When every sentence of the day begins with WHY?

Why should I pee?
Why is there sunlight in the morning?
Why should I brush my teeth?
Why can't I swallow the toothpaste?
Why should I drink milk?
Why hasn't the maid come in yet?
Why should I go to school?
Why does the earth shake when an elephant or dinosaur stomp about?
Why does an elephant have so much strength?
Why do I have to nap?
Why should I wash my hands after touching my bum?
Why does a plant need water?
Why can't I keep an elephant at home? A real live one??
Why did you just exclaim "Ayyo"?
Why did you just hit me?
Why did you not say "sorry"?
Why are you cooking?
Why are you not wearing bangles today?
Why are you wearing MY bangles today?
Why did you just call me a "bad boy"??
Why do you have to go to office now?
Why should we wear a different dress before we go to bed every night?
Why are you wearing a bindi?
Why did you just tell me not to do that?
Why should we pray before going to bed?
Why do we have bad dreams?
Why can i not put all my fingers in my mouth at once?
Why can I not watch my favourite elephant rhyme more again?
Why do people live below our house?
Why do you want to watch TV?
Why did the cat visit our house today?
Why doesn't a cat have a house of its own?
Why can't I stay with my grandfather?
Why should we not leave the tap running?
Why does daddy always watch TV?
Why do we have to put out a milk coupon in a bag every night?
Why is it dark at night?
Why can't I drink water soon after I have my homeopathic medicine?
Why should we sleep at night?

Do you still feel "at home" at your mother's home?

Mother's home. Mom's place. Tavaru maney... These are phrases that really hold a deep-rooted emotional umbrella of feelings over your heart. They shade your heart from the rest of the world.

Yet, its so ironical how you feel so out of place in this same home you grew up in all your life, once you move out and have your "own" life. The umbilical cord connecting you to that distinct world "before marriage" gets stretched and strained in unimaginable ways.

No, I'm not in distress or anything...I just got thinking about it a few days ago, when I made a comment to an aunt of mine. I was visiting her. Hubby was on tour as usual. "So will you stay back at mom's tonight?" she asked casually. "No, I'm going back...I just feel more comfortable there...." without realising the horror of what has just escaped my lips. But my aunt, a decade older than me, completely identified with that and said she feels the same way too...we swept over the issue with an understanding smile for each other.

But, it is true...for me at least. maybe it is too for some other women.

My mom has always been a very strict disciplinarian, and post-marriage, the freedom from that I guess makes me feel this way. Even now when I go back to mom's I hate being whipped by her -- put the glass away after drinking tea- don't let it dry up, don't enter kitchen till you've brushed your teeth, "go, go have a bath fast", make the bed as soon as you get up, don't keep the oily ladle on the kitchen counter, don't drop food on the stove while serving yourself dinner....

I know, small things...still, no one tells you that in your home! (It's a different matter that you're saying all that to husband and child perhaps, in your own role as mother...) Sometimes I feel miserable that I take this home, these people and their presence in my life for granted. My friend who recently lost her mother always points out in times of distress "But at least you have a 'mom's home' to go to....." Oh how miserable I feel for her at such times.

I don't know if it's age, but every conversation with the parents is no longer a conversation -- it's an argument, very often a fight. Because we disagree on most things. How and when did I grow so different from them, and they from me?

I don't like being told what to do. I never liked it, but I was never so vehement in protesting either, earlier. Perhaps then, I didn't have some place to "escape" to. No "escaping to husband's" when parents piss you off.

But it's amazing how I'll still run to mom's when I'm sick, when things aren't smooth with the in-laws or hubby, when I'm just feeling low, when I don't feel like cooking. It's still a place I go to seeking solace, comfort, food, love, and the familiarity of all things childhood and growing-up. But then, there's a point when I want to return.

Whenever I point out to mom "My pollen allergy always gets triggered in YOUR house," in between my allergic sneezing bouts, it gets her all teary. "MY house..? You grew up perfectly fine here all these years..."

This thing of yours and mine, mom's and mine, parent's and husband's ... how easily we cross over, leaving behind more than two decades of what shaped us. How casually we sift and separate, distinguish and compartmentalise. How foolishly we claim what we have now is ours.

Why can husbands never care for sick wives, while wives do it so well?

Like it wasn't already bad enough, my situation, I fell sick on Saturday.

A dinner to celebrate the in-laws' anniversary on Friday resulted in a Saturday morning welcome with vomit.
Ugh.
It was a disgusting day of purging my body of excesses.

It was also a day when that old feeling comes reeling back and hits you when you are sick, making you sicker -- the realisation that a husband is so incapable of "caring" for you the way say, your parents do/did or you dreamt "husband person" would.

Again, I speak from my experience and i know there ARE some husbands who just know how to be chicken soup for their their wives' souls when they are sick. I'm really happy for such women and goddammit, very jealous of them too.

So on Saturday I ran in front of husband, who was merrily featsing on breakfast by then, to puke for the first time in the morning.
He knew I had gone in to puke, but never came after me to help -- i mean just rub my back dude, I'm sick.
So i was poking around the clogged sink with a broom stick, clearing it myself and puking again. A sort of DIY it was! Yeah gross!
I finished, cleaned up, went out to the room and lie down. After some 15 more mins of watching TV, he comes in and says "O so did u puke?" That's it, I burst into tears.
And told him in clear terms that he really doesn't care for me when I am sick, when, even if he has this fever-cold, he'll wallow around, bury his head in my lap, ask me to sit on his bedside.
I make him tea whenever he takes ill, give him the mandatory hot water bottle, and he'll make all these stupid whiny noises and mope around and I try to be nice and pamper him and bah! When I'm sick....he sits out and watches the effing TV!
So he admitted "yeah I'm sorry I really didn't realise it", stood around like he was mourning someone's death, ...and then walked back to finish breakfast and watch TV! Hah!

Which is why I usually run to my mom's place the moment I take ill. And this weekend my folks weren't in town. Which made me cry harder -- the thought that this is what my life will be when the inenvitable happens. Soon as i realised after my third month of pregnancy that my nausea and daily puking wasn't going to stop (it enever did till almost teh day i delivered) and husband dear wasn't much help, I had packed up and gone off to my parents'. Wise decision, now, when I look back.

So this time, I packed off the husband and boisterous Sonny Boy to my in-laws, sent the nanny packing and slept my fever away, picking at curd rice in the evening. It was so much better having some quiet in the house and looking after myself. I didn't feel terrible either because there was no one in the house to ply me with tea or a hot water bag anyway.

NOTE: This post and the number of people Googling for "my husband doesn't care when I'm sick" prompted me to write a more recent post "How to care for you ill, sick, unwell, wife". I do hope husbands are looking up as much on the net as wives are! Husbands, if you're reading this, please read the tips on the other article. Wives, please hope, liek I do that the husband reads them

Lesson learnt the hard way: old is gold when it comes to Maid In India

It's so difficult to let go of your ego and beg. And yet it is so easy.
Of late I've stopped praying. I don't light the lamp in front of god.
I last went to the temple only to ask God to let my aunt's soul rest in peace and to allow me to sleep at nights in peace.

That's one thing I do very well, shamelessly. BEG.
Even when I'm on one of those trips of "Oh God doesn't exist because he's making my life so miserable", I beg him to help me.
I had already begged my cook/nanny to stay when she threatened to quit. I had begged my father to let her stay...ugh that's a lot of begging.

Yesterday I begged my old maid to return.
Really, she left me cursing I'm sure, that I shouldn't find another.
The last few traumatic days have been spent "interviewing" new help... finding them in the first place. That's become difficult too. (Any woman in India knows what I'm talking about, unless you belong to that one-odd percent who has found Miss. Wonderful)

And they have numerous demands (I believe Bangalore's maids are very different).

And I have no washing machine. So really bad combination.
So they would come home, negotiate exorbitant rates and tell me all those things they won't do -- in various stages of desperation and depression, I gave in to most of their conditions, and to the terms of pay.

But. BUT they just didn't turn up for work on the designated day. Yeah as my fellow mom blogger Aparna (Noida) pointed out, I do have some rotten luck when it comes to maids.

One lady finally seemed to work out and she worked brilliantly for a day -- one of those "experienced" people who know where everything is kept and how to go about their work by themselves and do it well. I knew she was too good to be true. Next morning she called to say her former employer was at her doorstep in his car, offering her a jump in pay that she found irresistible. I didn't want to bargain and out-do the guy on her salary so i resignedly let go.

Yesterday another lady, with whom everything had been settled, (but on whom I had my own doubts because she seemed too old and, well, un-agile, weighed down by her own weight and the amount of gold she was wearing!) worked a bit, decided she can't work at our place because it takes up too much of her time, walked out mid-way!She left behind some unwashed vessels and soaked clothes!

That did it. So off I went, looking for my former maid. Admitted to her she was right all the way -- I can't find another like her. She seemed relieved too (something i didn't expect; I was mentally prepared for some loud abuse, but I still had to ask before moving one with the hunt). She agreed, pointed out how she already knows her work and how it works out best for the both of us. She slipped in quietly this morning into our house and back into her routine. And I into mine.

In the meanwhile I had gone into a tizzy -- I was seriously reading reviews on dishwasher models available in India, how they worked etc etc. I had firgured I had no provision of space/inlet-outlet to get one installed in my kitchen. Even a washing machine will be a tight fit in our teeny-weenie place (I'll probably have to stand on it and bathe!). I had looked up robot vacuum cleaners that you switch on and leave on the floor to sparkle the house on its own. Nothing seemed plausible.

Yes, I know a lot of people manage without any help, I know. I admire them. But I'm not one of them. I DO HATE housework. I never did it ever. My parents, grandparents always pampered me and told me not to enter the kitchen, not to bother with the dishes -- something I gleefully and willingly did in my youthful days and something which unfortunately got engrained into my very being.

It's a horrible feeling-- this being so dependent on someone. But I am. And that's my life. As far as I want to keep my job and remain a working woman (no I can't handle office work and house work on my own. Imagine coming home at 8 to do the laundry while eating dinner). It will be so, till I'm pushed to the point of inevitability -- the inevitability of independently doing all my work by myself. And not cribbing about it.

P.S. : Rama, thanks for poking me into blogging again. :-) I was so frustrated, I didnt even want to blog. Imagine!

Blow hot, blow cold

A MOMENT of strongly opposite emotions?!? A MOMENT??? You must be joking, seriously!
Everyday living and its everyday moments have come to be just that.

Which is why I'm tempted to write.

IndiBlogger and CloseUp have a Fire Freeze contest going, which I understand is to promote a new toothpaste that'l burn and cool your mouth in a moment. The IndiBlogger contest announcer says:
"What's Your Story? Have you ever had a magical moment when you felt two strongly opposite emotions? Love/Hate? Elation/Sadness? Anger/Sympathy? The desire to move forward yet run away at the same time?"

1. You wake up looking at the clock. You're late to work, the maid hasn't yet turned up at work. She finally arrives, an hour late, telling you she can't wash your clothes, only vessels. You love it that she DID come. You're so bloody thankful even. At least the vessels get done. But hell, who has undies for tomorrow? Hate her.

2. You're stuck in dreaded Bangalore traffic. Freeze. The traffic suddenly moves, everyone's stepping on the accelerator, there's plenty of exhaust in the air. Fire.

3. You love every subzee you make with the chapati to be full of fresh veggies and onions. You hate what your lunch costs you.

4. Hmm chemistry of opposites -- husband loves football, I love watching travel shows. Fight is on for control of the remote. Fire. Little son runs in and cries till he gets the TV onto Cbeebies or Animal Planet. Freeze.

5. Oh my god! Your two-year-old just spent a whole minute or two doing his first "art work". You are filled with pride and joy. You spend at least half an hour scrubbing the darned sketch-pen ink off your furniture,  and his hands. Frustration.

6. Husband makes tea for you at 8.30 a.m. and brings it to you because you have a headache and haven't got out of bed. You'd like to believe it's empathy and maybe...love. The next moment he switches on his laptop and asks you to read through his Power Point Presentation while he gets ready for office. FIRE.

Can't we all just go on?
Have your say here, tell YOUR story, and you might win a prize (maybe even I might):
http://www.facebook.com/closeupindia


P.S: Again linking to Aparna! We mommy bloggers, I think, can think of any topic in terms of motherhood only. Vote for her too, everybody. Aparna's contest entry

I'm selfish. Yes, but aren't we allowed to be? Sometimes...

The last two days have showed me how fickle minded I am and how selfish. So what? That's me, I feel like saying. I just hope I don't regret this later in life.

After much thinking, agonising, talking,, discussing, crying, arguing with myself, I've decided not to quit.
I'm going to give the nanny arrangement one last shot.

I asked the five most important people in my life what I should do -- quit and stay home with Sonny or go back to work with a nanny in place.


My Mom: "Do you really want to end your career so soon in life? You're so young! I worked 33 years before I retired...We'll manage with a nanny."

My dad: "What did your husband say? He agreed? Then no problem...get yourself relieved by next month. Once things settle down, start freelancing. I'll babysit when you have work....maybe even four hours a day if you get a good deal of assignments."

Hubby Dear: "The decision is entirely yours. I can take care of things. But you think about it from all aspects. Do you really visualise yourself cooking and cleaning everyday? I don't think you enjoy housework." (And a whole lot of intricate reasoning and arguments that I can't really type out here)

My best friend (a SAHM): "Babe, think real hard before you make the decision. It's not easy and you'll need to do some professional work to keep your sanity. It's frustrating to see the same three faces for three continuous weeks sometimes and not have anyone your age to talk with."

(THE HEART WRENCHING ONE) Sonny Boy: "Don't go to office. I like it when you are with me. It's nice. i WON'T GO TO SCHOOL. you DON'T GO TO OFFICE. we'll BOTH STAY HOME AND PLAY" (All in spurts and over time)

After yesterday, when my mind was made up completely about quitting, I went over and over again with all the possibilities. I did a SWOT analysis learnt in college -- you know, looking at every decision considering the situation's strength, weakness, opportunities and threats.
 
I spent the afternoon writing down in my old diary the advantages/disadvantages of staying home and going to work.
 
And realised I'm scared of change. Shit scared of teh balance tipping. Scared of not having a life.
 
No offence meant to Stay At Home Mums, and 'd like to pay obeisance to them over and over again. It's tough life being home and giving up your all for the sake of your children. I've decided it's something I can't do, for now.
 
I need a life outside home. I can't give that up.
I need to put my skills to use
I need to earn -- for myself, for my family, for our future.
And I want to live life to the fullest.
 
So hopefully, I'll make some changes to my life to be able to accommodate more into it. 
Give up my sleep a bit and my lazy ways and see if I can work out more time for Sonny and with Sonny and the rest of the family.  
 
I'm not sermonising. I'm not trying to justify or defend myself. This is just me. This is the way I am.
 
May the Nanny Hunt begin.

Be local, go global or transform into glocal?

I'm a frog in the well. Cushioned and protected most of my life, I've never really been "out there", "on my own" kind of stuff. It's been a fairly protected (sometimes overprotected) life I think.

So when it comes to Sonny Boy, I'm wondering what to do. His life is already like that. And I dread to think his life will be like mine.

It's not too bad. But it's every mother's bounden duty to worry about all sorts of things, right? Otherwise how do you live up that image of "mom"?

I was born in a hospital not more than half-kilometre from my grandparent's place. Then we moved into the ancestral property when I was about four or five. I've lived there ever since. My school, which was like LKG to Class 10, was  about 1.5 kilometres from home. College was the first time in my life where I stepped beyond that three kilometre radius, so to speak, on a regular everyday basis. PG was another one kilometre further!!!
My first workplace was within the same compound as my PG college! Hah, yeah laugh at me.
My second job took me another three kilometres further and my third job brought me back to about seven kilometres from home!
Jeez, after marriage, I moved four kilometres away from my folks, and now I'm back to being half-a-kilometre from them.

Even as I write it, I realise I can measure my life in kilometres! I mean, people change cities, countries, go out, move away, go live in hostels, in independent pads -- God! most of my life's over and I've had none of it.

Sonny Boy, I fear will also be the same. His playschool is across the road from my parents'. Planning to admit him in a school later, which is down the road. By the time he's in college he can decide (and his interests and marks can) where he'll be. Then It's his life, his call.

All logic points out that this is how it should be -- you go to a neighbouring school to avoid making young children travel long distances. It's safe for them, less worrisome for you. You become rooted in a neighbourhood and develop a strong sense of community, a pride in it, and therefore are more involved in the development of the place around you.

There's also that compelling option of of being "glocal" in nature (which many of us today are) -- where you're connected with the world, know what's happening, are in with it, are imbibing from a variety of  people and tapping into multiple resources, and yet, choose to be in your own community and give back to it in your own way, without causing a brain drain and resource drain.

Yet, there's life, calling out to you, beckoning. To come savour new experiences. And you're choosing to nod your head, and choose the cosy comfort of familiarity. Now, the thought of moving to a new city or country to start a new life honestly scares the hell out of me. There's a complacency and a smug belief that despite being home, I know everything. It's strange, this feeling. It's disconcerting.

And these days I think of it too much, worry about it too much. How much do we deny ourselves? How much of our life is our own choosing? And what do we learn or gain from it all at the end?

PS: Dear Rama, thanks for the wake-up call. Needed it. I know I haven't been posting regularly. There's been travel, attending a yoga retreat (my next post!), plumbing issues in the house (and much plumber chasing), a travelling job-changing husband to deal with, and well...an increase in responsibilities at work. Of course, add to that plain ol' laziness to blog! But now that I've done it -- written this post -- I'm feeling better and energetic. Good to be back. Thanks for that much needed pinch :-)

Uneasy calm that suffocates me

I've been troubled the last two days by a report I read in the papers of a 14-year-old girl in Ramanathapuram delivering a baby in her school toilet, abandoning the baby, and going away home.

It's just disturbing when you hear of/read such things. Teenage pregnancies are on the rise, the media always tells us. It always triggers discussions on TV with sociologists and psychologists.

And then it happens all over again with another girl. There's an uneasy calm and clinical distance with which all this is handled. By media largely. By schools and parents even, maybe.

Doesn't such news always send a chill down your spine? It' something you take at a personal level. You may be appalled, scandalised, you may sympathise, empathise, scorn, ridicule -- all depending on your worldview and experience.

It's left me very confused, sad, and uneasy. It says so much about us as people. About our society and times. There are so many questions to be raised. I'm only scratching at the surface. Because I can't really figure out the entire chain of responsibility, lack of awareness, an attitude issue, women's health issues, mental state of being, assumptions, presumptions, blame-game -- and a gamut of so much more it involves.

What was the 14-year-old thinking? How did she go through pregnancy without letting anyone know? What was going on in her mind those nine months? Did she know what she was going through? What about the boy who got her pregnant? Will anyone talk about him? Talk to him?

Then again, it's easy to blame free sex, teenage promiscuity, lack of parental supervision, lack of knowledge of contraceptives and so many other things. ("Juno" was such a romanticised take on something like this.)

But ultimately what worries me is the girl. What would her life have been like while carrying the baby? And what happens now, now that she's been "discovered"?

What will her attitude be in future, if she has a baby again? Will she? What happens to the baby? Questions, questions. More questions.

I'm uneasy and quasy as I think over this, over and over again. Of a chubby girl who supposedly hid her entire pregnancy under the garb of being "chubby", of delivering in the school toilet and cutting the umbilical cord with a shard of glass she had brought...of just walking away from it all.

And here we are treating motherhood like a totally different ballgame.