Bringing up babies

Bringing up babies, I had assumed all along, was just that - bringing up babies. But a new breed of young professionals of Indian origin who were born, bred, married and procreated in Britain seem to be having other ideas.

Single parents fighting over access rights to their children seem to be making big news this week in Britain.

Home Secretary David Blunkett is said to be convinced that he is the father of the two-year-old son and an unborn baby of his former girl friend Kimberly Quinn, even though she insists that her husband is the real father. The Home Secretary is said to want contact rights and may use a newly passed law to prove his fatherhood - the law allows DNA testing to prove paternity even if the mother refuses. The Home Secretary saw Quinn's son frequently during their relationship and is believed to have become closely attached to him.

In any case the Home Secretary is not alone in upholding the dignity of fatherhood. David Pyke of the pressure group Fathers-4-Justice, dressed up as Santa Claus chained himself up to the gates of Buckingham Palace this week. He wanted to focus on the plight of fathers who are denied access to their children after separating from their spouses. Whatever the reason, for me at least, all the latest fuss raised questions about single mothers struggling with babies on their own. Will babies with a single parent grow up and be as normal as babies who have both parents at their side?

"It is all about how you bring up the baby even if you are a single parent," explained a social worker who counsels couples going through a divorce. "If the single parent can fill both the roles, then there shouldn't be problem at all."

Bringing up babies, I had assumed all along, was just that - bringing up babies. But a new breed of young professionals of Indian origin who were born, bred, married and procreated in Britain seem to be having other ideas. Many of them believe that babies need to bring themselves up with minimum interference from doting parents.

The other day, I visited a friend whose baby had just started walking. "Oooh, she took her first step right here on this spot," cooed his wife, sounding almost like she was building a monument where her family could worship the sacred spot for the next six generations.

I made a Herculean effort to politely nod at their red faces which were shining with childish excitement and new-found pride. But alas! Everything was not at peace. All of a sudden, there was a splendid crash that would have put 9/11 to shame. My heart skipped a beat as I saw how the little monster had tripped on a bucket of water and fallen down with a broom, a mop, the bucket and oodles of soapy water all around her and on top of her.

Instinctively, I raced to extricate her out of the mess. My instincts, it seems, were not quite right. At least that's what the baby's mother must have thought because she roared in anger and strode in front of me. She waved two fingers two inches away from my nose, as if I was some sort of predating animal about to pounce on her pet lamb.

"Noooooo," she screamed in fury with her eyes blazing in resentment. "Don't you dare help my little baby."

I applied emergency breaks to my legs, feeling utterly confused with the mother's unreasonable anger and totally horrified with the baby's agonising screams. The baby clutched her forehead in pain and blinked helplessly at the face of her unmoved parents.

As if by cue, the father and mother gave a knowing smile to each other, and slowly held out and touched each other's hands. They beamed at me like the full moon and announced: "We believe that little Puja should start fending for herself from an early age. If we keep helping her she will become too dependent on us."