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In the depths of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer- Albert Camus

Why

Why do you hurt me so much Why is there blood running down my eyes instead of tears Why do you pick at the scabs of scars And refuse to go? Why do you make me cry each night Why is it so long since I've had a smile on my face Why does each day seem like a bother This life a burden Why does my heart still beat Why do the pieces stick back together All I want right now is to just fall asleep And stay asleep.

When the heart cries...

When the heart cries Do the tears fall down or within Is the echo heard soft or clear When the heart cries Does it erase everything dear? Do the bruises take forever to heal The scars an eternity to mend Your lips, they are- a forever sealed Destiny, fate, karma- we all must bend  When the heart cries Who hears it so When the heart cries Why must it be so...

Vive lè greeting cards!

Just the other day as I was brushing my teeth, I remembered an obscure aunt's postal address- word for word, pincode et al. Result of sending new year greeting cards year after year- for maybe ten-fifteen years in a row?  I remember the excitement around the New year. It started from the first week of December when my sister and I would decide (rather fight) on the theme for that year's cards. Often I won, not because I was older and my mum entrusted this responsibility to me, but because my sister's themes were downright baby-ish and immature. The task of getting the card supplies would be accomplished next. Shiny card paper, new brushes and paints were always required each year. With great excitement we'd start off- the first batch of five, ten cards would turn out super and after that both my sister and I would invariably fight and it would end in either the remainder of the cards being bought from CRY or HelpAge or Archies or yours truly struggling to fill up the quota by sketching at midnight. A parallel task would be to organise mailing lists. Great importance would be given to reciprocation (why send a card to great Aunt Meera when she hasn't sent us one for two years now?) and condescension (come on, poor lady will cheer up on seeing your card). In the end, we'd sort about fifty- seventy five odd recipients. Then came the onerous task of slotting the correct postal addresses. Since there was no google in those days, the ol trusted thumbed down government diary would be dug out to confirm the pin codes. Dad would be chided for not buying the correct denomination of postage stamps and Mum would fume about the delays in posting them (those were the days when all of us relied on that relic of a post office and kept them darned busy). Once the cards had been sent, we'd eagerly await the arrival of other relatives' cards. Those, and Dad's colleagues cards would be strung up in the living room- giving such a bright and jovial farewell to the old year. We welcomed the new year in style! Sadly, no one sends greeting cards anymore. SMS and e-greetings and phone calls have all chased the humble card to a precipitous death. The greeting card is dead. Long live the greeting card!

First borns

There will be more children after Raania but there's something so magical about first borns.  They arrive all swaddled - a gift from God, and like a tiny puzzle, you try to decipher the meaning of their cries and feel elated when the result is a content baby. They reinforce your faith in life and give you a reason to live again. They recreate the reality of dreams and gift you the opportunity to dream further.  They keep you alert- with the second-born you aren't as scared/ hyper as you were earlier. With the second baby, you know what to expect so that takes away the thrill of discovery that greets you everyday with your first born. Of course, first borns are also more loved (I would know, being one myself)- being the sole recipient of their parents' love for the first few years of their lives. But all this love and democracy with the parents translates into a heap of responsibility on the first-born's shoulder- to take care of the parents when old and to love the siblings unconditionally. But, nothing can compare with the aristocracy of arriving first into your parents' lives!!

60/ 24/ 7

Mothering isn't a full time job. It's not even a job. It's a state of mind which consumes you all 60 seconds to the hour, all 24 hours in a day, all 7 days of the week. There's not a single second in which I don't think of my first and best love- my most prized creation till date- my sweet seven month old daughter. So much so, that even my husband, a self- confessed obsessive-to-the-point-of-ridiculous father says i am an obsessive mom.  Why wouldn't I be? I've asked for this tiny curly-eyelashed, sweet-fisted, plump-cheeked cherub from God. Why shouldn't i obsess over her? Attend to each whimper of hers with lightning fast speed? Not let her cry even for a second? Feel guilty when she doesn't eat? I didn't make her so I could mistreat her. I made her cause I loved her even before she was born. My small miracle from God. Raania. And about the state of mind- well- comes with the territory!

'What plans for weekend?'

Is an oft repeated phrase if  a) you have osmosised the corporate  culture so well that this phrase escapes your lips without you realising it b) you have relatively little to do on Thursday/ Friday Never mind the fact that since most working couples just get a breather of 48 hours before the mad conveyor-belt rush begins again - they spend most of those precious few hours just sleeping and recovering from the onslaught of last week- and the remaining hours wasted in front of the tv or mall- hopping for 'groceries'. But- it forms an integral part of work-life. If you work, you must weekend too. When I was younger and secretly glamour- dosed on the occasional Filmfare/ Stardust lying around, I'd be mesmerised with the thought that young actresses would be 'spending the weekend with oil in my hair'. Really? Raveena Tandon with oily locks? While I would be secretly pleased on one hand- coz that's exactly how my weekend would also pass- I'd often wonder on the authenticity of it later...was it even possible? When I started working mad six day weeks I realised how important just that one day would be. From cleaning to cooking to lunching out and socialising, I'd often need a weekend to recover after the weekend! Now that my daughter has graced my life, I look forward to an occasional hot oil massage, and just ten more minutes of me-time when I can shampoo my hair twice. What a luxury!

The fullness of contentment

I lie here, with my baby sprawled on top of me. She's seven months old now and her feet dangle precariously out of reach - they don't fit like they used to - when she was three months old and her favourite sleeping position was on top of me- but there's the same fullness I feel when she's in my arms.  Time stands still when she lays like this. My world is within me and it feels really good.  I am content. I am full.  My baby and me.

First time Mommy

When you are pregnant, you don't want to think beyond the little bundled joy that you will hold in your arms, hopefully by your due date. As your due date approaches and you fob off irritating 'you-haven't-delivered-yet!' and 'get-yourself-induced'  all you want is to somehow get the thing called labour and delivery out of the way and just fast forward time to holding your baby. What happens AFTER you scream your innards out and experience the most painful episode of your life is something that not even the best parenting book describes/ prepares you for. You learn to gingerly swaddle your baby, give her a bath with trembling hands, burp her as tenderly as a doll and cradle her head with a grip as soft as a cotton ball. Since you are a first timer, advice flows in freely and thick, and sometimes you have no choice but to accept it, even though it sounds and feels ridiculous. As the months progress, you gain more confidence and are able to gauge your baby better than any well- meaning relative.  The best gauge is, of course, when the doctor gives you an 'excellent weight gain' report after months of struggling with top feed, bottle- acceptance and the stress of unwarranted advice. The thrill of knowing what your baby wants, and being proven correct is better than being treated like a one-sided warm pot of soil those nine months!

Obsessive Mom

Yesterday was Raania's routine height- weight check at the Doc. This day always reminds me of examinations at school, where no amount of preparation before hand would prepare me for the actual two hours of pouring all I knew onto those White ruled sheets of paper. I still feel the same- making baby drink as much milk as possible two days before the D-day and grinning helplessly when baby helpfully poops a huge block just before going to Doc.  This is one exam where month long preparation gives result in just ten minutes of entering the doc's cabin. And, just like that, you're either happy or sad. The tempo of the following month is also set by this Doc visit. If result is happy I can relax just a teeny weeny bit and not be as high strung about her diet as before. If sad, then all my waking and sleeping hours are dictated by ounces of milk. I obsess if she eats. I obsess if she doesn't eat. I'm obsessed with my baby and I love it!

Ephemeral existence

(Inspired by a chance conversation with an acquaintance at baby's doc) Babies live in the present. They don't remember what you said to them two hours ago and they don't remember to frown at life's impossibilities. They don't fret on missing birthdays and they don't care about forgetting anniversaries. For them their world is NOW and it could translate into a hug now, milk now or pick-me-up-else-I'll- scream now. It's so refreshing to live without any hang-ups of who said what when they actually mean something else. So different to live without continuously being evaluated for your actions, to live in the freedom of thought and action. Why do we build fractious Walls around ourselves? Why must we always conform to 'society'?  Why must we be made topics of conversation if we deviate even a bit from the 'accepted'? Why this hypocrisy? 

Postponing Happiness

Strange isn't it, but as we grow older we tend to sway more and more towards postponing our happiness for the sake of others. It could be a well- deserved one hour nap, a quick destressing trip to the parlour, that book we've heard so much about but not read, that off-White kurta you've always wanted to wear with the bandhini dupatta.  Yet somewhere, duties towards spouse, kids, family, extended family reigns over the need to grab that one tiny speck of happiness. And then you either start eroding or melting into the common happiness pot for all. Where does that leave YOU?

Bette Davis eyes

Sometimes they sparkle with a hint of mischief Sometimes they twinkle with a knowing smile Sometimes they speak to me with an unfathomable sadness  Sometimes they look at things with a wisdom far beyond your months Sometimes they evoke fear in me Sometimes they thrill me with your unexpressed laughter Sometimes they are quizzical Sometimes they are appreciative Sometimes they are determined But  they are always full of love I love your eyes.

The first post

There's something so appealing about firsts. The first day of the first month of a new year. It holds so much promise. It beckons you with possibilities, the opportunity to make them reality and offers you the chance to keep that momentum going by further dreams. A vast 364 days to live all that you couldn't. Do all what you didn't. Say all that you couldn't. It reminds you there's so much life in life. And that you, can make that change - to live, and not just exist.

2012

Well a new year is upon us. This year its different. I have the one thing, i've longed for the most and now cherish the most, right here in my lap - my very own baby. From the time of secretly admiring other friends' babies to playing ruefully with nieces and nephews, from reading The Secret twice to wondering how long it would take for my own visualisation to become reality, i have worked hard to get this dolly in my life. I will ensure that i spend every minute of my life caring for her. And that, is my goal for 2012.