She is just like me - Yipee!

The fact is that it does upset me when people despite much cajoling, do confess that Mira is an exact copy of Papa’s and that there’s just no sign of me. It gets even worse when relatives promise to dig into old albums and seek out evidence – extract Papa’s childhood photos in specific poses to be placed against Mira’s, just to say – “Haina Beti ekdum Papa jaisee?, hmmm”

No, no - don’t get me wrong, Papa’s got a pretty decent face, features and stuff like that but you know, as a mom, you just feel left out. Nine months of unpredictable pregnancy, unbearable labor, never-ending feeding sessions, precious time kept aside for raising the baby, all done for what? – to see a day when one of your new acquaintances walks into the kids’ room of your building only to ask you with utmost honesty and innocence – “Hey, which one of these two is your daughter?”

But folks, finally there’s a reason to smile – some resemblance, though not really in the face, has started surfacing which proudly establishes Mira to be my daughter, much to the disappointment and chagrin of Papa.

One of these is our common unadulterated love for Besan ke ladoos. Yes, you got that right - Besan ke ladoos. It all started a few days back when my Mother-in-law visited us on her usual twice-a-year trip to Bangkok, all armed with home-made sweet weapons crucial to keep the daughter-in-law happy but unhealthy for long. Willingly giving in, I munched almost a full ladoo every day, with a curious Mira consistently insisting to have a share in this magical stuff. Not really sure if she would like it, I just smeared a few remnants on her lips and waited to see the reaction. Mira’s investigative look soon dissolved into amusement and there, I knew that I had finally found my lifetime ladoo partner in her. Since then, Mira toddles off to the kitchen every morning, goes on her toes, points at the top of the fridge, and says with the most endearing of expressions – “De do, De do”.

Our other similarity emerges from the way we treat our morning everyday, irrespective of how our previous night turned out. Mira usually gets up from her sleep, with a wide and happy smile. She stands up in her crib, grips it by her hands and does some nice cheerful babbling, while her bleary-eyed Papa looks up the clock in full denial. Though Papa has been relentless in rejecting this as an exclusive Mumma-Daughter trait, claiming that he too has been happy about mornings, even I have put my foot down this time and refused to be fooled by him. What happiness? The only emotion Papa exudes in the morning is that of curiosity – curiosity to know if Obama managed to inch ahead of Clinton?, if the US downturn is indeed recession?, or even worse, if the closest theater is still running his favorite Oscar nominees? There’s such hurry to consume news I tell you, that the poor happiness has just no place to survive!

Anyhow, coming back to the point, there’s one more similarity which kind of makes this Mumma-Daughter thing more amusing for me. And that is – the color of our hair. While Papa has got this black curly South Indian kind of hair, I flaunt 100% North Indian light brown straight hair. And absolutely, no points for guessing what color is Mira’s hair?

Well, these are the only commonalities which are apparent right now, but am sure, there are many more to come and am so very looking out for them. For the time being, I am just going to call up Papa’s relatives back home and update them on the latest similarities – what should I say, “Haina Beti ekdum Mummy jaisee?, hmmm”