One of the most exhilarating yet exhausting roles that we essay through our lives is the one of a parent.

At this time and stage of my life, all my parenting principles are precariously balanced over a span of 60 minutes close to bedtime. It is not the bedtime of our childhoods wherein a brusque “jao saunjo hun (now go to sleep)” was hurled at us, and we would go scrambling towards our beds. On days we felt rebellious, it was followed by a menacing “Mauun aa juga”, and that would be the ultimate nail in the coffin as we would be snoring within 15 minutes. Mauun, loosely translated as a monstrous character. However, this Gen Z has an elaborate sleep time routine. The usual bath and brushing is followed by some ‘paath (prayers)’, which evokes existential questions.

We navigate through them carefully. “Mama, is Waheguru ji a male? Why didn’t we have girl Gurus?” Excellent question babies, but this will open a Pandora’s box. We will have to uncover the context of those patriarchal times when women were still finding their place outside the hearths of their homes. There are rhetorical questions too for which even Google Baba proves futile: “Had Guru sahib been here today, how would He have supported our farmers?” After a detailed discussion on repercussions of interaction of feminism with societies, collective progress made thus far, the issue of farmers and the right and left of politics, we move to the next step of our bedtime protocol.

They pen top three things that they’re grateful for each day in their journals. These are written after great contemplation and profound reflection, none of which is used while they attempt their homework. Not only do the kids register their entries of the day, but they also dissect each others’, which leads to some editing, another long-winded conversation and inadvertent lessons in grace for their impatient mother. “You’re grateful for going to Costco?” “Ma, so many people don’t get to go grocery shopping with their mom. We are so lucky!” they sing in unison. Maybe I should start writing my own gratitude journal. We often take for granted what should be taken with gratitude. The largesse of these little humans in our lives makes me momentarily forget that it has been a long day and there’s a Netflix show waiting for me on the TV.

The journals are then put away, and one of them remembers that an overdue library book hasn’t been read together. So the next 15 minutes are spent looking for the book, reading it cover to cover, including details of the publishing house. Thank heavens it’s an early reader’s book. I secretly feel proud of myself for not flying off the handle.

The inter-generational traumas are being broken down by millennials, one bedtime at a time. The lights have been turned off and good nights exchanged. Just before closing the door, I hear a feeble “Mamaaa,” I freeze, “You know what happened at school today,” she says. “What now!” I say, half annoyed, half fearful of what might have happened. “Lily has decided to replace me. She has found a new friend.” Damn Lily! “We will discuss this at length tomorrow, saunjo hun, Mauun aajuga,” I warn as I close their bedroom door. ‘Mauun’, a one-time a figment of their grandparents’ imagination, regularly unleashed on their children, thrives once again putting to shame all research-backed bedtime parenting techniques.

The writer is a freelance contributor and can be reached at seeratsandhu25@yahoo.com