Too much of a good thing?

This time I've broken off from my regular mommy posts to ponder a bit on this. When well meaning relatives decide whats 'best' for you- and keep doing the same thing over and over again- what do you call it? Foolhardiness? Shortsightedness on their part or just plain stubbornness? And when, you decide not to say anything- not because you can't, but because you are too well mannered to, are you solely to blame for the anguish you heap upon yourself?

The best gift!

Having a baby is the best gift one can give oneself. 
It calls for a complete overhaul of one's body, a complete renewal of faith in your spouse and trust in your household helps. 
Finally you realise what your mum must have felt when you rebelled against her in those teen years. What your dad must've gone through when you returned home late- I'm still at the frustration of you're-not-eating- enough stage.
It's interesting to have a baby because you see the world in a new light. Suddenly mundane things like eating food take on a new meaning as you introduce the first morsel of solid food to your baby. All things surrounding you appear in a new light- the light of discovery through little eyes, framed by curly eyelashes. 
My daughter is just 5 months yet & these have been the best months of my life. 
As one of my friends- another new mommy- wrote in her blog- the baby happened so she could live- MY baby happened too, so I could re-live my life.
Love you, my baby!

21 Weeks

Today my sweetest, best friend- my daughter, turns 21 weeks.
These have been the most tumultuous 21 weeks of my life, with nothing- I repeat nothing- even measuring close to the blissfulness and helplessness I feel at times.
21 weeks- of watching a tiny fist grow to a well manoeuvred hand.
21 weeks- of seeing phases of not eating, not sleeping and then finally experiencing heaven when my best friend falls asleep on my shoulder
21 weeks- of seeing a baby transform into my closest ally who is the best listener in the world- she even acknowledges my rants with appropriate squeals or grunts!
Love you, my daughter- my best friend.
PS- she is my best friend for home. For outside, it is still my younger sister, without whom my world is incomplete.

Love grows

You are growing each day. Just like a little plant, I see new leaves each day. Fresh green tiny new leaves. Wow.
You amazed me when you turned over two weeks ago. I'd gone to the kitchen to get a sip of water and when I returned, you'd turned 360 degrees- head up, shoulders up, looking proudly at the world with your new perspective.
Your father and I were the proudest parents that day.
Or, that day, soon after when you giggled as I made funny noises about planes and 'pessure coookers'- and cackles with laughter as we played 'Up up and away'
Or the other day when you decided to pull yourself up to sitting position holding my hands.
Or, going further, pulled yourself upright.
Or how you tug at the safety harness of your bouncer with tiny hands and lift your head, wanting to be lifted out of that thing!
Each day, I fall a little more in love with you.
It could be when you inspect your fist from all angles before popping it in your mouth, or how you lift both your legs in a dancing pose...
Is it possible to love someone so much, in such short a time?

Love you, my 15- week wonder

15 weeks earlier to this day, I was in the throes of a long and tiresome labour, drifting in and out of sleep, dreaming about parks and waterfalls while spasm after spasm continued to hit me in great waves.
Today- 15 weeks later, with a cute cherub who has eyes like the ocean with lights, cheeks as soft as cottonball and fingers as cute as cuteness themselves, do I remember the pain?
No!
All I remember are the happy memories she's created for me so far. How that space in my heart, which is all hers, aches with tenderness when she looks at me with amazement as I sing to her. How round her eyes become as I softly gurgle nothings in her ear, how they follow me across the room... How right she feels in my arms- like she and I were made just right for each other.
I love you, my 15-week wonder!

A different target!

From Sales value to milk ounces!
Never has the journey of motherhood been so fulfilling! This is chasing targets of a different kind. From sales value in Rupees to milk volume in ounces. If baby takes in more than the targeted volume it's a wow feeling- and to see those cute cottony cheeks billow out a little more is the best feeling any mum can get!

Three months of unparalleled bliss

I say unparalleled because it's a bit like love and hate colliding. Never before in your life would you have felt such contrasting emotions. Like how your want for sleep will be subdued by her need for you at 3 am. Like how those achy knees will disappear once she's in your arms, wanting to be rocked to sleep. Like how you'd be drenched in sweat from roaming around endlessly with her in your arms, only to be rewarded by the snug, soft bundle purring away in appreciation of some household appliance. Like how you'd sacrifice your own basic stuff- combing your hair & applying nail polish to scrub her dirty nappy.
Three months of unparalleled bliss.
Three months of loving that small doll called Raania

Single-handedly raising Baby

Ever wondered where this term has it's origin from? It's of course, a mother, who's given this excellent epithet to her child raising abilities.
Allow me to explain.
While feeding or making the baby sleep (two things that occupy most of the first few months) you cradle the baby in one arm whilst your other one either rests on her back, patting her off to dozeland or is free- to drink water, pick up the phone, browse a few sites, check on the FB world and download a few apps.
All this, done single-handedly!!
No wonder mothers are dextrous at multi-tasking!!

The perfect moment

Not when you looked me in the eye and asked me to marry you.
Not when we went round the sacred fire and became each others keeper forever.
Not when we decorated our first house together.
Not when we took that trip abroad for the nth time.
Not when we took the first drive in our third car.

Only when i held our daughter in my arms and we swayed to the soft floating piano music in the background and she lay snugly against me.

The importance of being burrrped!!

Ever paid attention to that innocuous little involuntary expulsion of air after a satisfying (or maybe not so satisfying but maybe fulfilling) meal? The one variously and comically defined and redefined by the likes of Shrek? Yes, the burrp. Thats right- not burp, but burrrp in a baby's case. Very important if you value your sleep - an unburped baby will twist and turn under the covers making ugly faces at you for not fulfilling your complete meal duty and force you to yet take little toodles in your arms and rock her to sleep-at two in tbe night, even though you've spent the best part of twelve doing the same exercise twice already.
And when it happens, the burrrp i mean- a deep, guttural, full throated one, you cant help but grin and be satisfied and utter in amazement- thank you, for your kind co-operation, baby!

It's another day

Each day is a new challenge. Today you woke up smiling next to me I thought it would be an easy day- when I could catch up on twenty winks. Seems like you read my mind, baby, coz all you did was feed and doze for precisely ten minutes every hour starting from 1 o'clock. By 6, I was frustrated, edgy and tired. Then I looked at your tiny face and realised if I was feeling all this, you would be feeling ten times worse. When I rocked you in my arms and you finally fell asleep, I felt like the best mother in the world. Thank you, darling!

Raania- The Queen of my heart and Life

Amazing how a small bundle can turn your life into theirs. Feed, burp, poop, pee, play, sleep. Suddenly your day is measured by the number of wet nappies and how many times she fed. Suddenly everything else pales in comparison- social life, work, friends as you work harder at being a parent than you ever have,in your entire life. You stay up nights, sleep in snatches of minutes and are yet elated with life. As you look at that tiny face breaking into a toothless smile, suddenly all your tiredness vanishes and you feel like reigning over the world yet again!

A child gives birth to a mother

After months of struggling with those elusive two pink lines and then finally spending a stressful nine months, eighteen hours of labour for a normal delivery (thank you, God and Dr Feroze Soonawala) i finally held a little swaddled blue glow worm in the best room at Breach Candy. Ironic that the first few days when you need complete rest your body is put through its most rigorous test: feed the baby and recuperate.
However, at the end of the first ten days or so, you start feeling reborn- its true- a child gives birth to a mother!

The 'mango pickle' novel

Sigh.
Odd title but it takes me back ages- when as a little girl I would snuggle upto my cosy grandma and devour Enid Blytons, Nancy Drews and Tinkles by the dozen. With the steady whirr of the high ceilinged green fan, the cold wave of air from the window cooler and the heat emanating loo outside, it was my greatest joy to find comfort in sucking a piece of the famous Arora's mango pickle while engrossing myself in yellowed dog eared pages.
There was a method to preparing the pickle first as it could not be had straight from the jar.
First, a piece had to be selected. Careful consideration of the pickle jar would bring out just the right piece- not too fleshy and with a sliver of seed. The pickle piece would be pulled up with a spoon- mind you- not fork- so as to save it from bruising on its ultimate journey and then carefully placed under running water to wash away the masala which would only end up in a bitter and sour taste. Once washed, the excess water would be shaken off diligently and that's how the piece would be ready to accompany the reading.
Aeons have passed, I have sampled rich delicacies from London to Singapore yet nothing has rivalled that humble piece of nostalgia.
Ever.

A suitable boy

Now that the younger sister has come of age to get married, the whole e-space has become her playground. Moreover, she thinks that the fact that the parents are queuing up suitable boys for her to have a dekko, is quite like turning reality on its head- she gets to be in the seat of choice, instead of the other way round. Of course, the parents are more than piqued at times with comments like 'he looks like an alien/ bugs bunny/ uncle ji/ married father of two' when i have to gently remind her that she ain't no Cinderella herself!
Sigh.

let's see where this new crusade takes us!

The only way I know is right!

What is this new malaise striking young rich couples? The desire to stay and live alone, devoid of any family ties- they seek to be the perennial centre of their warped universes, bringing much desolation and grief to the surviving parents.
With the strong values that I've been brought up with, I firmly believe that its always prudent to consider an elder's point of view- else they wouldnt be called elders- and it always turns out they are correct in the end.
The second phenomenon is leaving really young children in creches and day care centres, at the cost of fulfilling their own ambitions. When I was young I used to think creches and crutches meant the same- little did I realise they actually do!
My mum gave up a lucrative career in journalism to take care of my sister and me. My mother in law turned down various teaching opportunities so that her three children could be brought up right- and I'm fully prepated to do the same when its my turn. I wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would my system accept the cries of a piece of me, surrounded by strangers as I'm merrily climbing up the corporate ladder. It just isn't me.
Or maybe I'm too old fashioned, but I like being that. Its the only way I know is right!

And then there are these

1. A fine piece of natural craft- a spider's silken threadwork across the window grill, reminding you that small is beautiful!
2. A feather floating down from the sky, catching the sun's golden rays- making it look ethereal
3. The joy of planning a Valentine's Day surprise for your husband of seven years, and finding it just as pleasurable as six years ago
4. The unparalleled excitement in your aunt's voice as she exclaims over the anniversary flowers you sent her
5. The undisguised thrill on your friend's face as you pay her a surprise visit!

Of marriages- equal and unequal

Being wedding season, my sister was invited to a couple of family weddings. Strange but people we'd seen toddling around in diapers with imaginary toys in their hands were now going to be decked up in bridal finery while flaunting their latest halves.
The first wedding she attended was a sombre affair- an intercaste love story set amidst the backdrop of an office romance. The girl's South Indian roots were vastly different in outlook than the typical North Indian groom. This translated into a few bloopers at the main event- the bride was pronounced 'bold' as she went about greeting and garnering blessings instead of her parents.
At yet another intercaste instance, the bride (well to be honest even I was a little too plump for my liking, but I rapidly shed more than 7 kgs in the 7 years that I've been married) was fat and smiling- compared to the groom she looked at least a good five years his elder- prompting folk to take merry jibes at his son-like state!
They say people marry for the better. But do they?
A dear acquaintance who was a stickler for his clean ways (used to take a bath daily before the sun spreadeagled the sky) completely changed post marriage, no doubt on the eggings of his wife. Days passed before he took even a cursory shower, prompting us to wonder if his life had taken a turn for better or worse!
While my own husband, famous amongst the Dominoes- Barista circuit for ordering out so frequently, actually learnt to make gourmet-style delicious stuffed omelette, complete with olives and capers on the side. Of course, these treats are few and far between, but I guess this is what makes him,and them, so endearing!

The oblivion of happy memories

Why is it, that each time you want to remember some happy memories all you get is a warm brown fuzz?
Is it because that we, being eternal pessimists cannot bear that soft sunshiny feeling of honey down our throats and choose to remember only the hardness of thorns in our life?
Or is it because that we being so unaccustomed to happiness ourselves, cringe at the thought of unexpected pleasures and hence dont know how to conduct ourselves?
Or is it because that feeling is so fleeting that it just disappears before we know what to make of it.
Whatever it may entail, we should strive to capture each detail of the happy scene- so that when we tap onto our reserves for happy memories, we should be overwhelmed and not left bereft.

Of greys and greying

Seems like greys don't only always exist on your head. They're IN your head too.
Just the other day I was thinking- I've become so rigid in my views! I lament my parents and inlaws being so set- and here I am- half their age and already displaying family traits!
I have a certain way of doing things and I hate it when someone upsets my applecart.
My whole day is wasted just because someone else has kept some inconsequential object in a new place- for eg., the toothpaste tube. In my quest to find it I've already wasted ten seconds of my precious time- seconds that don't matter much anyways nowadays since I have no urgent meetings or tearing hurry to get to work. Yet it has spoilt my morning and I sulk over my morning cuppa as well.

I've noticed something else.
Earlier I knew each detail of anything. Take the toothpaste tube, for example. I knew it's contents, MRP & Batch no and where it was manufactured.
Now, I don't give a damn.I just want my brand that's all. Not that this 'earlier' phase was aeons ago- just a few years, maybe. When did I start getting so careless?
Maybe it ain't carelessness- it's that I have hundreds of other toothpaste- like details in my head and cramming another seemingly useless one- when I have more important ones- like the servicing of the water purifier- doesn't make sense to my differential memory process.


Or maybe, just maybe, I AM growing old!

Merry Meddlers-2

(Please refer to June 2010 post Merry Meddlers)
Well so here we are- with another post on the Merry Meddlers (I've discovered this is quite an onion category- it has so many layers which peel themselves off bit by bit).
Now this breed of Merry Meddlers doesn't quite hinge on So?as was the trait of Merry Meddlers-1.
This one's more of But.
As in But I don't like it, or But that's not how you should do it!
Needless to say, these Buts steamroll over any of your own Buts or Bytheways.
Strange to say,but it's the motto of some people to continually meddle in other people's lives while being so blissfully ignorant of their own obvious shortcomings. Again, needless to say, they think they are of course, the epitome of perfection themselves.
Perhaps it is this category which has given birth to the term Fool's Paradise!

A slice of home delivered nostalgia

Today, I had a piece of nostalgia home delivered.
Wrapped in a brown recycled jute bag, with a smart plastic lock, it bore my new name, not the one that nostalgia was used to.
But then, nostalgia didn't know me.
It knows Ma.
Nostalgia was books borrowed from the British Council Library (BCL).
In Lucknow, BCL was situated atop a steep flight of stairs in the Mayfair building. A turn towards
the left was the entrance to the beautiful world of books.
As soon as you entered, you couldn't miss the unmistakable scent of a million books- assailing you, making you want to drown in it, as your feet sank into the plush thick carpet.
Rows upon rows of neatly labelled books with delicious titles seemed to throw themselves upon you- and many readers sat with their backs to the reading tables, at the base of those neat shelves,lost in the world of Milton and Voltaire, as if paying homage to those great writers- genuflect, before they could carry away the book with a strong stamp at the Issuing counter.
I loved leafing through those books that Ma borrowed- Martin Amis, Virginia Woolf- and while she would get them issued,a peek at the latest publications which often showed rows of happy people seated on a thick carpet of grass- smiling into the camera- advertising scholarships for the UK.
Once we were armed with our new possessions, we would step into the nearby Moti Mahal restaurant for a glass of frothy cold coffee and steaming hot Masala Dosa. My travels around the world have acquainted me with a lot of varied world cuisines, but the taste of that sweet milky coffee and crispy golden dosa is yet to be replicated.
Maybe it was my Ma's company which made the meal unforgettable- that glow of satisfaction on her face made her such a beautiful sight- maybe it was the novelty of the experience.
Today, BCL has gone online. There is no physical library and no plush carpets. No rows of shelves making you feel like Alice in Bookland. You choose from a virtual library of books, which get home delivered to you.
Yet, the charm of that long lost habit still remains.
Thank you, Ma, for introducing me to this golden pastime!

The ambiguity of happiness

This morning, I glanced through my Facebook newsfeeds and saw that two of my friends had expressed their desire to be happy- albeit in different ways.
One had proclaimed to the world that today! was the day that he'd start being happy all over again- err- again? So what was he before this blessed day? His posts seemed to indicate that he was quite the sunshiny mood all through- so why this sudden obsession to be 'happy'?
The other friend, had published the results of some quiz he took, and which indicated his happiness quotient was a mere 59%. Oops. And there he was, ploughing through life with just 59% happiness. No wonder his earlier post said that he was bored and nothing exciting ever happened in his life.
Is happiness a virtue to be proclaimed or calculated?
Last I checked, it was a state of mind.
Guess technology has made us so practical that we forget that happiness is just roses in the spring and the blur of a butterfly's wings.
Wouldn't you agree?

The comfortness of being

A warm old sweater which has been sun-drenched for five winters.
A scraggly pillow with the fluff peeking out from the seams.
The faithful t-shirt of the rockstar you idolised, which grips you as snugly as your lover's arms.
The faded hairbrush with a dozen teeth missing which replicates Ma's gentle massage.
A pair of slippers with worn out soles which has been your companion since those lonely post-graduation days.
The purple hippo soap dish which was a gift back from Mumbai when it was still the land of dreams for you.
A thin maroon towel which is a ghost of its former self which has caressed your body more than your husband.
The sleek Mont Blanc pen, still resting in its velvet case- a reminder of just how ambitious you used to be.
A tattered diary filled with yellowing newspaper recipes, still waiting for that magical day when you'll feel like cooking yourself.
The smell of the gilt edged Alice in Wonderland when you bring it out for its annual reading session.

The feel of iphone just when you've started blogging on the Tab!

The ghostly earthquake

As Tinkle- like as the title may sound, and as devastating it might have been for our political neighbours, yesterday's earthquake tremors at Delhi brought a smile to my face.
The reason was largely a conversation I had with my sister on the morning of the quake, which went something like this:
Me: Hey, I heard about the quake, did you feel it?
Sis: yeah at about 1:45am
Me: what was it like, what were you doing then?
Sis: yeah, I was awake, listening to music and I felt the bed shake
Me: so, did you get up to see if the parents were ok?
Sis: nah, I thought tWas ghosts rocking the bed so I snuggled in deeper and turned up the music real loud
Me: ...
who would expect a 24 year old to believe in ghosts? But apparently, she does!!!

Of things I want...

My wants are very basic. Here is a list of things that adorn my bedside table, listed in no particular order:
1. A pile of good fiction- preferably in the same genre so that my mind is attuned to that era- at least two, at any given time.
2. A pair of woollen socks to keep my feet warm
3. A tub of Vaseline/ vitamin E cream to keep my hands soft
4. A warm shawl and my hand-knitted woollen cap to keep me cozy at night
5. My Tab/iPhone to keep me connected

I loathe TV and watch it when I absolutely must. Apart from the fact that it gives me sore eyes (coz I get too involved in the plot and stare at the screen too hard) I'd anyday prefer a strong solid book with rustling pages or the interactivity of Solitaire or WordSearch on my phone.
As for my bedside table, each year I find myself getting a bigger size- this year, when one of the socks was jostled off the table by the pile of books, I've decided to invest in a full size study table to end the balancing act once and for all! 

The marginal utility of people

Sometimes you wonder if you are a mere grain in the cosmic sands of time.
Sometimes loved ones shun you away with a mere flick of their conscious mind.
Sometimes you feel like your parents have always loved your sibling more.
Sometimes you realise that your position in the house is just that of a borrowed arranger.
Sometimes, just sometimes, you think if  the space you occupy in your parents' mind is a little smaller today than yesterday.
What if we weren't dependable?
What if we weren't responsible? 

The feeling of feeling

Who dictates how you should feel?
Is it your past experience or the tremulous future? Is it worry or trepidation?
Or perhaps, the way you feel is a direct product of the nature of your surroundings?
Or maybe it's the result of the interaction between yourself and the larger whole, the universe at play, with it's myriad seasons and hues?
Or is it a conversation with your loved one, a happy peppy song in your heart or the ignominy of negligence?
Is it the tiny neurons in your system connecting impulses faster than you think, shaping your reactions?
Or is it that tiny tear in your heart each time someone tramples it?
We will never know.
We should never know.