A Series Of Unfortunate Events

In the past week, our life has eerily resembled Lemony Snicket's, A Series Of Unfortunate Events. It all began on Saturday evening, when we decided to go on a short drive with our baby monkey. When we stepped out, it was raining torrentially with very low visibility. Still, we decided to be Khatron Ke Khiladi for the baby's sake as he loved these short drives.

For the first half an hour, it was smooth sailing. Out of the blue, the husband rammed the car violently into a divider, as he was trying to swerve away from a cement mixer. Our hearts were in our throats as we were a little distance away from home and getting technical help at that hour, in the middle of a downpour would be close to impossible. 

He stepped out of the car to examine the damage. The bonnet had dislodged itself and was jammed inside one of the wheels. He drove very slowly and we somehow managed to reach home. Unfortunately, the baby's head got a little wet in the rain, as we stepped out of the car and into our apartment complex's lobby. We didn't think much of it at the time, as the priority was to wash his hands and change his clothes ASAP, as we might've potentially exposed him to Coronavirus. 

The next morning, he woke up with a fever of 101° F. We quickly administered Calpol drops, but his health deteriorated through the day. Our mind raced to the worst possible scenarios. We blamed ourselves and our domestic help, who may have given him Covid. When he woke up with the same fever the following morning as well, we decided to change his medication to something stronger (Ibugesic Plus) by looking at his doctor's prescriptions. His condition improved instantly. Our moods however were still on edge and we had the worst possible war of words. 

Three harrowing events within 48 hours. Call it a stroke of bad luck or if you are a believer of old wives' tales, somebody's evil eye. As we had stepped out on Saturday evening for our drive, I sensed at least 20 pairs of prying eyes on us (residents of our apartment), watching us curiously as we stepped into our car with our baby. I could see the shock in their eyes, seeing us dressed up so nicely, like we were ready to go for a party. In reality, we just wanted to breathe some fresh air and give our baby some respite from the four walls of our home. 

It's so quick to pass judgements on people, without knowing their life's realities. Evil eye or not, it's rude to gawk at people. When will we Indians ever learn this? We've had a hard 48 hours. Hoping for a quick turn of happy events now. *fingers crossed* 

(Image Source : https://www.123rf.com/photo_71203031_stock-vector-bad-luck-rubber-stamp-grunge-design-with-dust-scratches-effects-can-be-easily-removed-for-a-clean-cr.html)

Baba's Boy

My baby is clearly a "Baba's boy". While I do the heavy lifting of changing soiled diapers, cooking, feeding, bathing and napping,  Baba gets all the loving. Baba is a tall, dark and handsome mysterious, stranger who flits around the house, at all odd hours. He just cannot get enough of Baba or in his words, "Baaaaaabaaaaaaaaaa". If we were on the sinking Titanic and the crew told my son to choose between both parents, he would choose his father in a heartbeat and leave me to die, like the frost bitten Jack. 

Initially, this bothered me a lot. I wondered why the fetus I grew so lovingly in my womb, for nine painful months, didn't want anything to do with me. When I ask him to kiss me, he kisses his Baba. When I ask him whether he wants to sleep, he pulls his Baba's t-shirt down and clings on to him like a Koala bear, when I ask him if he wants to eat, he screams for Baba some more. 

Clearly Baba is the fun one and I'm the "naggy Nancy". Not my words, Baba's of course. Baba in the meantime, is just loving the attention and says things like, "Both my babies, can't get enough of me", "It's hard to resist my charms" and "Come for some McLoving" and more cringey one liners. The only time I've seen Baba's enthusiasm fade a little, is when baby leaves a big fat poo-poo in his diaper. Then he looks at the baby like a radioactive missile, which will explode upon touching. 

Most days, we find a way to peacefully co-exist with one another under the same roof. But some days, I'm really pained by both my boys. One morning for instance, I woke up with sound of persistent snoring by the big one and the little one, had head butted me out of my pillow and was blissfully occupying my side of the bed. Annoyed with this unreasonable behaviour at 4am, I stormed out of the bedroom and lay down in the guest room. Ironically, I couldn't sleep there, as I bitterly missed both my Chetans (Chhota aur Bada). Then I waited patiently for them to wake up, so that I could prepare a delicious home cooked meal for them.

Yesterday afternoon is another instance when the little one, refused to leave his Baba's side and take his afternoon nap. So I let him be and tried to sleep on my own. But as usual, I couldn't and found my way back into their room. I was pleasantly surprised to find them both in deep sleep. One lying on top of the other. The sight just melted my heart. 

The dynamic of a married couple changes with the arrival of that little third wheel. There is no longer a hormonal induced crazy romance, a gradual slowing down of things happen. Our idea of romance now is sitting together as a family and playing monkey games with our little chimp. 

Parenting In A Pandemic

The Covid induced lockdown has been the hardest on children. Especially, the smaller ones like my son. He is always high on energy and gets easily bored with his toys. To capture his attention for more than five minutes, with a book or a puzzle is an achievement. Pre-lockdown, he went on hour long walks and occasional play dates, with my neighbour's baby daughter. 

Our apartment, has one case of corona per week, two wings were sealed overnight and my neighbours have vanished into thin air. Everyone's doors are sealed shut, like Borosil's food jars. Forget conversations, they don't even let air enter their houses. Four days ago though, I met them all standing at their doorways. We conversed for over an hour. I could sense the fear and hysteria, in their voices. The mood seeped into my mind as well. 

We have slowly started going on short drives in the car and I take my baby for hour long walks in his pram. The mild exercise tires him out a little, whereby making him a tad bit easier to handle. The change of scenery does a world of good for his psyche. Staring at my face and the four walls of the house all day, can get boring.

Last weekend, the husband suggested we step into Starbucks. I was a little taken aback by the suggestion, considering we had our baby in toe. He persisted, stating that the store was not very crowded. So I stepped out of the car, with the little tyke and my worst nightmare came true. A couple standing in line behind us, didn't follow the rules of social distancing, clearly demarcated by the store. I tugged at my husband's arm and pointed to the offending couple. He didn't say anything at first. But when he noticed that they were edging dangerously close to us, he turned around and told them politely to follow the rules of the store. 

Two days ago, a young girl approached me with a toddler in toe. They wanted to say hello to my son as they had observed him walking with me. I mumbled a quick hello and went my way. I'm sure the little girl and the toddler did not have Coronavirus. But the protective mom instincts in me (and WHO guidelines), told me to retreat. The only way to beat this virus, is to assume that everyone has it. 

It's been a hard year. Social distancing has made us emotionally distant as well. I love conversing with fellow mums and enjoy watching my baby play with other children. But now, I run, like my tail is on fire. The paranoia of our helpless little children potentially catching the virus, has us all on our guards. Praying for the world to heal and for normalcy to return to ours lives, most importantly the lives of our children, who have so much ahead of them. No virus should stand in the way of their dreams. 

(Image Source : https://www.ucdavis.edu/news/survey-topic-parenting-pandemic/) 

Selling Broken Dreams

Almost seven years since I’ve left home and relocated to an alien city, which I’m forced to call home. Mumbai is not too bad, except for when the monsoon season hits or if you commute by trains. Bless your soul, if you belong to the latter category. The memories of being pushed and shoved mercilessly, along with having things stolen are too fresh in my mind. 

The next issue I have with this city, is the lack of authentic South Indian food. No, idli sambar and dosa alone do not compromise South Indian food. That’s like saying Punjabis eat only Butter Chicken and Shahi Paneer all day.

My quest to find authentic Malayalee food, began the minute I settled into my new home and life. I’ve stumbled across a myriad of Mumbai’s version of South Indian food. I’ve gone to hole in the wall places, high end restaurants and even road side shacks, but none could satiate my craving. 

I finally came across an Instagram profile of a chef, who put up stories faster than I could change my baby’s soiled diapers. He seemed legitimate. He claimed to be from Kerala and had items on the menu such as Amma’s Karimeen and Ammumma’s Ada Payasam. The images to go along with these dishes looked mouth watering as well. I was sold. I convinced my non Malayalee husband (who hates most Indian food, including that of his hometown) and we ordered food from this restaurant not once, not twice, but thrice!

There was nothing authentic about the food, it was far from being Malayalee food. It gave us bad stomachs and it costed a bomb. Triple whammy! I was gutted, to say the very least. To that chef selling broken dreams on a plate, may you also get diarrhoea like we did. And may you also have your culinary heart broken, the way you broke mine. 

Your knowledge of regional cuisine may be spot on, but your handling of each delicate ingredient is absolute rubbish. This entire episode has taught me one very important lesson. Time to turn to every Malayalee's favourite family channel, Asianet and watch some good old fashioned cooking shows. 

The legacy of people live on in their food. Time to create my own. Onwards and upwards! Or in this case, kitchenward. 

(Image Source : https://images.app.goo.gl/mRtNQAh3tWyLWncr5) 

Don't Grow Up So Soon

My baby turns 20 months old in two days. And as I say that out loud, whoever hears it, responds with, "Oh, almost two". That stops me in my tracks and I find myself examining my once little baby, who is growing up too soon. For 20 months straight, he couldn't sleep at night, without stuffing his face against mine. But, for the past two nights he has become an overconfident Keanu Reeves, pulling Matrix-like moves in his sleep. I find an arm or a leg on my face. If I try to cuddle him, he violently shoves me away and goes back to his corner.  

I reminisced about the time, when he would sleep under a mosquito net triple his size and a clean cotton sheet exclusively meant for him. He would lie there, still as a snail, with very gentle body movements, staring at the strange new world around him, with unfocused, gawky eyes. Overnight, he has developed a distinct personality. He says "no" at the drop of a hat and a more emphatic "no", with the waving of the hands. 

I know you'll soon bring home a girl whom you want to marry, go to college, get a job and have an independent life away from us, your parents. But for now, please slow down. Don't grow up so soon. Please be our little baby, who babbles all day and gets excited, at the prospect of going on drives and strolls in the pram. 

As you tumbled between us today, rubbing your pee filled diaper on our faces and head butting us occassionally, your father and I unanimously agreed that having you was the best decision of our lives. The violent games that lead to bloodshed (only for us of course, you seem absolutely fine!), the extreme hyper activeness, the sleep and food rebellion, can be extremely painful to handle, especially on days when we are tired. But overall, you have us neatly wrapped around your smelly little pinkie. In other words, you get away with cold blooded murder, all day, everyday simply because we are suckers for your baby gurgles and incomprehensible babble. 

I can't believe you are almost two. It feels like we brought you home from the hospital, just yesterday. We want to smell the top of your oily little head just a little longer. We want to squish you senselessly, just a little longer. We want to be the centre of your universe, just a little longer. Please slow down. Don't grow up so soon. 

The Tricky Business Of Motherhood

The pressures put on a new mother's shoulders, are immense. You are expected to juggle work, household chores and the grinding routine of a newborn baby, all at once. It's only natural that most of us succumb to Post Partum Depression. 95% of new mothers, are hit with PPD the minute a baby is born. Your mind and body are a hot mess, literally and figuratively.

My baby was one week preterm and underweight. Double whammy! Therefore, he demanded feeds by the hour. I was so disoriented, Batman would have given me his cape in a jiffy. I was conflicted whether to be the sprightly, businesslike Bruce Wayne of the day or the dark, brooding caped vigilante of the night, the Dark Knight. The hero, my newborn deserved, but not the one he needed right now. Wrong! My baby needed a 24*7 Mother Dairy milk farm.

My pediatrician was an impatient Heath Ledger (from the Dark Knight), who kept telling me, "Let's put a smile on that face". The decision to exclusively breastfeed, exclusively formula feed or be a combination feeding mother is purely a personal choice. But no, everyone including my neighbour's dog, was interested to know how much milk I made, to feed my hungry child.  

Next, the identity crisis hits. Who am I now? Just a mother? A woman with one pearly white strand of hair, post delivery? Still a wife? Just two seconds ago, I had an enviable social life, where I partied till 2 am in the morning, had a fairly decent job and could eat anything I wanted. But now, I had a tiny human who clung on to me for dear life. His very existence depended on me. (No pressure!)

His hysterical sobs, would leave a bad chemical reaction in my brain. I would immediately get a throbbing migraine and try my best to soothe him (shut him up ASAP, if I have to be brutally honest). Looking back at those first six months, it was not too bad. I was just being a drama queen as usual, I realize. Because, right now, is when I need backup. And by backup, I mean call the fire department and the police station, the baby is on the move. I repeat, the baby is on the move! And he is a house on fire. Anything he touches, breaks. Anywhere, he climbs, he falls. Hell, try carrying him on your shoulder and he will bite you so hard, it will put Romeo and Juliet's hickey marks to shame.

Truth be told, I love being a mom. My maternal instincts kicked into place when I was 4 years old. I had a room full of little dollies whom I dearly loved. I never slept without them at night. I have a real life doll now. Just as cute, but with a stubborn personality. You either give in to him or end up playing Tom and Jerry games all day. 

Best to give in, for everybody's peace of mind. And best to listen to your own gut instinct, because no one knows your child, like you do. There is a reason why God chose YOU to become the mother of your child. So the next time your well meaning neighbour says, "Oh, why does your child look so skinny?", or a pleasant relative says, "Oh 9pm is too late to make a baby sleep", just ignore with a massive I-G-N-O-R-E.