Dear Curious Penguin,
Ahem… Ahem…
You were just three when we had our first real conversation about consent. We were travelling, and people couldn’t stop squishing your cheeks and going “aww”, but you hated it. I remember telling you, “If you don’t like it, you can say no.” That simple word, NO, was the start of something important.
From there, we began noticing all the places where consent mattered.
Hugging a friend on the playground? First, ask if they’re okay with it.
Taking photos of strangers, like I used to love doing during street photography? We need their permission.
You were quick to pick it up, but you also turned the mirror toward me one day and asked,
“Maa, you never took my permission before putting my pictures on the internet.”
You were right.
As a parent, I had taken it for granted that it was okay to share your cute pictures. That evening, I archived as many as I could. (But things once on the internet always stay out, oops, sorry.)
It made me realize how easily we forget that kids have rights too, especially to their pictures. Since then, we’ve been mindful. If a photo goes online, it’s only after you say yes.
Books and the playground taught us a lot about kindness and respect. So did the world I work in.
Building a craft-based design studio and a creative agency brought both of us closer to artists and artisans. Watching them work with care, passion, and humility helped us understand what it means to treat people with dignity, no matter who they are or where they come from.
As you’ve grown, so have your questions and they’ve led me to learn, unlearn, and think deeply too.
A simple comment about who should be doing kitchen work sparked a longer conversation on gender roles.
Then there were phrases like “red pill” from your world of games and reels that I had to Google just to understand where they came from and what they really meant.
These weren’t things I grew up with, but they’re part of your reality and I want to be there with you as you navigate them.
One moment I’ll never forget was when we were watching Ramayan and you said, “Ravana didn’t listen to Rambha’s no, and that wasn’t right.”
That night, I felt a quiet sense of reassurance. You’re getting it.
Slowly.
Deeply.
You’re still learning the why of things, but your heart is already in the right place.
This stage of your life, the in-between of childhood and adolescence, is full of emotional highs and lows, for both of us.
You’re figuring out your voice, and I’m figuring out how to listen better without rushing in with answers.
I’ve been used to being your compass, and now, many more directions are pulling you—friends, social media, your own growing sense of self.
It’s not always easy. But I hope you know this, you can talk to me about anything, big or small.
Whether you’re confused, curious, or just trying to make sense of something you heard, I’m here. Not to judge, not to lecture, but to listen. Like the book you once loved, The Rabbit Listened.
Do you still remember the tale of Bhringi Maharishi?
He only wanted to worship Shiva and dismissed Parvati.
In response, Shiva merged with Parvati to become Ardhanarishvara – half Shiva, half Parvati.
Why? Because balance matters. Respect matters.
Both energies, both voices, are needed. And no one should be left out.
You’re growing up in a world that will sometimes confuse you, and sometimes overwhelm you. But I hope that these early talks plant something steady in you.
A sense of kindness, of fairness, of understanding what it means to be a good human. Someone who sees people fully listens carefully and acts with care.
I don’t expect you to know everything. I’m still learning, too.
I just hope you’ll keep asking the right questions.
Love,
Maa
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