Under the weather

N is down with a viral infection. It is a surreal experience tending to a sick child. It takes everything from you, yet you feel incapable of helping. We have had more sleepless nights (I am amazed at my capacity to carry on without the snooze) and painful, tearful days.

Plus I got the swine flu jab. Oh! the nasty aftereffects.

Plus A is off abroad on work.

Plus it is snowing. Sigh.

Letting go

When N was born, I got so busy with getting things right that I forgot to enjoy his presence. A gently but persistently reminded me that it was more important to have a happy baby and a happy initiation into parenthood. Slowly, I got there. And before I knew it, N had become an extension of my self. It felt really, really good.

In the joy that his presence brought into my life, I again forgot to prepare myself for the next stage. Since I am right this minute in the middle of this next stage, I don't think I can do much justice trying to explain it all. The gist of it is that today I left him alone at the nursery for the first time ever, for one hour. He loved it, but that's not the point, is it?

There were many tears. Mostly mine. All mine actually.

I wish it were easier to let go.

Nature vs nurture

I am fighting for some sleep these days. I was told it gets better but to me it's looking worse. N is the most amazing, interactive, happy, demanding of attention baby during the day. Then comes the bedtime routine which he allows us to indulge in fairly happily. But after that, all hell breaks loose.

The boy gets up practically every hour. Will not go back to sleep unless pacified by gentle rocking and breastfeeding. A strange fear begins to build up inside of me as evening approaches. I dread the continuous breakage of sleep, the nagging, dull pain in my head and the overwhelming desire to cry.

So I have been looking around for solutions. There is not one book on baby sleep training that I have not read. There is not one method that I have not followed, although I must admit that I cannot bring myself to wholeheartedly employ the cry-it-out method. Every time I have tried it, I have ended up in tears myself.

Since solutions have left me no better off, I am now looking for solace. And this is where I found it. But more interestingly, the comments left me thinking - it looks like parents of boys generally have a tougher time than those of girls trying to settle, calm down and put their little ones to sleep. Is it a sex thing after all, that no amount of careful and considered nurturing can change?

I write this with a big disclaimer upfront - I am not trying to make any generalised statements, only expressing what I am seeing in my small world.

My mums' group comprises of 6 mums and their gorgeous babies. Three of us have boys and the other three mummies have little girls. All the three boys are frisky, more interested in dashing around from place to place, demanding constant attention and refusing to pacify themselves. All three learnt to crawl first and sitting later, practised only as a necessary means to change positions. The girls on the other hand learnt to sit first and some of them haven't learnt crawling yet - they are happy to sit and observe the world, play with whatever object they have in their hands and explore from far.

The mums with boys are stressed, sleepless and constantly found taking brisk walks by the river in their pajamas in an attempt to lull the brats into slumber.

The mums with girls are well dressed, hair and nails properly done, shopping happily with the little angels cheerfully looking on.

When we all meet once a week, the difference is stark. Could it be that we are after all at the mercy of nature, hopeless mothers-of-sons trying against all odds to achieve the unachievable - that is putting the monkeys to sleep without a fight and getting them to stay there peacefully through the night?

Eagerly awaiting

As any new-ish mum will tell you, time is a very precious commodity. And time for yourself is supremely precious because of the sheer economics of the thing - demand is very high and supply next to nothing. Consequently, I have made a decision. The tiny moments of nothingness that I am able to steal, and some of which I spend on this blog, I intend to spend them happily. The background to this perhaps warrants another post, but for the moment, this place is going to be a positive and uplifting one.

As the festive season begins (lights went on in the town centre last evening and N and I went to the carnival twice and even managed our first joyride together as mum and son!) this is what I am looking forward to:

1. The general slowing down of things
2. The smiles on peoples' faces. It's getting colder and the weather is anything but cheerful with the unending rain but I haven't seen the town centre busier with happy faces pottering about
3. Spending more time with my two boys - can never get enough of them
4. Baking some more - have done very little of it lately and think it's time to get re-acquainted with the oven
5. Putting paintings and photographs up on the walls
6. Meeting friends more leisurely, without hurrying
7. Completing the cashmere blanket for N
8. Planning for the new year - so many new things to do
9. Indulging some more in the joy that this year has brought - enjoying time alone with N and getting him settled in the nursery
10. Getting back to work. Yes, I am surprised myself but I am looking forward to working again

Happy winter everyone! :-)

Post-India blues

Every year I announce to nobody in general that the annual holiday for that year will not be in India. Trips to India are not holidays - they are like mud wrestling in family politics - hardly the recipe for a restful, relaxing break. I refuse to waste another annual vacation on power-cuts, potholes and incessant annoying comments from supposed well-wishers. And then again, despite A's many urges to the contrary, we end up going back, time after time.

This time it will be different. That's what I say every time. And every time, it is the same story. Only, this time, it was even worse. Because the poor little 8 month old who just couldn't take the enormous change in surroundings was at the receiving end of popular misunderstanding and censure.

Why does he cry so much? Why won't he come to us? Why is he so clingy? Why is he so thin? Why doesn't he get comfortable? Why won't he play with us? What's his problem with us? He is such an angrez! I got sick and tired of the general insensitivity towards a baby's needs. And believe it or not, most of it was coming from other mothers. N was, for them, a performing monkey, and if he didn't provide the entertainment that everyone expected of him then something just wasn't right with him.

And it got so bad that we decided to cut short the trip and return home. A good 10 days before the original plan. I am glad we took that call. Between a very unhappy baby and very pushy family, there was no holiday to have - only increasing amounts of agony. There is something very wrong when a child is treated with such little dignity. I for one wasn't going to let that happen to my baby.

Yet leaving India in such bad taste is so painful. It's been four days since we returned, N is back to being a happy bunny, but I still can't get over it. Not yet at least.

I promise next year I will not go to India for the annual vacation.

But I think next year my brother might be getting married - in India :-(

Is it October already?

For a good part of the year, I have told myself that I can procrastinate, that is till October. I can avoid making decisions till October. I can live in blissful denial till October. I can turn my back to everything that needs taking care of - till October.

October 2009, for the bulk of 2009, was the time to wake up and take charge.

I cannot believe it is October already.

It seems like it was just last week that I was worried I might miss the due date and have to have labour induced. Was it not just yesterday that we brought N back home from the hospital, so relieved to be out of there, so scared that now we had to look after this tiny being without help?

I wish there were a freeze button to life. This autumn is the most beautiful I have ever had, playing, swimming, singing, laughing, crying with N. This October brings the end to one magical chapter in life, and opens another where I prepare to fulfill responsibilities long neglected in the warmth of new motherhood. I will miss these last 7-8 months - they have been the most trying, most learning-packed and most magical of my life.

I shall always remember you ever so fondly, February-October 2009.

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.

Deep breath.

Right. Lets bring it on.

My two favorites

Left: NRR, the little monkey who takes centre-stage in life. Before I became a mother and during pregnancy, I had several theories and ideas about parenthood and raising a child. So far, everything has gone exactly not as per plan. And I have quickly realised that this is just the beginning of the challenge-ridden adventure called being a parent. Yet, every moment spent with him is sheer delight, and I can safely say that this is my most favoritest monkey and my most favoritest way of spending my time is monkeying around with him.

Right: The Snail and the Whale, this is an absolute beauty. If you haven't read it, you are seriously missing something. And you don't have to be a 6 month old to appreciate the lyrical loveliness of this poem. I read it to A in the kitchen and we read it over and over again, just standing by the hob, not moving, just listening to the magic unfold. It is a bit of a shame that N isn't taking to it as whole-heartedly as his parents, but I think it's only a matter of time before the snail with the itchy foot charms him into submission.

Mariana

I read it a while back but just didn't get down to writing about it. It made a pleasant, insightful read, another coming-of-age work that stood part from the rest by its sheer compassion and ordinariness. How interesting can a middle-of-the-road life be? Quite, in a quiet sort of way. It's about wrong choices, and growing with, through them, not into a super-human heroine, but into a good-enough person. It's about coming to terms with reality, about realising that imagination is a double-edged sword. Didn't quite like the way the ending was constructed though. Too abrupt, and suddenly lacking the sensitivity that marked the entire book.

Cool as a cat

In defense of imperfection

Lately there has been a lot of lack of perfection around. And I have cheerfully managed to make a comfortable place for it in life, hoping to make smiling acquaintances with it, if not best buddies. And so it came and hit me smack in the face when the last two weeks, now that I look back at them, turned out to be a ruthless search for perfection, badgering perceived shortcomings into guilty submission.

As a friend embarks upon the search for a life partner, the demand for the 'perfect' partner overwhelms my senses. Just as the desire for a perfect body, especially now that we are going swimming. Or the pressure for the baby to sit up/crawl/roll by a certain age. Not to mention, the cooking, cleaning, and keeping a smiling, painted face, ever ready for guests to inspect/comment on.

Why can't we just be? And let others be? Why is it not enough to have a good-enough partner, and not a perfect one? Why is it not enough to have a normal, happy baby, and not a super one? Why is it so difficult to settle for good and not the best?

Rant over. Off to enjoy my imperfect but happy time with N.

Another first

My first birthday as a mum. Hmmmm. The thoughts in my head are as follows:

1. Don't feel very much mum-like

2. Wish I could sleep some more, actually a lot more

3. Can't get over his smile - he is one hell of a charmer

4. The house was cleaned 4 hours ago and it again looks like it was hit by a hurricane

5. How on earth do other parents keep their houses clean?

6. I am hungry

7. There is so much work to do...

8. I think I will sleep

9. Can't sleep, he is up - must entertain him now

10. Come to think of it, I feel very much like a doting, exhausted, trying-to-multi-task-but-failing-miserably mum

Circle of life

What is it about old friends that makes you smile and melt a little inside? Especially the ones you spent your teens with, the ones who share your secret of the first crush, the first heartbreak, the first half-baked plans for life, the little beginnings of the journey of discovering who you are and what all you can become. Those friends remain in the heart always, despite the cold distance of adulthood and the self-centeredness of grown-up life.

So when one of them writes to you, remembering your birthday, or the silly laughs you had in the girls toilet, or the promises you made never ever to lose touch, it plays like a magical game of the heart before your eyes. One such dear, dear friend of the lovely years of life in school wrote today about wanting to see N, about slowly getting used to the idea of being called aunty, and about the hope that the children could now be friends and continue the circle of life. And I can't stop smiling at this miracle called friendship that transcends time, distance and all kinds of differences.

May special friends bring you moments of pure happiness and the circle of life go on and on.

Why...

...is it acceptable to say that you are not a baby/children person, but not to say that you are not a dog/pet/animal person?

And why is it nearly uncool to have children? What's with this unmentioned, unspoken of idea that if you are educated, successful and intelligent, you will, almost by default, choose not to have a baby? Why is a heartwarming welcome extended to a dog when it enters the train but a silent, disapproving turn of the head for a baby? Why do people pretend that they can't see a ready-to-pop pregnant lady standing before them - are we seriously lacking even the basic semblance of compassion towards fellow humans?

How ironic, that the proponents of liberty, of choice, are often the ones who snub others' right to choose their own path. Sometimes, all that is needed is to focus on minding one's own business and quit making value judgements about others, their lives and their decisions.

Escape to paradise

It is one thing reading about something, entirely another seeing and experiencing it.

Travel guides and websites describe Snowdonia as a beautiful escape. It is that, and much more. We have just returned from a lovely, long, luxurious break at the gorgeous national park in Wales and can't seem to stop raving about it. Suffice it to say, the prospect of returning home was heartbreaking.

Stories

We had some friends over for lunch recently. Federer and Roddick fought it out for the Wimbledon title in the background on the telly, while we chatted, fed babies, changed babies, ate and chatted some more. And in the middle of all the tennis, carrot cake and vivid descriptions of the experiences of labour, some very interesting stories emerged.

Later, as A and I cleared up, we wondered how many stories are there out there. Every one has a story for a bestselling novel. Life really is something special - even the most boring one has a brilliant story hidden in its bosom, waiting to be unravelled.

Deep down we are all children, waiting to chat with our friends, eager to listen to the tales they have to tell us, and keen to share with them some of our own stories.

And so we sing

I used to sing a great deal when I was younger. The bathroom heard many many attempts at imitating Lata Mangeshkar, Anuradha Paudwal and Alka Yagnik. And then, somehow, music became something that one listened to, and singing was a thing of the past, that reminded me of fun-filled school days.

Not anymore. Vocal chords are getting furious practice once again. Rhyme Time takes place Monday mornings at the library but we sing throughout the week. And we add new lyrics to old favorites and create new songs out of familiar tunes. We sing during bath time, we sing during play time, we sing during walk time and at bed time. And we sing and sing and sing, till the voice in my head goes:

Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream,
If you see a crocodile, don't forget to scream!

Row, row, row your boat gently to the shore,

If you see a lion, don't forget to roar!

Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream,

Pull the plug and watch your boat become a submarine!

The golden sun...

is upon us. Everyday, for the last week or so, has been drenched in it's yellow warmth. So we took this opportunity to take N out for his first rendez-vous with the grass below, the sky above, and the river literally a stone's throw away. And he went hyper with delight! Oh world! You do look lovely through the eyes of a baby!Actually, everything looks beautiful through the eyes of a baby. There are no unnecessary complications, from within or without. Food, play, sleep and loads of love - what more does a baby need? In fact, what more does anyone need?
Looks like all we really need is indeed love. After all these years of being a cynic, I think I am inclined to agree.

Re-thinking

The thing is this - I saw this great documentary recently which has had me thinking a lot. Trouble is, it's off the air now and I feel like kicking myself for not writing about it here earlier.

The film is called 'The trouble with working women'. It explores the various views about women, work, and what is considered women's work. In doing so, as is perhaps expected, it raised more questions than there are straight-forward answers for. Men calling women the 'inferior' specimen of the species, women refusing to hire other women of child-bearing age, and men making pregnancy and maternity-friendly policies at work, house-husbands who have consciously chosen to stay at home and look after children while the wife goes out to earn for the family, women who started support groups for battered women and now believe that there is actually some such thing as 'too much equality' which goes against the interests of women, women working 19 hour days to have it all - the family and the career. Nothing new about it, just the approach of two rational presenters investigating why things are so complicated for women.

One voice stood out for me, and that's the voice I have been thinking about since. It was the voice of one woman who fought for women's right to equality in the '70s. Having believed in radical politics for the bulk of her life, she said she thinks differently now. Why? She said she would have thought and behaved differently back then too, if she had children then.

The gravity of that statement is immense and hit me only once I got thinking. It is a fact, one thinks differently once a child is born. New life is so completely dependant, it needs someone to give up everything to care for it, with one hundred percent focus. Whether one likes it or not, that is the fact. Nature has chosen the woman to execute that role, and as far as biology is concerned, I don't see any job-sharing happening. This is the crux of the problem, and it is around this fundamental that any debate over genuine equality needs to work. Whether it is brought about biologically or socially, equality has to address the gap that child-bearing and child-rearing create in a woman's life.

As the programme headed for a heartbreakingly depressing end, the only saving grace was the supreme optimism of the presenters - and their conclusion that though women earn less than men at the workplace, their lives are 'richer'. As I was about to boo the ending down, I held myself back. I know what they mean - a man can never understand what it means to have a line joining you with your baby, the attachment that you have for your child, and no, it is not humbug - by negating emotions so intensely felt by so many women we only trivialise our experiences. Yet we have a long way to go if women's lives are to be truly rich, if not richer - and equal pay for equal work is a good place to start.

Oh for some refuge in the non-controversial, less draining and rather uplifting world of natural phenomenon! If you, like me, are feeling entirely spent by the unfairness of the gender divide, I invite you to the wonderful world of weather, or rather, the wonderful weathers of the world. A series of documentaries study the science behind weather and it's historical understanding and how it influences our social behaviour. Off to have the mystery of the hexagonal snowflake revealed!

It's raining, it's pouring

Bleak, bleak weather. We had hoped to be able to have a nice day out in Richmond Park. No such luck - it is so miserable outside you are tempted to keep the blinds drawn. As we are held hostage inside the house by the rain, I wonder how this Sunday could be turned into something less than an absolute disaster.

First and foremost, the boy is his dad's responsibility for today. That should make things easier. Having sorted that out, I wonder what I should do. I could bake - something nice and tea-timey like a marble cake. Trouble is, I am too exhausted. I could crochet - the granny squares I have been intending to work on would be just the right stuff for a day like this, but I am too spent. I could read, or watch a nice documentary on iPlayer, but words and shots swim before my eyes in a blurry haze and I have trouble staying on top of the plot.

I think I know exactly what I will do - sleep.

What was I doing even thinking about the other stuff?

Lady Rose and Mrs Memmary

I must confess, I have become addicted to the collection published by Persephone Books. All the works are forgotten pieces, mostly the creations of women who failed to reach the heights of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte. Reprinted by Persephone, these works have found new lives, new audiences and newer lights thrown on them - what is one woman's drudgery is another's liberation.

Lady Rose and Mrs Memmary by Ruby Ferguson sits nicely alongside the other Persephone titles. It is a gentle reminder of an age gone by, of the cruelty of social change and of the grace with which a life may be lived. Ultimately it is a novel about choices, about choosing, or not, to exercise them, and about living with the consequences of one's decisions. That Ruby Ferguson urges the reader to go no further from the point of no return is truly endearing. Of course, what happens after that plea is heartbreaking, but the author's way of leading up to the end is quite exceptional. While I suspected that there could be no other end, I still cried when I got to it.

Would I recommend it? Certainly. I daresay it is not going to be every one's cup of tea with it's old world ways, but I quite enjoyed reading it.

Balance

In conversation with

a weed by the bank

of the still river

running deep,

balance, of thoughts,

emotions, perspectives

and priorities

discussed, thrashed out

came to the conclusion

that precarious is

life's balance -

I wish I could make it better

for you and for me,

mostly for you,

that would make me happy

and mend my balance,

but as I watch

you

fight with yourself,

my precious love,

I lose all my own sense of

balance,

willing myself,

to be God,

hating myself,

because I can't.

Views and opinions

We are wasting a lot of our precious time these days. We are following the debates/discussions/tamasha baazi surrounding the Indian elections on television. After watching politicians skirt around issues for the nth time, and listening to analysts churn out the same old over-used and redundant arguments, I started wondering, how much do opinions and views really matter?

Having gone through a significant change in life recently, I am of the opinion that views correspond to one's particular station in life - you cannot appreciate the green-ness (or lack of it) of the grass till you really get to the other side. Therefore, one is entitled, as life progresses and newer experiences are encountered, to revise opinions, change views, and generally become more tolerant of both white and black. There is always something very strong going for grey.

In keeping with this particular line of thought, may I announce that I now truly sympathise with/understand the following:

1. New parents struggling to cope with babies, who incidentally are much more demanding of one's time and attention than I ever previously appreciated
2. New parents who appear completely absorbed in their own worlds and have no time for anything other than feeding/nappy changing/checking out the colour, consistency of baby's poo, etc - I now realise that there is no time for anything else
3. Women who are torn between family and career - it's one hell of a dilemma
4. Women who realise that there is no right or wrong choice for number 3
5. That you can be a feminist and like knitting and/or baking, crocheting, sewing and other crafts
6. That marriage does not necessarily have to end in a power struggle
7. That loving someone is not equal to losing the battle of the sexes
8. That it is ok to be in doubt, and not necessarily have an opinion on everything
9. That as long as your actions don't hurt anyone, it is ok to pursue whatever it is that makes you happy
10. That it is ok to feel like you might just die of happiness when your little one smiles at you

It seems like a long eye-opening journey. This bank holiday weekend, with it's unexpected, unplanned happenings, has ultimately been a very kind one. I can't say I've sorted it all out in my head, but it is definitely a start.

Agghoo!

This is our new favorite word. It has to be said with the right amount of enthusiasm, with lots of spit bubbles and rolling in the back of the throat. You can get it almost bang on if you also throw in some super excited arm and leg shaking. Almost I say, because try as you may, you cannot say it the way its creator N does.

Agghoo is our new discovery. We are saying Agghoo for everything nice - the orange flowers on the pillows, the bookshelves with their zillion colours, the bed post, the changing mat, the TV and the black and white drawings on the sofa. And sometimes when we are immensely happy, we even say it, with a shy smile, to mum and dad.

And that's when the fun starts, when mum and dad go Agghoo Agghoo throughout the weekend!

My cup runneth over

There is only one feeling in this world which makes you dissolve in delight. And that is when your baby opens his eyes in the morning, looks at you, recognises you, and smiles his biggest smile for you. What happens to you when you are hit by the impact of that smile is indescribable. All I can say is I am the happiest I have ever been in my life. It is now two months since N was born. The sun is out, trees have new leaves and pretty new flowers. And my eyes are looking at the most beautiful little baby. My life is full of kisses and cuddles and cooing and shy giggles and excited hand and leg movements and squeals of delight! Wouldn't trade it for the world! :-)

The F word

It is used in hushed tones in the circles that I move in these days - best avoided, used with caution and with almost an apology, lest you think the speaker is being unkind or even rude. I am referring to the much feared, much maligned taboo, formula milk.

The NHS has its own agenda and preaches the practise of breastfeeding like gospel. I have nothing against breastfeeding, I am appalled at the blatant discrimination against mothers who chose not to, for whatever reason, and against babies who are formula fed.

I say that this discrimination exists because I have been on both ends of the divide. I started out as a new mother, desperate to get breastfeeding going, but failing miserably. I got some help from the health service but soon they decided that it was a lost cause. The body language, the tone of voice, the choice of words left me and my family feeling that we had no hope in hell. Suddenly we became just another number in their registers waiting to be ticked off.

That's when, desperate and in tears, I called the National Childbirth Trust's breastfeeding helpline. And yes, I pressed the panic button. What that chat with the breastfeeding counsellor did for me that night I can never forget. She gave me hope, she gave me tips, she told me not to give up, she said I could do it if I was determined enough - she said it is never a lost cause - and that is what I guess I needed to hear.

Next morning, A and I packed little N into the car seat and drove to the baby cafe. There, experienced breastfeeding counsellors help struggling new mums get the technique right. And that morning, on the 10th day after his birth, N had his first full meal from the breast. I cried in joy and relief as other young mums cheered us.

Now at the weekly meetings with the health service N and I are extolled as an example of how well a baby fed only on breastmilk does. Our health visitor knows not only our names but also our address. Why she even hugs us! We are no longer just a number in the register.

I wish it didn't have to be like this. Why were we left to fend for ourselves? Why did the health service give up on us when we needed them the most? What if I hadn't called the NCT? How many other new mums just give up in desperation and pain?

And what about those who just cannot breastfeed? Why are we made to feel so horribly wrong if we give formula to our babies? Why does everyone behave as if you are letting your child down in some unspeakable ways if you are unable to breastfeed?

Just another one of the innumerable ways in which women are made to feel smaller, lesser, guiltier. And it is not even accounted for as discrimination.

One day at a time

It is often said that the arrival of a newborn changes families completely and forever - for better or for worse. I never really understood the significance of this thought, till now.

Everything and everyone has changed. Husband, parents, brother and friends,`preoccupations, joys and fears - everything about life is now different. Most of the changes are positive, not being able to browse through bookshelves because baby is screaming his lungs out in the buggy is one of the few negatives, easily overlooked.

Another bit of advice that everyone from the ante-natal class organisers to parents to well-wishing friends and acquaintances gave was to take one day at a time. I never quite understood this one. I never really got why one would need or want to do that. Now everyday that is successfully managed without accident or incident is celebrated - with broken sleep, but sleep all the same. It is more precious than gold these days.

So taking one day at a time, I am embarking upon the pursuit of normalcy. The definition of normalcy also has had to be altered. Normal is not how it used to be, normal will now be the best, or even half decent, that it can be now. An afternoon walk by the river, accomplished with little to no crying, is a noteworthy achievement - the day can be labelled a huge success.

To more such days, of sunshine, warmth, cheerful companions, happy babies and pure contentment.

Sleep

I love sleeping. Have always loved it. Have always needed a little more of it than my family and friends around. Have always felt incapable of functioning normally without adequate amounts of it. Have no idea how people survive with little or none of it.

I miss my sleep sorely.

Despite great help from A in managing night feeds for N, I crave for the time when sleep was undisturbed and not such a rarity, a luxury that must now be stolen or snatched in tiny bits here and there. What would I now give for those lazy Sunday mornings, drenched in sleepy semi-thoughts, warmed by the gentle sun streaming in through the blinds!

And yet, somehow, it all seems alright. One person in the house is sleeping well and just looking at his contented, peaceful sleep is a surprising reward. Sometimes, exhausted at the end of the day, A and I just sit and look at him sleeping. It is an amazing, humbling feeling. And when he smiles in his sleep, all grudges are forgiven!

Life part 2 - parenthood

He is finally here - and our lives have changed forever. Just before midnight on the 23rd of February, A and I left the hospital with the precious cargo - our little one then just over 24 hours old. We were very silent as we walked to the car park - this couldn't possibly be happening to us - it was the lull before the storm that a newborn brings into one's life. And no books or parenting classes on earth can prepare you for what comes next.

I don't have the benefit of hindsight at the moment. Being very much in the thick of things still, I am continuously battling the mischivious hormones, laughing and crying without warning. I am still too close to the events to think straight about labour, breastfeeding, nappy changes and sleepless nights. For the moment, life is an unending saga of the feeding-burping-nappy changing-feeding circle. I am told it gets better and I am patiently waiting.
To be honest, this wait isn't bad at all. I have a little companion, a son, to make some sweet and sour memories with. If the last three weeks are anything to go by, we're not going to have a dull moment! Little N and I are in the process of learning to understand each other - and while we don't always get it right, we still love the journey!

A nation of readers

I appear to be hooked on to the iPlayer! And I have literally just finished watching this brilliant documentary called 'How reading made us modern'. Fantastic stuff about the history of reading, how an entire nation fell in love with the written word. From the time that a licence was required to publish books, to the perceived threat to women's morality from reading, from the norm of reading aloud around the fire to the cafe culture of book clubs, this film has it all. If you are a book lover you just cannot afford to miss this one. It is on the iPlayer till 18 February 2009 so hurry!

Discoveries

Some good ones have been made recently. Found a lovely shade of not-quite-pink, not-quite-purple wool, got the paperback version of Rushdie's The Enchantress of Florence, and stumbled upon the BBC iPlayer. Life has definitely changed for the better!

As I surfed about the iPlayer, this is what I came across. Why reading matters, a documentary on how reading shapes the human brain, what it does to us when we engage with the written word and why it is important not to lose the skill, possibly to other interactive media such as video games. The programme focussed on the creation of empathy in the mind of the reader (Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights), the sparks of genius encountered in Shakespeare's writing and the inter-connectedness that reading, an aquired skill, builds in the human brain. Very interesting insights indeed, but there is so much more to reading that I'm afraid an hour long documentary just couldn't do justice to the activity. What about the cultural learning, the escaping into a different world, the toying with language and the sheer process of discovery? And the many other brilliantly subtle and blatantly obvious things that reading does to us. Sure reading matters, but why it does is something that each person discovers for herself, in the same way as experiences shape life. Or perhaps I just love reading too much to want it to be reduced to bullet point justifications, fighting for survival against gaming and television.

Especially for you…

Dear D! The one who is smitten by the Enchanted Wood and the Faraway Tree. The one who is charmed by tea and cakes and gentle railway journeys by the English countryside.

My dear friend settled in the sunny locales of the land down under, this chocolate truffle cake was baked especially for you, to entice you to the dreary, chilly, wet, quintessentially English weather of my country of residence!

As you said, it is rainy and cold outside, but my house is warm and smells of chocolate. And I saw a very interesting documentary this afternoon called Iran and the West while knitting pieces of the blanket. A very satisfying day indeed, I really couldn’t ask for more :-)

What does one do...

...during maternity leave? Not knowing what the done thing is, the major preoccupation at this end has been one of trying to mentally prepare self for big change. And it seems change is around everywhere.

Almost everyone I know is going through some biggish change is life, work or home related. The one that got me thinking was the big one T is getting into - marriage. For obvious reasons, chatting with her about her upcoming wedding reminds me of mine, and the changes that brought. For quite a while, I wondered if I could have better prepared myself for it. I no longer think that way. As I await yet another momumental change in life, I can't but help wonder, is it at all possible to prepare for change?

It is easy to buy baby clothes, feeding bottles, prams and cots. It takes time to develop a bond with the baby, understand her/him and treat one as an individual, not just an extension of yourself. Just as it is easy to buy new clothes, make-up, furniture and curtains before the wedding - but it is another ball game altogether to live with someone under one roof, day in and day out, understanding why they behave the way they do and arriving at a discussion pattern that might be a little less your style but much better suited to the new dynamic relationship called wife & husband. Can one ever prepare for this?

Meanwhile, women continue to be beaten for going into pubs in India, little girls continue to be harassed by policemen, Barack Obama continues to try to change the gloomy economic situation in the US and snow continues to fall over most of England, Wales and Scotland. And I have decided that before my parents arrive here (in 4 days time) I must finish knitting the baby blanket that I started making in August - there, now that I have said it, I have to finish it in time. Time to get a-knitting... Lets start with a slice of banana cake :-)

Snowed in!

Yesterday was day 1 of maternity leave. I was nervous about being alone at home, not knowing what to do with myself and all the time on my hands. I bid a rather sorrowful goodbye to A as he headed for work. Poured myself a glass of orange juice, felt guilty about sulking so, and thought I might go to the balcony and wave a bit more cheerfully to my dear hubby.

The sight that greeted me was quite spectacular. Snow covered everything from road to lamp-post and I saw my neighbour walking back home from the train station. This could only mean one thing - we had been successfully snowed in! Yahoooooooooooooo!

I ran to locate my cellphone and as I pressed the button to call A, he had already walked into the house. With a sheepish grin on his face, he said that all trains had been cancelled, all public transport had come to a freezing halt, and my long-standing dream of us getting snowed in had come true! Nobody was going to work this monday morning!

Well such beautiful opportunities don't come your way often! We had to make the best of it - and we did!

A Wednesday

What a day yesterday! It started out with the heaviest snow we have ever come across, resulting in a slow, cosy, relaxed day at home, and ended with a brilliant super-fast paced thriller. I am referring to A Wednesday, the Naseeruddin Shah/Anupam Kher treat. A crisp, tight plot, gripping story sans waffle - a very pleasant watch indeed. Naseer, of course, is out of this world - so common as a common man, the humility and everydayness coating every word that he speaks and every gesture he makes. Anupam, a fine actor, did perfect justice to the role which could very well have ended up with commercial, jingoistic tones. Jimmy Shergill and Aamir Bashir were both fantastically restrained - I have liked Bashir since his Alpaviram days and think he is capable of a lot more.

A quick word on the plot. Remarkably well executed, the minor twists and major movements matter-of-factly presented added to the charm. But why the sermon in the end? The only reason it was half acceptable was because Naseer was so good at it, so convincing and real.

Overall, the perfect recipe for a winter evening that you want to spend in the company of a great cast, a gripping plot and a very well made film.

The journey of a stress-buster

As the countdown to the end of work and start of maternity leave begins, I find myself surprisingly stressed. It is like handing over something very dear to you to someone else. You know that it will be well taken care of, you know you will come back to a supportive and welcoming team, but a niggling sense of dismay clouds all rational thoughts.

So, I thought, we must find a way of dealing with this crisis. And here's how the journey of this stress-buster progressed.

It was ultimately very well received and enjoyed by one and all.

Slumdog Millionaire

It's all about the treatment.

Some time back I had expressed extreme annoyance at the depiction of the perceived Indian reality by one western commentator, Paul Merton. Today I am writing about another Englishman's version of India. And I must say, Danny Boyle, along with Loveleen Tandan, has done a marvellous job of telling it as it is, without being judgemental, apologetic or even explanatory.

I absolutely loved Slumdog Millionaire. Because it was more a superbly made Hindi movie than anything else. It is drenched in the stench of poverty yet reeks of hope, it is about violence but speaks of love, it is a crisp English film filled with the right Indian masalas resulting in the elusive perfect curry. I see a blurring of boundaries like never before. And I say, good for all of us.

Apart from the perfect acting, tight screenplay and haunting background score, what is exceptional about this film is the true-to-the-subject direction. Not for a moment do you feel that this is a film directed by an 'outsider' with the eyes of a spectator. The camera is completely dispassionate, truly matter-of-fact, and interested only in great cinema. At every stage, the critic in me was looking for something to pounce on - and found nothing.

Thank God for Dev Patel and Frieda Pinto who appear to believe in acting and not dramatisation, as we see so often in Bollywood. Irfan Khan, Anil Kapoor and Saurab Shukla are brilliant as usual - such under-utilised gems all three.

All in all, it is a very well told story of hope and optimism. I know that the British media is hailing it as the most optimistic movie ever - I do think that is because they aren't quite familiar with Bollywood which thrives on 'it's not the end if everything isn't alright yet'. About time I say! But a telling fact of the popularity of this much-loved film is that for the first time in my few years in Britain, I saw notice boards showing 'house-full' signs for all shows of a movie. And not a single person in the jam-packed hall moved till the last bits of the truly colourful dance number accompanying the credits were over. Smiles everywhere afterwards...

Winter wonderland

We stepped out early this morning to attend to some chores. The roads were deserted and a thick fog engulfed the few cars and pedestrians brave enough to battle the icy weather. As we drove to the outskirts of the city, a most beautiful sight greeted us - the dull grey had transformed into a most soothing shade of white. Bare tree branches were adorned with a velvety white powder and people walking their pets stood to take pictures of the serene landscape. My first thoughts were - 'Narnia!' Remember the snowy winter wonderland where possibilities are endless and success a matter of seeking the courage within to overcome all obstacles? Beautiful world of childhood literature, brought alive one random morning on a drive I hadn't expected much from.

What a lovely greeting on what could have been just another cold winter's day.

Cornered

A and I have been organising the house in preparation for the baby. And we are a bit overwhelmed with the amount of work that it requires. The task is rendered a shade more challenging by the sheer lack of space. And necessity being the mother of invention, we have had to improvise, and look at space innovatively.

As part of this grand design project (which in reality is anything but grand and design only in our un-artistic heads), corners have suddenly become very significant. They seem to have a life of their own and provide a canvas truly exceptional in that while spatially definitely limited, if used well, they can add value and character without making a small space look smaller

After many many negotiations, arguments, back and forths on how we wanted to see it evolve, this is how one corner cornered us into turning it into a drinks area.

A sober corner unit by the day that transforms itself into...

...a wild party animal hosting exciting boozy adventures in it's belly!

No that is definitely not the route we were thinking we might go down when we started preparing the house for the baby... but I tell you, these corners have a way of cornering you into submission...

Giggly, tickly, happy new year!

The new year is here

and I must confess,

I haven't prepared

for it's focused hastiness...

32 weeks of little life

safely moves inside of me,

Fear, anxiety and delirious excitement

make me blush bright pinky!

Opposites are the flavours of the season...

hot and cold, sweet and sour,

I have taken leave of sense and reason,

so close, ah! but still so far!

Sitting, sleeping, eating, drinking,

All I think of is you,

you jumpy little thing who

loves to play knock-knock with a kick or two!

Is that a foot?

Is that a knee?

Surely that's the head, can't you see!

Unseen, unheard, unknown as yet

we'll fall in love for sure, wanna bet?