The Djembe Folks

Saurav Bhatia’s mother Ranjana had anticipated panic attacks of seismic proportions for the time he would have turned 18 earlier this year. It was a moment she had been dreading, the year her friends and relatives had warned would be most difficult in tackling her son. “I had been told once they turn 18, you lose all control over them. But strangely, I don’t feel anything has changed for the worse. Yes, we spend less time together. We may not have din­ner together on most days. But the shift has happened naturally, with much less disturbance to our lives than I imagined,” says Ranjana. One routine remains intact: a cup of tea together  every evening at their Delhi home.

On the other side of the generational divide, just-turned 18-year-old Lamia Varawala in Mumbai finds herself in an odd situation: even though she moved away this year to the other end of town to live in her college hostel, she finds herself drawn back home, and not just on weekends. “Living in a hostel would have been a good excuse for me to stay away from family, but though it takes me an hour to get home in the local train, I like making that journey. When I started living away, I realised how lon­ely I am without them. Little things, like my father dropping me off to the station rather than me walking there alone, brightens my day,” says Lamia. What helps is her easy bond with parents. She is treated like an adult, free to come and go as she pleases. That freedom, she discovered, binds her closer to them.

To broach an age-old parenting question, nay conundrum: just how much independence should 18-years-olds—technically adults—be given? It is heav­ily contested. Pramod Shankar’s prior experience with 21-year-old daughter Manasi and now his 18-year-old son Nishant tells him the only way is to go the whole hog. “I never lock my bar cupboard. We got him a used car so he would be mobile once he started college. We have let go and it seems to be working well so far,” reports the Bang­alore-based adman, as his wife Lakshmi chimes in: “It helps to treat him like a friend. When my husband and I had health issues when he was younger, he learnt to look after himself.... It’s mutual respect; it works both ways.”

That’s not to say that the current generation of parents isn’t facing the usual warren of complexities: Should we let her out of the house after 9 pm? Should he be allowed to have an expensive phone? Should she be allowed to hang out with her boyfriend alone at home? The trick, says Mumbai businesswoman Deepali Kanodia, is to get comfortable with the knowledge that not everything is going to be the way you forsee it. “My husband and I didn’t agree with my son Shubham having late nights out. But I know he is not doing anything harmful. So we let him go and accept that bit about him.” In Trivan­drum, Aarthi Verma (name changed), a government employee, is being cautious with her 18-year-old daughter who’s studying electronics. “It’s a confusing juncture, and I don’t think she is as mature as she thinks. My husband and I play constant advisors and give her a shorter leash than she likes. But I think she needs a few more years to come into her own.”

Photograph by Tribhuvan Tiwari

“I’d been told that once they turn 18, you lose control. Strangely, I don’t feel anything has changed for the worse. Yes, we spend less time together. But the shift has been  natural, with little disturbance.”

Ranjana Bhatia
Homoeopath

Eighteen is an age to be engorged in new ties. Shankar in Bangalore has happily made peace with the fact that for son Nishant friends have started to take precedence. “Nishant is a lot more grounded than I was, and less prone to what my father would call bad company,” laughs Shankar, who spends off-days jamming with his son; Nishant on the drums, his father on the vocals and the Djembe. “Let’s admit it—this is a delicate age and all the tricky things like drugs, alcohol, porn are so easily available. So it’s important to be unconditionally understanding. I try and be non-judgemental.”

Agrees Ranjana Bhatia, “This is an age of discovery.” Ranjana obse­rves her son’s changed routine—more emphasis on going to the gym, making new friends, eating and sleeping late—with a pinch of salt. His slightly increased pocket money—Rs 1,000 a month—acc­ompanies a more serious to-do list: bank work, other pap­erwork and shopping. Meanwhile, Delhi-based development lawyer Seema Misra’s golden rule with her daughter Revathy is not saying ‘no’. “It doesn’t help. A few aspects remain non-negotiable, like the extent of expenses on clothes and gadg­ets.... Then there are aspects of her life I am happy not knowing.” Seema finds that more than the kids themselves, parents are more competitive about their careers, with more avenues for youth to explore. “There is too much information out there. And I don’t buy the argument that I must be protective of my daughter as it’s not safe for her to be out. I would rather have her grow up in this generation than any other, there is more acceptance of women than ever before.” Revathy is in her last year of sch­­­ool, and counting on a support system. “This is the time when everyone’s mounting pressure about board exams. You need someone to calm you down,” says Rev­athy, who brought her 18th birthday in at home with some friends who stayed over.

In a sense, it would seem as if two generations were coming closer; the young adults pushing boundaries and the older lot letting go, almost. “I feel it’s easier to relate to my son Shubham, with whom I love to play pranks and hang out over a cup of coffee, than my younger daughter who is 14. Even though the difference between the two is just four years, she seems another generation!” says Deepali Kanodia, who felt thrilled that her son picked a career in astrophysics, something her husband and she did not know much about, and secured a scholarship by himself. “This generation is more practical, more balanced than we were,” adds Deepali. In Bangalore, of the few rules Lakshmi Shankar has for her son Nishant, this one comes at the very top: whatever you do, good or bad, come and tell us. “More than anything else, they should feel absolutely safe.”