Lessons in motherhood

I got my periods today, seven and half months after my baby was born. This includes the 3-4 weeks of bleeding post my C-section.

One could look at it as a normal, natural progression post the birth of one’s child. I don’t know if other mothers have felt this way but I am writing this with a sort of heavy heart. The onset of my periods, in some far corner of my heart or may be my whole heart, felt like a violent pull, followed by a sudden severing of the tender bond that I have formed with my daughter. Do other mothers feel the same? I don’t know; I will have to enquire.

I am already feeling an emptiness in my gut and I am sure this isn’t one of those umpteenth times my stomach calls for food because breastfeeding makes you hungry. This is a different feeling; a feeling that isn’t going anywhere. It is like when you have an important exam or you are on stage, right before your speech begins, and you look at several pairs of eyes looking straight at you, into you, and they have seen your fear.

I know this feeling, like the many I have felt since my baby was born. She is growing up so fast that I am forgetting details about her since her birth and it has barely been a little over seven months. I have also heard many mothers among my friends say kids grow up real fast and that I should cherish the moments, however fleeting they may be.

So my periods come as a new chapter in my life. A chapter forced upon me by Mother Nature. Forcing me to cut yet another delicate tie with my first born and it isn’t a nice feeling at all to say the least. Very soon she will grow up and I would forget even this phase. Memory is a tricky player and it favours only those who wish to surrender before it and give it complete control over your mind.  

My dear darling

Is the vulnerable look in?

has the 28 inch waistline taken over passionate kisses, the soft touch?

Should I let you drop me home?

The women's coach won't work for me.

I promise to be a good girl.

I will always listen to you.

I will cook, clean the house. 

Won't expect you to make me tea.

But tell me my dear darling

where do I keep my thoughts?

Words that are mere words to you

words that want to explode,

flood every inch of your being.

I am sorry I don't melt in your arms

my loud voice is too much to bear.

But tell me my dear darling

where do I hide my screaming words?

Just like a good laugh, I like a good cry sometimes. I don’t know whether ‘good cry’ is grammatically correct but what the hell!

Guy friends have often wondered and aloud: “How can you enjoy crying? It doesn’t make any sense.” I just smile and nod for I absolutely refuse to spend time on something or someone who will simply fail to understand even if I were to explain it to them in detail the nitty-gritty of crying and enjoying the feeling.

But my soul sisters understand very well and it brings peace to my heart that they do.

It is a completely different feeling: Watching a sad (preferably romantic) movie and feeling and going on the emotional journey of the characters. The pain of waiting for someone (Lamhe) or losing someone (Salman leaving Ash’s house in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam), oh the pain!!!! And then the pleasure when the tears are shed and we feel light as a feather! Nothing could compare with this feeling.

When I was little I watched Hum Aapke Hain Kaun and how I cried when the elder sister (the very pretty Renuka Shahane) dies after slipping from the stairs and hits her head. Or when sense is knocked into Ash’s brains and she finally goes back to Ajay Devgn (Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, again! I know) and he asks her to pick one hand (ohhhh, I feel so mushy right now). Isn’t it an amazing feeling when warm tears flow down your cheeks and you feel like a huge burden is off your chest/shoulder? I bet it is.

Recently, on a superb trip to Jaisalmer with my good friend Chara, I met a Danish actress. And when we got talking and slowly as the talk moved towards human emotions (she’s to portray it so often), I almost felt like I found my soul sister. She understood what I feel and we both were like “Yes, that’s what am talkin’ bout!”

It’s the warmth, the bidding goodbye to hurt, pain, agony, the lightness, the calm after a good cry that I like.

Science has also termed it good for people to shed tears sometimes. Also, I had read once that men are more prone to heart attacks because they don’t shed tears, no matter how much it hurts!!! So gentlemen, it will only do you good if you didn’t shy away from those tears. But please spare me the river and don’t expect any extra tissue rolls from me!

He was busy counting money and wouldn't even look up. I was losing my patience and started tapping my feet. The girl in front of me stood motionless, it didn't matter to her how long the process was taking. Probably she didn't care for her time, I think.

My gaze went back to the man and his grey hair. There were a few strands of black, as if in competition with the all-black crop on my head with a few strands of grey. I think he coughed a bit. His hands were all wrinkly and they had turned a bit dark. Is it with all old people or only the ones I know and meet? All old people have dark skin - too much sun bathing i think.

He reminded me of my grandmother, he clearly looked as old as her. My grandmother is 79 and has 16 grandchildren and two great-grandchildren and a Lhasa Apso named Brownie.

How many kids does he have? Does he have any grandchildren? And why he is working? Shouldn't he be home, enjoying the comforts that he must have worked all his life to collect/gather/work towards?

He was wearing what looked like a scruffy grey sweater, grey/brown pants (I couldn't see his shoes behind the counter) and an old white shirt underneath. Often when we look at old people and especially those whom we see working, we feel sad for them. I don't know why but we do. But of course we never stop to chat with them, ask them things, just keep them company.

So I felt sad for this old man, working away even at such an age. But it never struck me that may be, just may be, he wants to work. He wants to be there at work, following his daily ritual of getting up at 7 every morning, brushing and getting ready, just so that he feels relevant, feels like he isn't redundant now, feels like he still has it in him to do things, to make sense of things or just to know that he's living. It never struck me.

My mother once called me and said, "Your grandmother screamed at me today saying 'you don't let me work." We both laughed over it and forgot the episode.

My grandmother (my father's mother) has worked hard all her life. She bore seven children, her husband died very young, so she had to take care of all her kids by herself. The god of money also didn't cosy up to her very much, it was a difficult life. But that under 5-foot woman is so strong that till recently, she was around 76/77-years-old, she lived on her own. Only a couple of years ago she decided to throw in the towel and stay with one of her sons (my dad).

Having my grandmother living with us is great. We get to hear stories we never knew, about how I made my father give up smoking when i was little, telling him he was a bad person because he smoked (My eyes filled with tears somehow when she told me this), how I used to declare i will write till "one thousand" (i don't know what) but give up after one line. But I see her feeling desperate sometimes and it isn't a good feeling.

I think it was one of those frustrating days when she screamed at my mother, telling her to shut up and let her cook. So now my grandmother cooks regularly, she even sends me my favourite karela whenever my folks come to meet me.

I think this is my grandmother's way of staying relevant, staying in control, just like the old man in the bank.

A quiet return



One fine day she was not there anymore.
I am coming back to my blog after more than two years and what years!!! My whole world turned upside down in these last two years but i have only emerged stronger and much more loved than before.
One of my best friends decided to leave all of us, her loving parents, friends, all of a sudden. Very-very bad of her but all of us have forgiven her. She is such a loving child that no one could remain angry with her for such a long time. But every day i wish you were here with me Sou so that I don’t have to remember you.
Then some tragic things happened at home but we have only got stronger – the big rock that my mother is and the bigger and stronger foundation that my dad provided all of us but especially her, his wife/partner/best friend/travel companion/room mate/agony aunt of 30 years, keeping his promise of being there in sickness and in health.
And now here I am today, two years down the line, happy and contended (almost...the excuse of we r humans, blah, blah).
Delhi is getting more and more polluted day by day but my love-hate relationship with this great city is somehow sustaining me, making me continue in the city i want to leave the moment i get a chance.
But the love of my life is here, how could I leave. My sisters have found a niche for themselves in this big bad city. I hate to say it but it has become a second ‘home’ now, no matter how much i want to deny it. So i am giving myself some time to see for how long this flirting continues. May be i will develop a lifelong relationship with Delhi, who knows.
But my relationship with words continue, and thank god for that. My books keep me company, they are my best friends, making my metro commute easier and filling and aiding the silence that i enjoy so much after being away from home for so many years.
PS: Some of my best, beautiful friends got married during these two years to wonderful boys, who are now handsome, responsible men. Here’s to the wonderful partnership these ladies have formed with these gentlemen par excellence. Wishing them a very happy married life .

A few days ago I shifted to my new room in north Delhi.
Besides my giant almirah, I had a fridge, four bags full of clothes and over 12 boxes, both big and small with all my stuff. This excludes my shoe boxes and other two bags with my kitchen stuff.
Since I have been away from my family for so long (over four years now) I have a lot of stuff. And I wanted everything. I couldn’t leave behind anything.
While at work, I was going through the pictures of the floods in Bihar. People are affected everywhere and a region as big as Delhi has been engulfed by the raging waters of the Kosi river. I can’t imagine living in an inundated Delhi, besides the fact that we won’t be able to live then.
I saw a picture in which a family was walking towards a dry and safer place. Father, mother and their three children. That is all. In another picture a little girl had a broken suitcase on her head and two pairs of worn out chappals. She was standing in waist-deep water and she looked barely over 12.
In some pictures people were fighting over relief food, while in some they had lined up to take clothes, dry clothes sent from all over.
I never understood the logic behind sending clothes to victims of natural calamities. As a younger person, I used to wonder why someone would wear worn out clothes people send.
Calamities are the time when people can dump their unwanted clothes, serving double purpose. On no other occasion can one be proud and at the same time relieved of helping and getting rid of clothes which you couldn’t sell to the kabadi wala guy.
“They are left with nothing in this world, they will accept even torn clothes now,” is the most common answer when pointed out that the clothes they are sending is not worth wearing anymore.
This is besides the fact that there are many more who genuinely come forward to help and do everything in their capability to help.
Coming back to the pictures from Bihar. The family had nothing but themselves to save. Before the floods they might have had a small house, family belongings and most important – cattle and their agricultural land. All they could save from the raging water was themselves.
The girl had a broken suitcase which can barely hold anything. And worn out chappals? What would she do with them? And is she left with any family member? The picture didn’t show any.
I can’t imagine restarting my life from scratch at age 35. So many people in the floods lost everything they had. And I am not even talking about the lives lost.
A baby was born two days after the flood water started rising and the family had to evacuate in a hurry. The grandparents, old and frail, were left behind. Under normal circumstances, the family would be celebrating the birth. The grandparents dancing with joy, while the pandit busy performing puja to name the new born.
Now no one has time. In the relief camp, the family is trying to find a dry place amid the pouring sky. A baby without a name. I wish to give her a name but even in the comfort of my house, I can’t think of any name for her. I wish to give her a happy name but won’t it be ironical. Happiness born out of the womb of misery!
I scan my room and it is full of things that I have. Do I need all of it? Do I really use all the things that I have? What if Delhi were to be hit with an equally devastating flood?
What all would I pick up? What would I leave behind?

Thoughts on Mother's day

I was watching one of the singing reality shows today- oh how they bore me. But I do not have a choice because my sister comes home every Sunday from her hostel and all she does is watch the singing shows. I can go on and on about her obsession but let’s stop here.
They are amazing singers no doubt and today was a special day. It was, rather it still is as I write, Mother’s Day. I called up my mother and wished her and so did my youngest sister in Dharamshala (my younger sister, middle one, doesn’t have time from her singing show).
Coming to the point. As expected it was a special episode dedicated to mothers. Each and every contestant had his or her mother coming on stage and the usual rona-dhona happened. Then this singer called Debojit came. He sang beautifully, though I can’t remember what he sang. Some Kishore da number.
What got me hooked to the show today was the message he had for the people. He said he used to enjoy being pampered by his mother- she would put oil in his hair and give me a head massages, he would sleep in her lap and other things. But he said, “today when I am in a position to do something for my mother, I don’t have maa with me”. His mother is no more. I felt his pain and was so grateful (don’t know to who…I am an agnostic and we have these occupational hazards more often than not) that my mum was still with me, cracking jokes, smiling, scolding me but with me.
It was very touching that he had got some old women from an old age home to be a part of the show. As he sang, all of them cried.
Debojit had a simple message – do not leave your parents in old age homes. “They are like gods and how can you leave them in such a condition,” he said and buried his head in the lap of one of the crying old women. It was truly very moving and for once I forgot that I was watching a stupid show. I called up my mother and she said, “ I have already shed my tears last night.” Turns out we were watching a repeat telecast!
My point – They nearly go mad with joy when you are born. They celebrate your birth like there is no tomorrow, they shed tears when you get hurt, they rejoice in your success. But when you grow up why do you forget each and everything that they have done for you. Why do you make them go mad once again by dumping them in old age homes?