Reenita's Wisdom

When it comes to the first day of the new year, I don’t favour sitting around a large family-style brunch table. Not that I am against food or family gatherings, but in many ways the idea serves only to extend the excess of eating and drinking from the holidays into what should be a new take on healthy family living.

“Let’s wake up bright and early and go on a family hike!” I suggest. “Dragon’s Back – that way we can end up at Big Wave bay to watch the surfers do their thing while we dig into quality Thai food.”

My suggestion is greeted by groans and other utterances depicting a lifetime of torment.

“Do we have to be that active on the first day of the year?” Ilya, my 13-year-old daughter, asks.

But what better time to put into action one’s New Year resolutions? Regardless of what my resolution is, whether to burn 500 calories a day or write 500 words a day, I figure if I do it on January 1 then there’s a better chance I will maintain the practice throughout the year.

Alas, the others do not agree.

Arya, my 10-year-old son, does the maths. “There is a higher chance that you will stick to your resolution if you start on say the second day of the second week of the second month….of the year, after you are done with false hope of trying to carry out your New Year’s resolutions in the first month of the year.”

Ilya pipes up: “I was going to start my superbrain yoga exercises on January 1,” she says, referring to a series of squats that purportedly stimulate your brain to operate at peak performance. “But not if you are going to force us to climb mountains, anyway.”

“What’s wrong with doing both?”

“If I conquer all peaks on January 1 then what will I aspire to the rest of the year?”

Understanding Ilya’s brand of logic is not my strong point but when it comes to achieving her resolutions, she remains resolute.

Dumbledore, our dog, barks in apparent agreement.

I turn to my husband, who, as usual, ignores our conversation in favour of his BlackBerry.

“What are you planning to do on the first day of the year?”

“What am I planning to do on the first day of the year?” he repeats back to me slowly and cautiously. It is a tactic he has used for years to prove that he is actually participating in the conversation (when, in fact, he has only picked up the audio and will take another few seconds to process the content).

“My resolution is simple, I am going to control my anger.”

No subtlety there. This is clearly not about him.

“Is that a resolution for you? Or for you for me?” I ask, annoyed.

Dumbledore barks again. My husband cocks his head to the side, imitating the dog.

“Well I was thinking about the kids but you are right. Perhaps I should be less angry at you, too.”

That’s when I realise it isn’t about him at all. While I had assumed he was referring to my quick temper, he was in fact talking about controlling his own.

His resolution could definitely work in the family’s favour regardless of which day of the year but the nagging psychologist in me asks, “And how is this therapeutically sound?”

If my husband tried to control his anger, he would simply revert to his old tendency of sweeping things under the rug, pretending that problems simply do not exist. It’s the opposite of my own emotional training, a system in which you react instantly, typically at other family members over dinner, but then relinquish your woes rather than letting them accumulate as emotional toxins.

My method comes with its own slew of problems, so I resolve to control my quick temper as the number one on my resolutions list. Then back to the husband.

He considers himself, well, considerate. By sweeping things under the rug, he has developed a mechanism for not addressing whatever it is that makes him angry. But what will happen if the rug is finally lifted? Visions of toxic dust ghosts rising up from the floor begin to dance before my eyes.

“No way, Jose! You had better unleash your anger on all of us!”

He looks up from his BlackBerry and then does it again. Slowly and cautiously, “I had better unleash my anger on all of you?”

“How about a resolution that you will actually listen to what we say rather than simply repeating the last words we just uttered? Starting January 1?”

Reenita Malhotra Hora is the author of Ayurveda: The Ancient Medicine of India and producer/presenter of Money For Nothing, RTHK’s morning business/finance show.

Helping children to understand who they are brings a slew of challenges for products of a Third Culture. Growing up in Mumbai, I “learned” Hinduism by osmosis, much like an apprentice in a woodworking shop. Years later, I find myself raising two ethnically Indian kids – one born in London and the other in San Francisco – in Hong Kong.

This city has a culture of its own. So is it any wonder that I turn to books and scholarly essays to recreate the osmotic effect of simple conversations I’d had with my grandparents or the family pundit (priest)? My kids have always taken the Hindu god Ganesha very seriously. Initially, I prided myself on the fact that this could be traced back to my geographic roots, as Ganesha is Mumbai’s favourite Hindu god. Like the opportunistic residents of India’s most commercial city, my children took an instant liking to Ganesha.

Not because of his chubby, cherubic nature, but because he is the “remover of obstacles”.

The evenings before exams are always laced with prayers to Ganesha. So are requests for sleepovers, candy money and the never-ending Christmas lists destined for the North Pole

My 13-year-old daughter goes to a school that strictly abstains from celebrating religious occasions like Christmas. They mark the festive season with non-partisan celebrations such as International Day, when each student marches in a grand parade behind his or her national flag. I initially wondered whether Ilya would march behind the Union Jack, the flag representing her country of citizenship, or the Star Spangled Banner, which represents where she grew up. Proving once again that I had no understanding of her psyche, Ilya showed up behind the Tiranga Jhanda, the Indian national flag. She was smiling and waving at everyone as though she were competing for the next Miss India title.

Needless to say, I was thrilled at her choice of ethnicity over citizenship or residency. “Ilya! You chose India?” I said, with a mixture of pride and disbelief. “D’uh, mum! What else could I possibly be?” she responded.

This year, I received an e-mail from the organising committee of the International Day festival: “Dear parents of British children, please advise what national dish you will be contributing to our British table.” Visions of British pub fare danced before my eyes – sausages and mash, and fish and chips. There were endless British dishes I could bring to the table, but knew full well that although they represented Ilya’s citizenship, none of them represented her identity.

So I responded: “Dear committee organisers, I will be contributing balti chicken. Although this is an ethnically Indian dish, it has become common culinary fare in Britain.” This choice impressed the committee, but not Ilya.

“How could you do this?” she wailed, gesticulating at every syllable in typical Bollywood fashion.

“But I thought you wanted to be identified as Indian!” I responded. “Mum – we’ve been here for more than two years now! Don’t you understand that my Indian-ness has taken on a different flavour?”

Frankly, I have a lot of problems understanding most of the opinions expressed in my household. Ilya continued: “I am a British-born ethnic Indian who lives in Hong Kong. What you should be contributing is Colonial Style Chinese Chilly Chicken!”

She definitely had a point. Colonial Style Chinese Chilly Chicken is a family favourite recipe passed down to me from my own grandmother. In truth, it represents all the flavours of my daughter: her ancestry and present culture.

Occasionally, I call my mother for advice, knowing that it is not necessarily a good idea. “Don’t over-analyse. Let the kids tell you who they really are,” she said. She was right. Later, I criticised the prospective candidates for the US presidential election. Arya jumped in quickly to admonish me.

Arya: “Watch what you say, Mum. `Those Americans’ are actually my people.”

Me: “Right you are, I should stick with mocking our own PEPs.”

Arya: “PEPs?”

Me: “Paneer Eating Punjabis.”

Arya: “Watch what you say, Mum. Punjab is my heritage.”

Me: “Right you are. We live in interesting times.”

Arya: “Watch what you say, Mum. That’s part of a Chinese curse and China is my culture, after all.”

I am now wondering about the value of osmosis in raising Third Culture children.

Reenita Malhotra Hora is the author of Ayurveda: The Ancient Medicine of India and producer/presenter of Money For Nothing, RTHK’s morning business/finance show.

This story was written for the Wall Street Journal Asia’s “Scene Asia” column.

Chinese watch collectors have begun to shift their focus toward vintage pieces.

It boils down to heritage and nostalgia: “As the Chinese buyers grow older, antique styles remind them of their fathers and grandfathers,” says Pansy Ku, a watch specialist at Christie’s.

Read the full story here

A couple of years ago I made this video on a whim, mostly to prove to myself that my Sony handycam was worthy of more than recording cutesy moving pictures of the kids for our Friday night entertainment. Little did I realize that once my work of art got onto You Tube, my kids would blatantly flaunt it as their stepping stone to instant fame. [...]

This was originally written as a Mother’s Day special for the Times of India, May 9th 2010. Here is the original story, which I honestly prefer but if you are a die- hard TOI reader, you can find it online here.

Reenita and Ilya

Offering sympathy for dealing with my near-thirteen-year-old is akin to offering sympathy for the devil.

It’s a phase, everybody says, she’ll get through her teenage years.

Yes, but the question I ask on daily basis is will I get through it? On some level, Ilya has been going through “a phase” all her life! [...]