HOW WE SAY…

I remember the first time my mother gave me a cup (the classic South Indian 200 ml stainless steel cup) when I was a little kid and asked me to try the stuff inside it. Smiling softly, her face and her words kindled my curiosity, and I was eager to look into it. It was filled with sprouted green grams—tender white sprouts sticking to the green heads—instant affection. I wanted to eat it immediately, especially when my mother told me it was tasty and good for health. Good for health—that stuck with me! It became my favourite healthy snack forever.

These days, I don’t often take the effort to soak the green gram myself. But I never abandon it either—if it’s available, I’ll eat it.

When I was in 5th grade, my maths teacher noticed me wasting food during lunchtime (the urge of an “ideal” child who wants to finish her lunch first so she won’t be embarrassed in front of fellow children—wasting food seemed the better option—immature maturity of a Grade 5 student!). I was just putting my food into my lunch towel so I could parcel it as waste in my lunch bag, unnoticed by my bench mates—only to be noticed by Mrs. Radhika, our class and maths teacher.

I shivered when she called me to her table. She shouted at me like anything, which only made my shivering worse! But she had a point—why couldn’t I at least give the food to the hens (one of the most common pets in our area) at home if I didn’t want it? Did I know there were people who were homeless and food-less, washing waste food they found in the garbage just to feed their little children? “Don’t waste food intentionally!” she said. That really moved me, and my attitude towards wasting food changed after that.

I don’t know how many others prefer sprouts or choose not to waste their food. But the way my mother approached me with a soft gesture in the case of sprouts, and my class teacher’s bold gesture in the case of food waste, both made an impact in their own way.

Last Friday evening, there was an induction program. I was as lazy to write about it as I am to make green gram sprouts. But just like I never abandon sprouts whenever they are available, I never abandon writing whenever I’m available to write.

Recently, I signed up as a volunteer here (volunteering—not for money, but for values—moral values). Being with the children and helping them in their learning is the main purpose. Let me share one insight from the induction.

If a kid doesn’t do his or her homework and is just sitting, fiddling with a pen, expecting you to let them join ‘play time’ with their friends, how would you say no—without actually using the word no anywhere in your statement? That’s a little tricky. I learned from my parents (ideal Indian parents who always put “studying” first—the kind of parents who instantly feel happy when you sit with books and no TV. I’m a 90’s kid—so mobile phones didn’t enter the picture in my era) that they would say a straight NO if I wanted to play with my friends instead of doing my homework.

The statement could be: “I’ll help you with your homework for some time; let’s finish it together, so your teacher won’t be upset with you tomorrow. Then you can enjoy playing with your friends.”

Makes sense—a gentle explanation instead of just NO! Simply avoid the word.

It’s simple, but I didn’t realise how much it could impact the children. They may or may not listen, but saying NO can just aggravate them and make them prefer playing over doing homework. That was my key takeaway.

Then I remembered my own sprouts and food-waste story—the impact. How we say something is often more important than what we say.