Yet another page from the mother-daughter diary
Mom, please tell me a story and put me to sleep,” my daughter requested a routine part of our evening ritual. Sometimes, I read folk tales from books, while other times, I resort to YouTube bedtime stories (especially when my to-do list is long and anxiety creeps in). But occasionally, she craves fresh stories, complete with specific characters, names, and habits of her choosing. Her imagination knows no bounds, and she presents me with the juiciest story ingredients from the land of make-believe. Once she hands me these ingredients, the onus falls squarely on my shoulders to conjure up an enjoyable tale, always with a moral tucked within.
This time, she asked for a jungle story with a baby elephant named Daisy as the central character. Crafting instant stories can be challenging, but parenthood equips you with unique skills—either you become a multitasking pro or figure things out on the fly. I belong to the latter category, so let me dive straight into the story. Don’t worry; I won’t put you to sleep (that’s the purpose of a bedtime story), and I’ll keep it short.
The story:
Daisy had recently relocated to a new jungle colony where monkeys thrived. She was eager to make new friends. While her companions spent their days climbing tall trees, Daisy explored every nook and cranny of the jungle. Her mother, however, was displeased with Daisy’s seemingly unproductive days compared to her friends. “Why don’t you learn something from your friends?” her mother would lament. “At least give tree-climbing a try. You’re causing me a lot of anxiety,” her mother’s lectures would drone on. Daisy’s mother even persuaded her to participate in the annual monkey race. Daisy’s failure in the race left her with a bitter taste of disappointment and sparked a sense of resentment.
One day, Daisy’s parents had to leave for a nearby colony and entrusted her to the care of their neighbours. As everyone gathered on the ground, engaged in casual conversation, a rabbit named Bonny arrived in a panic. “Folks, I overheard hunters in the nearby fields; they’re planning to attack our colony,” Bonny shared, visibly distressed. A sombre mood settled over the assembly. While Bonny continued to speak, a gunshot shattered the tranquillity, setting off chaos. Monkeys scrambled to find cover, with a few perched high in the treetops, attempting to locate the hunters. Amid the chaos, Daisy realised she possessed the strength to make a difference and help others. She used her power to create obstacles for the hunters, uprooting trees and hurling them as a diversion to buy time for everyone to escape. A coordinated effort led by Daisy ensured the safe escape of her friends from the hunters’ clutches.
Upon their return, Daisy’s parents learned of the harrowing ordeal and were immensely proud of her bravery. Her mother patted her back with her trunk and whispered, “I’m so proud of you, my dear.” Daisy smiled and responded, “Mom, I couldn’t climb trees like you wanted.” Her mother left with a thoughtful expression, pondering her past behaviour of constantly comparing her daughter to others.
As soon as I finished the story, my daughter quickly remarked. “Daisy’s mother is just like you, Mom. You sometimes compare me to my cousins.”
When I created this story, I knew my clever daughter would likely identify real-life parallels, even though I struggled to be creative. I occasionally replace fish with elephants. As much as I pride myself on being a modern Gen X parent, I must admit to moments of anxiety and overenthusiasm. I’m not ashamed to admit that I sometimes compare my children to others. When I repeatedly notice my daughter making the same calculation mistake, paranoia sets in. I envision a matrix of future scenarios, each with its permutations and combinations. I end up citing examples of her cousins, who face a more extensive syllabus and a rigid educational system.
However, looking back, I realise that I, like many children of the ’80s and ’90s in India, grew up in an environment where parents often resorted to comparisons, especially in academics. They aimed to secure a comfortable future for their children, but the impact ranged from stress to agony. My mother, not highly educated herself, believed that tracking our grades and comparing them to our friends was the right approach. Whenever I performed poorly on an exam, nervousness overwhelmed me. I was worried about conveying my dismal results and the impending consequences. I confided in my brother, who had a simple solution: “Just tell Mom you did well, and when the results are out, you can face her wrath then. Why double your trouble?” Fortunately, things changed when I began my college education. My mother stopped comparing our results and began to value the learning process, emphasising understanding concepts. More importantly, she believed in me and my responsibility for my studies. It was a breath of fresh air, and I am proud to say I lived up to her trust.
But can you blame me for occasionally slipping into the “look at them” behaviour? (Ideally, you can; I am guilty and have no qualms about accepting it.) I have firsthand experience of this environment, which sometimes seeps into my thought process.
Returning to my current situation, I continuously train my brain not to succumb to the temptation of making comparisons of any kind. However, as a flawed individual, I do stumble at times. I find myself comparing my achievements to those of other successful women (though the definition of success is debatable). Each of us has our own set of problems, and those I compare myself to have their own stories. However, everything appears obscured to me, and I often turn a blind eye to the obvious. This is where self-doubt takes hold of my senses and abilities. I must mention the role my husband plays here. He never compares our children to others, as he went through a similar experience as a child. He believes that comparisons lead to pain and misery and erode confidence. He firmly stated, “I wouldn’t mind if our daughter chose to work in garbage collection as long as she is happy and honest.” (When she was younger, she expressed interest in becoming a garbage collector; her preferred career paths have since changed.) His priorities are well-defined, and I can learn much from him.
Let’s broaden our perspective:
Is comparison inherently evil? Or can it serve as a tool to drive improved performance? The impact of comparison on our lives hinges on how we employ it. We cannot entirely eliminate comparison from our lives, as it permeates both micro and macro levels, especially when dealing with quantifiable aspects. It is woven into our social fabric, manifesting among us at some point. If used as a tool for introspection, comparison can pave the way for crafting a concrete action plan to reach our goals. It becomes a means to leverage self-improvement. Comparison is a valuable tool for introspection when we are willing to acknowledge our weaknesses, identify our strengths, and chart a unique path toward our objectives. Customisation is critical because each individual employing comparison must consider their unique circumstances. Every journey, destination, and path is distinct. However, what if the element of customisation (an understanding of our own circumstances) is missing? You either end up idealising or criticising someone in a better position, all while neglecting your own life. In my native language, Telugu, there’s a saying that translates to: “A fox burned its skin to acquire the appearance (stripes) of a tiger.” It signifies the futility of trying to imitate someone else. Such attempts only lead to pain. If comparing oneself is to attain acceptance and conform to certain notions and standards, relentlessly pursuing these can result in irreversible losses. For instance, fashion influencers frequently indulge in fashion hauls, showcasing their brand-new purchases to garner attention online. Their vanity often rubs off on their young audience, who feel compelled to mimic them. The comparison cycle begins: “I must acquire the same clothing.” “I need to shop from the same brands.” “My wardrobe must rival the influencer’s.” These actions, undertaken without considering one’s needs and circumstances, can have severe mental, financial, and environmental consequences.
In conclusion (the moral of the story):
In a jungle colony like Daisy’s, comparison serves no purpose. However, for humans, comparison can be a valuable tool or a frivolous pursuit. Its impact depends on our acceptance of our circumstances, enjoyment of the learning process, and ability to carve a unique path toward our goals. The aim of comparison should always be self-improvement, never belittlement or self-misery.
Lastly, I shouldn’t deliver this profound speech to my 7-year-old daughter. Instead, I should refrain from comparing her to others, recognising her unique abilities and potential. My default mode should be mindfulness. As for myself, I should focus on my own path, embracing customisation.
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