To Post or Not to Post: How to Make Sure You Don't Get Sued by your Children

Did you hear about the Austrian teen who is suing her parents over embarrassing childhood pictures on social media? If, like me, you also have hundreds of your kid's pictures on Facebook and thousands more on your hard disk, maybe you had better catch up on that story! (link is provided at the bottom of this post)

If you are a parent, on any average day this happens to you :Your baby is making the cutest face and you can't believe your camera is not at hand! Your little girl is wearing her pretty princess dress to school and you click at least a dozen images before the school bus carries her away. A minute later at least one of those pictures is up on Facebook. In an hour 70 of your dearest friends have liked or loved the image and put up the most amazing comments. They share your joy and pride. Your mommy heart swells with emotion. That moment is forever emblazoned on your heart as firmly and deeply as it has left its digital footprint on the World Wide Web. We have all been there. All been guilty of the urge to click and share. How long have we had this absolute need to immortalize every second in the digital space? Not very long actually. We started using Facebook, tentatively, about ten years ago. But the post, like, share and comment era has not been around very long. Our ubiquitous phones with their bigger, clearer, tantalisingly better cameras have not been around that very long. And yet a generation has grown enough to be able to take their parents to court for violating their privacy! In defense of that Austrian teen, however, she makes a fair point when she says she finds it embarrassing to have pictures of herself nude and on the potty plastered all over Facebook. Come on, parents! You have to draw the line somewhere!

My daughters are seven and three. I have a good couple of years left before being dragged to court. But in the meantime, I happily click. Every milestone. Every dress-up moment. Every happy face. Sad face. Pouting face. Excited face. Angry face. And I must confess: I have pictures of my elder one's first dirty diaper and both babies' umbilical cord remains that fell off couple of weeks after they were born. But let me rush to add that I haven't put those up on any public forum. I got my first good digital camera only the month before my elder one was born. So from her first set of colourful nappies washed and ironed and ready for the delivery to her latest drawing of a Cheetah and a snake, I have them all. Recorded for posterity. She has been photographed at least every other day since she was born; the younger one possibly every single day. The couple of times I was faced with a dead battery or shortage of space on my phone taught me to be hugely cautious. Woe betide the parent who stands before a dressed up child with a non-functional camera! I always, always ensure my phone is at least half charged and has at least 1 Gb of space left free for those moments when my children turn on the cute factor without warning! I cannot possibly survive the guilt of not having a chocolate smeared cheek or a delighted shriek preserved intact for all time! And yet the other day I was left racking my brains trying to remember my elder girl's first word. I mean, I have the thousands of pictures and the scores of videos and lost somewhere in all that digital madness is my baby's first word! My little one is in that phase of heart achingly adorable mispronunciations and made up words and I scamper for the camera every minute I possibly can so I can hoard it all for later. I mean, what if I forget? How can I let those precious moments be lost forever? Sometimes I am so in love with those moments that I catch  myself replaying those on the phone while shushing my children clamoring for attention in the background!

How much rosier reality is when replayed on a 5 inch screen! Where everything is picture perfect and pitch perfect. You can trim the edges and soften the light. You can brighten up the colours and blot out the blemishes. The children don't get impatient and irritated in the pictures - they are forever smiling, forever posing, forever being cute and perfect, even when you are framing a moment of imperfection!

And then there is sharing bit. We have family scattered across the globe. Uncles, Aunts, cousins...I know all their children by names and faces and what their interests are and where their talents lie, all thanks to Facebook. We may see each other only every couple of years but we are perfectly updated on each other's lives and we have no moments of strangeness or awkwardness when we meet. If it had not been for Facebook, my children and theirs would have gone through life not bothering to find out each other's names. Cant blame them - there are just too many relatives in all parts of the world! Sharing on social media is not just about gloating - it is also the new age newsletter to inform everyone about where your life is at and what is happening with you. It is your virtual joint family where all the family elders gather around to applaud when your baby takes her first step or wins her first ever little trophy from school. Sure there are also the people who barely know your name in your friends list who are also privy to the same pictures and may have far less charitable or in fact downright nasty thoughts about the same set of pictures that brought so much gratification your way. But am I going to stop clicking and sharing for their sake? Absolutely not.

Coming back to the issue of how our children are going to react to all this frenzy when they come of age. Did we have our childhoods recorded so meticulously when we were young? No. Do we resent our parents for not doing so? Absolutely not. But then we knew that cameras and film were expensive and not as easily accessible as digital technology is now. Living in the present age why should we not make use of the technology that allows us to hold on to our memories for as long as we possibly can? And I am sure some day the kids are going to love showing their own kids their first funny dance or how they dressed up as a carrot for play school. Now just so as to not leave that point uncovered - think of the consequences of NOT being a click-happy parent. Surely there is the chance that your children grow up to be teens who feel they were deprived of happy childhood keepsakes? What answer are you going to give to that almost-grown-up who firmly believes you did not care enough to keep a camera ready for all their special moments? When all her friends have a couple of 1TB hard disks each of childhood moments edited and photoshopped to perfection for eternity and your child has a measly few on your old phone that you almost threw away? Do you want to be that parent? I am sure we will give enough reasons for our children to hate us, eventually. Why allow that to be based on something you can so easily fulfill?

So if you want to continue clicking and sharing but would ideally like to be not sued by your children either for violating their privacy or exposing them to potential dangers, the keywords to keep in mind are balance, aesthetics and safety. Balance is about deciding which moments are worth clicking and which to just commit to memory. Maybe we don't click every single moment of a family trip - just a few key points. Maybe not a video of every single milestone but a few that they can also be proud of.
When it comes to aesthetics - or in other words taking pictures that make them feel so ashamed they want to haul you off to court - as a first principle I think we can accept one simple rule: no nudes of children of any age on any public medium.  No embarrassing moments like bath time, potty time or the time they were scared out of their wits by a barking dog. How about we restrict publicly shared photographs strictly to moments they are also proud of and would be happy to be reminded of? Who does not like being told 'you were so cute as a baby!' So let's just strive to keep it clean and positive, shall we? And coming to that most important aspect of safety, if for any reason you feel that your child's picture has been misused, please do not think twice about approaching the appropriate authority for cyber safety and registering a complaint. To begin with we could also re-check our privacy settings and control who has access to what we post in the first place. Making lists on FB is time consuming, sure, but if we take the effort once, we can restrict the picture sharing to people we know and trust and who we can be sure are genuinely happy to see how the kids are shaping up. If we can't help the digital footprint we can at least make it something they won't need to resent. As long as we, as parents, are defining the extent of their privacy, let's be respectful of it!

I have a picture of my younger one asleep after her first day of playschool. She was tired as hell; spent from all the excitement of the day. She was sleeping tummy down, knees propped up, her cute diapered bottom raised. Her little face on the pillow was serene and her little lips ever so slightly open. All the peeved teens of the world are not going to stop me from immortalising that precious moment. But I also think I will just keep that one in my own personal folder in my own laptop.

Here's the link on the Austrian case for you:
http://www.independent.ie/world-news/europe/teen-sues-parents-over-for-violating-privacy-with-facebook-photos-35051012.html

How Mufasa Got Me Moving

I went on a brisk walk this morning. As usual, the little one woke up at night and demanded to be held till she fell asleep again, meaning I was up for about an hour at 3 am. The elder one climbed into bed with us and transformed me into border embroidery on the sheets for the better part of the night. These would usually be ample reasons for me to cancel my morning walk and try to get another half an hour in bed after seeing the elder one off to school (she leaves pretty early in the morning.) But today I doggedly put on my walking shoes before she left, to ensure I would be off just as soon as the school bus pulled out of our stop. I had solid motivation to do so. Last night, with the apparition of the Lion King Mufasa smiling down on us, I promised my daughter something - that I would not die. Not a day earlier than I should.

Conversations with 7 year-olds can be intense. One day you patiently pretend to understand how they were not the person in the wrong in that incident at school; the next you are an avid listener to their wildest fantasies and another day, yes, you are promising them that you won't die. Mia is an extremely sensitive little girl. I have to make sure I am totally immersed in whatever she is talking about because she can retreat into a silent shell if I don't and then no amount of prodding can drag her out of it. Conversations are always at moments of her choosing - unless she initiates it, there is no way her attention can be engaged. Yesterday was one of those days. 'Amma, can we talk?' She started off with a confession that she could not find her Malayalam text book. Normally I would launch into a lecture on how to be responsible about her own things now that she was 7 going on 8. I knew yesterday was not one of those days. I gently told her that she should check in her school shelf and if it was not there we could talk to the teacher about what to do next. With that assurance she launched into the next topic - about how she did not liked being forced to finish her lunch at school, especially when she was served more than she needed in the first place. I nodded along when she suddenly touched my hair and asked 'Amma, why is your hair turning white?' I explained to her that as people age, their bodies change and graying hair was one of the more visible signs of it. Those huge eyes with a faint trace of dark circles under them - which somehow give her a bit of a melancholy air - suddenly filled up and with trembling lips, my little girl pulled closer to me, put a shaky arm around me and murmured, 'Amma, I don't want you to die.'

I was not taken aback. It was not the first time she had said that. Her first encounter with death was when she was merely one. My father's passing did not really register in her consciousness at that age. But the framed photograph of him in our house, before which my mother lights a lamp every day, has, on occasion, led to conversations about death, of an eternal sleep that takes away our dear ones from us. But in our explanations to her, this only happened when one was really old and sick and decided that it was time to sleep forever. We had never introduced to her to the terrifying reality of death as something that could change our lives in an instant - that could creep up on us and shatter our lives in just the flash of an eyelid. But then earlier this year my Uncle - her grand Uncle - passed away. He was a beloved figure who would sit on the floor with her and join her in imaginary battles with her toy pandas. He would look at her stories and pictures and tell everyone how talented she was. He had promised her on his last visit, to take her to the beach the next time we were in his hometown of  Alappuzha. And the next morning he was dead. Two months later, a dear friend of ours, someone she had seen at least once a month ever since she was born - who spoilt her rotten despite our stern warnings - succumbed to death after a year long battle with liver failure. Her seven year old existence was suddenly threatened by this strange creature called death - not the peaceful eternal sleep that happened to really old people who decided they were too tired to go on - but something that could mutate, mutilate and for ever alter her little world; take away the people she loved and with not a care, leave unfulfilled promises in their wake. My little girl was terrified. Now every time my mother had a hospital visit, she would entreat her to not die. Every time we talked about the future, about her growing up and growing older, she would remind her father and me, 'Please don't die even if I grow up. I want to be with you forever.'

And last night, the sight of my grays once again brought to her mind the possibility that I could die. Each time she brings up the topic, we offer her a different line of thought, depending on the mood and the context - usually it ends with a reassurance that we are not going to die, along with a distraction we know she can't resist so that her mind is taken off such depressing thoughts. But last night felt different. So I told her, "I won't ever die, you know, as long as you are there". She was pleased with this. 'Really?', she asked. "Yes", I said, "parents never die as long as their children are alive." Her smile started to fade. 'But Mufasa died. And Simba was so sad.' "Yes, but remember how Musafa appeared to Simba when he really needed him? That is the magical love that binds parents to children. Even if they are not around physically, they will always be in their children's hearts and when the children really need them, that love manifests as a thought that makes you happy, a solution to whatever problem you are facing, maybe even a flower or butterfly that suddenly makes you smile." Her brows were furrowed with the effort of assimilating what I was saying. 'Is that what Musafa called the circle of life?', she asked. "Yes!" I replied jubilantly (though that wasn't exactly what he said.) "The circle of life, exactly! It means no one ever dies as long as they have people who love them on earth." 'But will you go away when I am older?' "Know what? I will really really try to make sure I can stay as long as I possibly can. Both Appa and me. We will eat healthy (except once in a while when we can't resist). We will exercise and stay healthy (except when we are really really sleepy). We will try our absolute best to make sure we can be with you as long as we possibly can. And then one day we will reach the point where despite anything we do, we have to go off into that eternal sleep. But as long as you and baby Aisha think of us, remember  us and continue loving us. we will always be alive and we will always be with you.' This seemed to comfort her and she drifted off to sleep, her thoughtful little head with the silken black hair laid on my shoulder. The wafting smell of baby shampoo filled my nostrils and I felt, somehow, comforted myself.

There are many reasons why you would want to go on living, none so strong as a promise you make to your child. Thank you, Mufasa, for helping her feel her world was secure again. And for giving me a reason to get moving. Now off to my healthy lunch.

What Else?

My daughter was four when I taught her who is allowed to touch her and where.

I already monitor her necklines and hemlines for appropriate levels of modesty.

Never leave her alone in a room even with a close male relative or trusted friend

Inwardly fume when I see the neighbour’s child waiting alone for her school bus next to the security guard’s cabin and add a mental note on yet another ‘not to do’ for my child

Look at even a 7 year old boy with suspicion

Always hold her hand in public and never let her out of my sight - anywhere

Made a research on schools close enough to personally drop and pick up my daugher while still keeping in mind the minimal requirements of education

Even considered home-schooling and weighed security against social isolation in the overall scheme of things

Constantly wonder about her well-being when she is out of my sight and probably colouring butterflies in her drawing book

Thrown cold stares in the direction of waiters or random strangers who act friendly towards her

I have already traded in sanity for a venomous spider’s deathly wait to strike

Now what else can I give up so my child has a reasonable chance of enjoying her childhood and making it to adulthood unscathed?

Ganesha's Christmas Tree

One day Ganesha was playing in his house. When he got bored he asked his father, "can I go outside and play?" Shiva said, "no, stay inside!". Ganesha was disappointed but just then the door bell rang. Guess who was at the door? It was Santa Claus and he had brought along a huge Christmas tree for Ganesha! Ganesha happily set to work decorating his tree and he was happy. 

This story was made up by my daughter, then four years old. This was the innocent creative effort of a child being brought up in a multi-faith - or to be more precise, a faith-neutral - household by parents who tell her stories of all hues. She thinks of Jesus in more or less the same way she thinks of Cinderella's fairy god mother and Krishna - or Ganesha for that matter - is as dear to her as Ninja Hattori or Dora. She is not old enough or exposed to the world enough to know that she is blaspheming by putting Ganesha and Santa in the same story. Nor does she get that she has to choose one or the other for her salvation; choose her company or her life partner according to the Holy Book they swear by and view with suspicion anyone who does not subscribe to her own views on God and the afterlife. It pains me to think of the day she has to be told that her story might hurt someone's religious sentiments.