choosing clothes from their wardrobe. Ayush was lovingly combing the hair of one of them.

“What are you doing, Ayush?” She asked sharply. “Put the dolls down and go and have your lunch. Everyone is waiting for you.”

“No, you are not,” her son replied. “You all would have started to eat. You have come to call me so that day’s routine doesn’t get disturbed.”

Mrs Mehra drew in her breath. Why and how do children mature early these days?

“I am going to take away these dolls and give them to the kabadiwala if you don’t come for lunch now,” she threatened.  

The words did the trick. Ayush looked up at her, shrugged, put down the doll and got up. Mother and son walked to the dining room in silence.

“There you are, son,” Mr Mehra said as Ayush took his place. “Seems you are bored of sitting at home during your vacations. I, too, was at your age. Why don’t you go out and play with your friends?”

“I am not bored at home, Papa. In fact, I get bored while playing with them. They are all either into cricket or video games.”

“And what is wrong with that? Both are better than the useless dolls you play with,” his father replied.

“But what is wrong with playing with the dolls?” Preeti came to her sibling’s defence. “I played with them too.”

“You are a girl, Preeti. It is ok for girls to play with dolls. Boys are meant to play outdoor games.”

“Says who, Papa? Why can’t girls and boys do what they like instead of being expected to do what they are supposed to do?”

“Preeti! Don’t argue with your father like that. He is right in saying what he is,” Mrs Mehra said.

The children went silent.

“Find some nearby sports academy, Priya, and enrol Ayush there for these summer months,” Mr Mehra said after a pause. “He will change after going there daily. In any case, he would be too tired to play with those dolls.”

‘I don’t want to go,’ was what Ayush wanted to say but kept quiet. He wasn’t asked for his opinion, and he knew his father won’t change his decision after he voiced them.

“I will do it today itself,” Mrs Mehra assured him.

“Also, please iron my new blue shirt and black trousers for tomorrow,” he continued. “I have to distribute some awards and give a speech at the office and want to look my best on the stage.”

Mrs Mehra nodded even as his daughter remarked, “That’s nice, Papa. What are the awards for?”

Mr Mehra smiled at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “We are celebrating PRIDE month in our organisation,” he explained, “and felicitating the LGB..uhh.. the employees who are different from the rest during the month.”

“Why are you felicitating these different employees, Papa?”

“It is a part of our company’s diversity and inclusion initiatives. Our organisation believes that individuals with differences make for a stronger and more cohesive team. So, it is celebrating those differences.” Mr Mehra tried to explain it as best as he could.

Preeti considered the statement for a few seconds before asking, “Do you believe in what your company says, Papa?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied.

“Then why are you scolding Ayush for playing with dolls and sending him to the sports academy. Let us also celebrate his differences.”

Mr Mehra’s hand with the bite stopped midway between the plate and his mouth as he looked from his daughter to his son and back. He coughed and reached for a glass of water.

“That’s enough of your questions, Preeti,” Mrs Mehra said. “Let your father have his meal in peace. He gets tired with all the office work, and your silly questions don’t help.”

The Mehra family quietly finished the rest of their meal before going about their work.