The Fish

I was traveling for the last 3 days on account of work. Went to a small but fast-developing city that had beautiful lakes and soothing greenery but had nothing much in terms of shopping, especially for someone like me who came from an undisputed shopping paradise called Bangkok.

But still I had to buy something, something nice - for that was the only way to get rid of the guilt that had immediately crept in as soon as I left my 23 months old daughter behind in pursuit of my own needs. Or maybe, it was just the longing to see some excitement on her face – her lips widening into an ear to ear smile and her eyes twinkling with excitement as she fiddled with an unexpected interesting toy in her hands, bought after much deliberation and thoughtfulness on her Mummy’s part. I wasn’t really sure what the real reason was but the fact that I had to buy something was an absolute must.

I managed to grab a couple of hours on the very first day of the visit. Slipped into my T-shirt and Jeans (Couldn’t afford to venture out in one of the only two formal sets of clothing that I had) and turned right from the hotel entrance, in hope of locating a few baby shops that I had spotted the same morning on my way from the airport. It was scorching hot and a few gracious taxis did slowdown in anticipation of a positive nod but had to speed away disappointed, for walking seemed to be the best way to get to my destination. The shops lay somewhere in the vicinity of the hotel, and I was convinced that an over-enthusiastic taxi was bound to overshoot my target cutting into the only two hour break that I had managed for myself.

“City Babies” read the first shop. I got in excited having looked at the elaborate tri-cycles and baby cots that were visible form the glass window. There were loads and loads of Chinese toys inside – all carrying a sincere promise of immediate lead poisoning and extremely low quality of manufacturing. Moving away in disappointment, I headed towards the relatively smaller section of soft toys, and realized that some of them already formed part of Mira’s overwhelming toy collection while some of them just didn’t look right.

And then, my eyes fell on her - bright and charming, yellow in color, wide black stripes, think pink lips and big black eyes. I instantaneously liked her. The cash counter did dampen my spirits though – she was far cheaper than what I had imagined her to be and the loss of currency wasn’t weighty enough to justify my 3 days of absence from home. Visited the other two shops in desperation but to absolutely no avail.

Coming back home was an exciting experience. As I slammed shut the door behind me, I saw Mira standing next to the book shelf in the passage, making up her mind about which book to pick. Papa and Daadi came running out of their individual rooms, anxious to see the reactions of a long-separated child. I moved as fast as I could while loudly exclaiming “Hello Mira” all the way towards her. She didn’t react much – a tiny blank face probably struggling to figure out the quantum of time that had elapsed since I last met her – was it normal or not?; was it more than usual?; was she around mostly as she always used to be? A minute long pause and then, she held out one of her favorite books to me, and said – “Mummy Mira read book”. No complaints, no tantrums, no realizations – I’ve to confess to my gratitude for having things the way they were and to my confidence for enhanced work-related travel in the future.

And yes, the fish happened to be a much bigger hit than what I had expected it to be. It is either trailing behind her sweeping the floor, or supporting her head as a nice soft cushion, or just lies next to her as she puts together her puzzles or goes through her books.

Papa being the Indian parent he is, didn't let go of the chance to teach something educational even with the fish. In his usual instructive tone, he said – “See Mira, Fins and tail. Fish’s fins and tail.” Me being the wicked mom I am, asked her – “If this is fish’s tail, where is Mira’s tail?”. Mira’s hand immediately shot back and ran across her entire bum, while her eyes reassured me that I’m going to soon locate it, don’t you worry.

Papa and I burst out laughing. Wonder if life could be anymore fun, exciting and content than what it is now!

Playschool updates

Usually known for decisiveness and clear thinking, the playschool subject has clearly proven me otherwise. My emotions range from one end of the spectrum to the other from the time I drop Mira in the morning to the afternoon when I get her back.

Mornings are usually filled with confusion and sadness. The car ride from the house to the school, which earlier used to have Mira enthusiastically pointing out things to me has now-a-days left her concentrating on the road, wondering where our destination would be. As soon as we step into the school, she breaks into continuous crying, not loud enough to reach people standing nearby but strong enough to let me re-evaluate the decision to get her there. It is a hard moment to take her off my arms and hand her over to the teacher, as her crying reaches a higher volume and I continue walking towards the car.

Afternoons are a different affair altogether. I usually reach a bit early so that I can see Mira having lunch through the glass window – the last activity of the school before they call it a day. There’s a good amount of calmness on Mira’s face as she struggles to balance the spoon till her mouth. She confidently walks towards the nanny when she’s done – gets herself cleaned up and willingly changes into a clean dress, all ready to be carried back. It is at this time that I bang open the door and yell out a lively “Mira”, while all she gives me is a pleasant confident smile, not a sigh of relief, mind you and raises her arms to be picked up for the journey home.

So, while every morning I swear that this is going to be our last day in school, every afternoon cheers me up and lets me give the next day a shot.

The confusion finally got to me today and I decided to take a call. Realizing my inability to think objectively, I turned to Papa for the decision and promised to stand by it. We did a bit of research – the school teachers shared that Mira’s crying lasted just till the time she saw me around and that she changed into a reasonably happy child after that. It's nothing but separation anxiety from the mom, Papa gave his expert comment.

And so, while mornings might continue to remain tough, we’ve decided to go ahead with the school for a while.

A friend tells me that sooner or later all kids start liking the school. Her’s infact takes to the floor and refuses to go back– 5 different bribes and the promise to come back the next day just about manage to get her to the gate.

While I’m surely not looking forward to Mira doing the same, but a bit of excitement will certainly be great!

******
Mira’s Papa and I are very similar people. I mean, given a certain situation, I’m sure both of us will reach the same conclusions, for the same set of values and reasoning that we share. But, there’re other differences though – I tend to get a bit more emotional and subjective, just the way all women are while Papa has a more rational and “I can see through the façade” kind of approach, which probably all men have, I guess.

These differences keep cropping up every now and then – take the last Friday’s incident for instance. Just like all other days, I had gone to pick up Mira from her school – Friday was the last day of the summer camp and the school was going in for a week long break before the next session resumed. As a token of remembrance of the camp, the teacher handed over the following to me:

Let me explain, this is a frame that’s got Mira’s picture on the right, as you can see and a small piece of clay with different colored beads stuck into it, on the left.

Clay with the beads is Mira’s creation – I mean, with the help of the teacher obviously, she rolled out the clay and then, put different beads onto it.

I was extremely excited to see it.

I immediately called up Papa to share the excitement, as soon as I got Mira seated into the car. After the usual long thinking pause, Papa muttered out – “Hmm….these school people come up with the best of gimmicks. See, now we parents are hooked on for long.”

Sorry…..what did I hear – GIMMICKS? And here I was, drooling over Mira’s first piece of work – her first ever creation. My mind by now had already raced through the future – visualizing different achievements of my little girl, all nicely occupying important positions in our drawing room.

Papa’s reaction was surely a bit of a damper. Did someone just say that we both think alike?

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”

Three days without Mira

"Aren’t you getting late?," my mum-in-law asked alarmingly, as I frantically surfed the internet to locate some good lacquer shops recommended by various blogs on Vietnam. “Don’t worry. I always do my best in the eleventh hour,” I said confidently, as I turned off my laptop and ran through the last few things I was intended to complete before taking the flight a few hours away.

Everything was in order – my e-tickets printed, formal clothes ironed and carefully folded, laptop chord suitably placed and a decent stack of US dollars neatly inserted in my pocket purse. I was ready for the trip – my first ever official trip in the last 15 months since Mira was born. I was excited. Excited about going to a new country. Excited about going to a new country alone. Excited about the change – of having a schedule that just had meetings, presentations and brainstorming. After all, it was my first chance in a long time to put a face to my work – the work that I had been doing for a while now on a part-time basis from home.

“Mira’s cough hasn’t subsided,” mum-in-law intervened worriedly. If it doesn’t get better, she might get really cranky and tough to handle. “Don’t worry mummy,” I said encouragingly. Mira is recovering pretty fast. Also, she really likes her nanny and is used to being with her through most parts of the day. She won’t really miss me and before she knows, I’ll already be back. 3 days is no big deal, I assured Mummy and myself to some extent.

The journey began with a rough start. The plane was awfully cold and kept getting worse as a scantily clad woman next to me refused to turn off her air vent, giving me a bad running nose and a severe allergy. My mind had gone numb. There were absolutely no thoughts. I just wanted to get to my hotel and rest for the night before starting the next two days of insanely long meetings.

Day 1 started at 9 am. I made sure that there was enough time for me to call up home and check on Mira, before I left for the office. “How did she do in the night?,” I asked as mum-in-law picked up the phone in a single ring. Mira had never slept without me - though she lay separately on her cot every night but shifted to my bed as soon as she got up for some milk. Mum-in-law sounded better – “Oh, it was no issue at all,” she said. “She did get up once but the nanny was by her side. She handled her well. Don’t you worry and carry on with your work.”

I was calm and composed as I left for the office. The meeting went off well – there were people from different agencies presenting their plans and ideas for the year ahead. I made sure that I contributed my bit to the discussion. Though I carefully listened to each person talking, my mind kept wandering off to Mira every now and then. She would be getting ready for lunch - I thought as I sipped a cup of coffee with my new found colleagues. I talked about her to anyone and everyone with the slightest interest in kids. “I have left her alone for the first time,” I explained. My hosts nodded as I continued with her anecdotes and gave me some fabulous company for rest of the evening. I returned to the hotel happy and satisfied. Just two more days to go, I thought to myself.

The second day was not much different from the first one. There were key product updates followed by presentations and discussions. But, I was much more distracted than the day before, juggling between my thoughts about Mira and my keenness to work. There was a growing sense of sadness within me. I missed having Mira around, being a part of that innocent laughter and infectious cheerfulness. I missed running after her, playing with her or probably just being with her. But, there was a conflicting sense of satisfaction too. Satisfaction of standing up in a forum different from my comforting home. Satisfaction of being heard, challenged and cornered. Satisfaction of being a bit more than what I was to Mira and Papa at home.

I was thoroughly confused. The perennial question of getting back to a full-time job loomed strongly in my head. “Will I survive a cut-throat full-time job?” I wondered. “Could I keep up with the lengthy travel plans and the unpredictable office hours?” I struggled. Once again I left the decision to time. Taking comfort that it was not a question I had to answer immediately, I got back to the discussion. Raised my hand and made a point.

The third day was much more different. All my sadness and discomfort had transformed into excitement – the hurry to get back home was driving me mad. I reported at the airport much more in advance. There was an unexplained fear as I went through the counters. ‘Has my visa got over?’ – I worried when the officer took a second more to go through my papers. ‘Does the plane have a technical fault?’ - I fretted as the boarding got delayed by a couple of minutes.

But thankfully, all was perfectly fine and I reached back home well on time. I ran to Mira’s room as soon as I got in. “She just slept off,” my mum-in-law declared disappointedly. “We tried keeping her awake but she just couldn’t manage. All that walking must have tired her out and she finally went off to sleep, some 5 minutes back.”

I dropped my bags and headed towards the cot. As I looked at my baby in that dimly lit room – I wondered if she ever realized that I was gone or if I would ever be back? I saw that unparalleled peace on her face, her hair sticking together with the sweat in her head and her thumb comfortably thrust into her mouth. As I lay by her side, I felt a familiar sense of ease – the ease of getting back to a life I knew so well and I so much enjoyed being in. Now I impatiently waited for the day to begin - a new beautiful day that would have a cheerful Mira running all over the house and a smiling mom watching her with love and delight.

The Conspiring Clock

Clocks historically are not known to elicit any kind of emotional response from living species, let alone humans. They are supposed to be simple inventions which are designed with the sole purpose of displaying time and at the most, for adorning the piece of wall they are hung to, enhancing the over all décor of the room.

This was my firm belief too until I encountered a seemingly cute but a really conspiring clock which proudly owns a wall of the dining room in our lovely ancestral house in Bhopal. This plastic clock has a big black dial in the center surrounded by a squirrel and a dear on either side, some leaves and grapes at the bottom and three movable cuckoos at the top. The cuckoos are arranged in a triangle, with two linear ones visible all the time, while the top one makes her presence every half and one hour.

The clock hadn’t drawn any special attention by people so far. It looked nice but nothing extraordinary! It was in fact the synchronized movement of the three cuckoos and the accompanied sound of “Cuckoo” that thoroughly amused my one year old. I remember that morning very clearly in my head – I was helping Mira with some breakfast while she was busy stroking her teddy in the high chair, Mira’s Daadi was making preparations for the ensuing lunch and Mira’s Papa on account of his annual leave, was sleeping away to glory. In short, everything was normal and routine until it struck 11 in the clock – and the two ordinary cuckoos along with the queen cuckoo made their appearance; they bowed their heads and flapped their wings, and sang “Cuckoo” for full 11 times. Mira was completely spellbound – she had never seen these cuckoos before, she had never heard them sing before, all the clocks in her own house were dull and boring and worst of all, they didn’t make any sound! Mira loved this clock instantaneously. She was highly impressed but unfortunately, couldn’t express her emotions except for a bit of pointing and laughing out heartily.

Our two week holiday in Bhopal was nearing its completion but Mira’s attention towards the clock remained unabated. She used to run to the clock as soon as the cuckoos came into action. She looked at the cuckoos with huge curiosity and felt disappointed as soon as they retrieved after a brilliant performance. Her interest in the clock kept growing until it reached a point where she managed to combine the right syllables and say her very first word - “Cuckoo”. Mira’s Papa and I were thrilled – this was a huge milestone – Mira in her 14th month had said her very first word. But, wait a minute, wasn’t her first word supposed to be Mumma? – the person who had spent the most amount of time with her – playing with her, teaching her, feeding her etc. etc. Suddenly, my celebration was accompanied with a sense of jealousy – the cuckoos had conspired against me!