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”

Mummy & Mira - Part I

Mira’s favorite word these days is Kaoo (Cow). Since it’s difficult to talk about Kaoos the entire day, Mira is figuring out other ways to practice her newly acquired word.

Mira, Duddu or juice?
Kaoo

No Mira. Duddu or juice?
Kaoo

OK then, Mummy is going.
Kaoo

Kaoo

Kaoo

**************
“No Mira!”

Mira recklessly runs towards the TV, with a kitchen scrubber in one hand and a photo frame in the other.

“No Mira!”

She switches on the TV and smiles back mischievously as the screen takes a second to come on.

“No Mira!”

As her hair go absolutely erect with the charge on the screen, Mira nods her head vigorously and sways her arms enthusiastically to the tune of the anthem the channel plays solemnly in praise of the country’s king. Having put up a brief performance, Mira suddenly switches off the TV.

"Oh finally……..thank yoooo…………NO MIRA!.”

And the TV comes on again…….

**************
It’s evening.

Mummy is tired with her bits of house work, part-time office work and too much analysis of how life would shape up in the next 5 years – where would the family be?, will she able to work full-time?, how would Mira react to her absence? etc. etc.

Mira is in the kids’ room of the building – busy pushing some poor kid out of a yellow toy car so that she could ride it just for the 50th time – an absolutely reasonable request which for some vague reason is not met with equal enthusiasm by others.

Almost an hour passes by when the front door opens up suddenly.

And a cheerful Mira enters the dining room which has a glum Mummy seated right across with her hands firmly placed on the laptop and her eyes looking away into wilderness.

Mira’s eyes meet Mummy’s.

There’s a loud squeal as Mira runs uncontrollably towards Mummy – her unsteady feet going at the best rate they can manage, almost ready to declare a fall with each step they undertake. Mummy goes down on her knees and stretches her arms wide open as an excited Mira dives into them.

There is a moment of perfect harmony. It feels as if God is in his heaven and all’s just right with this unpredictable world.

And then, Mira spots the TV.

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.

15 months later

15 months back, I remember myself anxiously staring at the vacant cot by my bed-side, wondering how its tiny occupant would look like. I remember imagining her in my thoughts – constructing and de-constructing her face some thousand times to reach that perfect look – the look that fairly resembles half of Papa’s and half of mine. I remember seeing her grow in my head – a curious little baby turning into a talkative mischievous girl.

And here I am, 15 months later – exuding a mix of emotions – lots of pride, tonnes of happiness and a bit of disappointment.

Pride and happiness for having a cheerful (touch wood!), smiling (touch wood!) and almost a tantrum-free (touch wood!) child. Mira has been quite an easy baby to manage so far – right from the time she was in me till now when she walks around the entire house with full authority; kitchen and bathrooms being her favorite hang out places. Not having realized that feeding Mira is one of Mummy’s top priorities and she would do it no matter what – Mira still obediently sits on her high chair, ready to be fed with a good proportion of carbohydrates and proteins, while she happily fiddles away with one of her latest toys.

Teddy bears have been her most favorite till now. It's absolutely amazing to see how this little Mira almost transforms into a loving mom when she sees a soft toy, specially a teddy bear around. She is careful to pick him up with both hands, hug him tightly and then, to keep kissing him till someone comes to rescue the poor bear while the besotted mom continues her mania.

Whether it is 3 in the morning or 5 in the evening, Mira begins to rattle off all the words she knows as soon as she gets up from sleep. Having said her very first word in the 14th month, Mira today flaunts a rich vocabulary of around a dozen words. She begins with Mama :-), Papa, Deedi and Daadi for the obvious reason that she interacts with them the most. Then, comes Mum Mum (Water) and Duddu (Milk) – absolutely essential for Mira’s 24 hour energy. Next are Boo (Book),Tata, Ca (Car) and Kaoo (Cow).

But, the best is "Nuo Nuo" (No No). Originally meant to deter Mira from certain acts or things, "Nuo Nuo" has assumed a new convenient meaning for this girl altogether. It's mostly deployed to communicate an act of mischief already committed rather than preventing her from indulging in it. Resultantly, we have a badly drenched undergarment, a filthy chappal in Mira’s hands or a mischievous arm in the dustbin – all followed by the appropriate "Nuo Nuo" and a stern to and fro movement of the finger.

While we are struggling to get "Nuo Nuo" back to mean what it is actually supposed to, we are also fighting Mira’s keenness to be a part of everything. Anything new that comes to the house – right from the bathroom cleaner to Papa’s confidential papers – Mira wants to ensure that they all go through her. All hell breaks loose when the laptop screen comes on and Mira realizes that the booting process had nothing to do with her. And so, we have some cruelly extracted keys and an extremely frustrated papa at the end of it all.

The only way to distract her is to switch on the TV and tune it to channel no. 29 – our good old BBC. While BBC means different things to different people, ranging from current affairs and business updates to weather forecasts and political scandals. For Mira – it is nothing but simple danceable music. She shakes her head and sways her arms as she carefully synchronizes her movements with this solemn tune.

Now if you find that strange – believe me there’s more to go! Realizing the need to sleep in a silent and dark environment, Mira has invented her own style of withdrawing from a brightly lit world as she retires for the day. She pulls all her hair on her face and thrusts her thumb into the mouth, making for the most comfortable posture she can possibly manage. Her long hair ensures that no figment of light penetrates through to her while her thumb pacifies her to no limits – both working cooperatively for a peaceful 10 hours sleep.

As I see my little angel falling off to sleep, I almost feel my third emotion creeping in slowly – the feeling of disappointment. Disappointment for how Mira is an exact copy of Papa and there is just no sign of me – not the eyes, not the nose, not the lips, not the hair and not even the nails! Somewhere – at least somewhere I need to be visible in her, has been my usual complaint. While Papa has managed to win handsomely on the looks parameter, we are now fiercely competing on the popularity contest. “Who does Mira love more – Papa or Mummy?”is the next question on our minds – goes without saying that I am preparing hard, really hard this time.

Mira recognizes Papa

Like all other days, Mira and I sprawled out on our green flowery chatai next to the French windows, ready to begin the day with some fun and play. The only difference today was that rather than having stacking cups, animal puzzles and picture books between us, we had heaps and heaps of music CDs.

Yup – Music CDs! Mira’s Papa and I have this constantly growing but barely-listened to music collection that has gradually occupied each room of ours, some hiding in the drawers while some peeping out from book racks. So, finally I decided to clean up the mess – to classify all the CDs appropriately and place them in their designated places. Though Mira’s presence was a little dangerous with her mega successful track record of damaging things (my laptop keyboard still aches from a cruelly extracted tab key and my swarovski crystal though still on the center table, has tonnes and tonnes of glue around it), but I still decided to carry on.

So, here were we all ready to begin our task! While I stuck to the conservative method of categorizing CDs into jazz, pop, bollywood, ghazals etc., Mira was much more enterprising and novel in her approach. All the CDs with boring black and white covers were immediately discarded – a few strong well-timed back hand strokes and there the CDs went completely out of reach! The coloured ones sadly, were much more unfortunate – some were forced to revolve around her tiny finger while others were banged against the floor to see if they could really make some music!

We had almost cleared half a mountain of this stuff, when Mira suddenly exclaimed “PAPA”!

Considering it to be one of her show-off sessions where she rattles out all the words she knows one after another, I decided to ignore her completely.

And then, it hit me again – “PAPA”!

“Papa’s in the office baby”, I said sweetly, while my eyes still engaged in sorting out the mess.

But no – Mira wasn’t ready to stop and then, it got out of control – “PAPA PAPA PAPA PAPA……!”

Picking her up immediately and taking her in my arms, I noticed the CD firmly held in her hand:

……..and I burst out laughing!

The caricature on the CD wore a turban, just the way Mira’s Papa does! Though Papa lacks the majestic moustache and the dark glasses, the turban did the wonders and Mira connected the picture to him.

Fearing her to address all other turban-clad men as Papa and then, to ruin my otherwise highly cordial marital relationship, I looked her into the eye and said sternly, “That’s not Papa, Mira!”

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!

Mira with her rings

I don't know why Mummy keeps buying her useless bangles, these rings are not only big and comfortable, they are nice and colourful too! Shouldn't Mummy be wearing these?