Feeling abandoned....the curse of the maid?

My mind is blank but a thousand rabbit (and rabid) thoughts are hopping off in different directions. The doom hath descended.

I fired my maid of 2.5 years finally yesterday because she was walking in too late every day. And bunking regularly. I had given her a month's notice -- on Jan 1 I told her she stays only this month. She didn't take me seriously. I fired her with confidence because I'd fixed up with another maid who agreed to come three hours earlier. Today morning she didn't turn up. She's making her school-going son take calls on her mobile and say random things. Which means she's not coming.

My father has blasted my cook-cum-nanny for having stolen rechargeable batteries from his home! She called last night to say she's not coming to work anymore. I need to speak to her and dad, both of whom were fuming yesterday, and both of whom I have left alone to cool down for a day, before they have their say.

So I woke up to a effing-beautiful morning, burnt the toast and overboiled the tea. It's a shameful life because I'm helpless without my maid, nanny and cook -- all gone together.
It must be the curse of the maid.

Mourning for a life gone, fearing for a young one

It's disgusting and shameful how we take someone for granted, when they are alive. We realise this only when they die. My aunt who'd been staying with my parents died last week. Dear R, may your soul rest in peace. But I know it won't. Because you will be worrying about your young son you've left behind. For a child to deal with his parent's death, I think, is the most traumatic and challenging phase of life.

She was less of an aunt, more of a mum. She, along with grandma raised me when mom was busy earning the family's bread. She was the repository of all my childhood memories. She knew me through and through.
She wanted, even till about two months ago, wanted to start her own enterprise, and we had sat down to discuss the pros and cons of the idea.

Just days before she died she chided me, saying "You're not taking good care of your skin. How we used to pamper you and make sure your face was oiled and nourished when you were young!" It was, I think, one of the last conversations I had with her. She was the beautician who taught me how to massage my face, make banana-honey facepacks as I grew into adolescence. She embroidered beautiful saris and salwar kameez-es for me. She stitched me perfect white lace tops and pleated skirts when I was young. When I first sprouted boobs, it was her hand-me-down bra I got to wear till I could be bought one.

Now I can't sleep a peaceful sleep. Somewhere deep down is a guilt that I didn't do enough for her in return. That I didn't pay as much attention to her as I should have when she took ill. I took it for granted that she will undergo surgery and that she will soon be back in the business of life. It was never meant to be.

What I feel still worse about is her 13-year -old son. It's such a terrible, confusing age as it is. Add to that your mother's death and I think life for the child will be traumatic. Every night and morning when I kiss my own Sonny Boy, i feel miserable thinking my little cousin will never be able to feel his mother's hand on his head, or her embrace again...ever. He won't have his mom lovingly cooking his favourite food when he comes back from exams. He already looks lost, plodding through life at home, and pushing off to school amidst the chaos of weeping/mourning relatives.

I fear for his future, what he will think and do, what his father's attitude to him will be and most importantly, who will be there to hold his hand and walk him through life the way a mother does? His dad's going to drown himself in work, I just know it for sure. His paralysed grandmom will not be a source of much consolation. Which leaves ....us. The physical distance between our homes I know will ensure that after a time, when we get sucked into our daily grind, will not allow for much time to be spent together. I feel I owe it to my aunt to make sure her child does fine in life, but fear my uncle will see my interest in him as "interference", and so an insult to him.

I don't know...life suddenly feels so unlivable. So full of things that shouldn't have been and so full of promises it held out but we couldn't achieve...

D is for December and Dreading Change, J is for January and Jolly Good

I hate change in life. It's one of those things I dread in life. And yet, every year, in December, it hits me. Big Time.

So I have a new nanny
So I have a new cook
So I have new furniture all over the place
So I have a new schedule
So I have a new job offer

All this while I was contemplating quitting. And going mad. And going mad all over again.

It's crazy how life suddenly changes, and how instrumental you are in changing it -- willingly or unwillingly. And as one year seamlessly merges into another routine year, you suddenly feel "hey!! this is a new beginning. It's January. A new start". While all it probably is, is a cycle.

Ok I'm crazy. I'm a pessimist.

And here on the threshold of the New Year are opportunities that might mean a sea change in my life, lifestyle, work, time spent with child, on home etc etc. AAAArrggg. I hate making decisions. Mostly because I have to be responsible for its consequences later in life. Every well-wisher around you will tell you "It's finally your call". In other words, "You're responsible for your decision...don't blame me..." But they will be there to take credit when things go right.

Sonny Boy has a new nanny. Whom he seems to LOVE. She's young and pretty. She doesn't ever scold him. She likes playing cricket with him. She patiently feeds him lunch (his most trying meal of the day).

She's also my new cook! Decided I'll do that so that in the morning I can supervise her cooking (read cleanliness while cooking) and at the same time have exclusive time with Sonny Boy -- wake him up with his usual cuddle-kiss routine he loves first thing in the morning, pee, brush and get some milk into him before playschool, potty him and dress him up and see him off. I like that routine and want it to be exclusively mine with him.

Nanny takes over once he comes back from playschool, till I reach home. It seems like an OK arrangement. My parents seem relieved. So all's well that ends well.

Just that new nanny girl is tooo slow with work, needs to be told what to do -- not the instinctive one who knows what and when to do things. She can't tell stories (the previous one told ten when Sonny asked for one!) She doesn't speak much. Anyway my dad's around to do the storytelling and talking so I better not complain much.

I'm busy now mulling the idea of a job change. But the constant fear lurking  in my mind is "What if this new nanny quits soon after I take up a new job?" "What if I hardly have time with Sonny?" "What if I can't take the pressure of a bigger and different role?"
I'm not able to figure out the new profile completely so there are many doubts -- mostly about myself.

Ok I'm too confused and have too much to put down here. So I'll just stop.

And wish all of you a HAPPY NEW YEAR.
I want to thanks all of you for standing by me during the last month, when I was a miserable miserable being.
Thanks a ton to Garima, Aparna in Noida and Aparna in Bangalore -- the three constant supporters. And all the others -- "anonymous" commentators included, for the responses, for and against my decisions. It helps when making further decisions!

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 :-)

Things fall apart, the centre does not hold

Or should I say the mind falls apart, the body does not hold

I'm in a blur today
Life is a blur today
My head is throbbing like I have a hangover. But I don't.
I've just been randomly swimming through the day, zombie-eyes, zombie-faced and zombie-minded.

All because of one dose of strong antihistamine last night.
My allergic rhinitis was triggered off so bad last night, I'm still aching from the 50 odd sneezes that I did sneeze in a span of three hourst.
As a last resort, took an antihistamine and it kicked in after an hour and oh boy is my head bobbing today. My neck feels like I've been carrying a plough on it for ages. My eyes need matchsticks (Tom N Jerry style) to keep them open and me awake.

I don't know what I'm writing, but I feel like writing, because I want to write it all off my head, and not go back home with more swimming floating thoughts.

I know I'll be ok by tomorrow but it's so horrible to not have your wits around you to tackle simple tasks in a day. I hate it.

Why are we expected to function to full capacity everyday? Day after day? How come it's on bad days like this that you have enough work to last you three days but a deadline that says "now"? I could use lots of cheering up but so could everyone else at work I suppose. We are all so trapped at our terminals and wallowing in our own miserable sorrowful lives.

Eeeks I sound depressed...maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Maybe just disoriented. Tired. Sleepy. Needing rest. Needing a break.

Uff this kind of writing is triggering off memories of college and a lecturer who taught us writing by "free association". I think that's what I'm doing today, now. Writing reams and reams of whatever is coming to my head....not good, not good when it's all so negative and i-don't-know-what. Does anyone else have such days or am I the only loser?

Ok time to sign off...whatever!

Doffing my hat to stay-at-home mums

Honestly, how do you do it? It's a plain simple question. Please don't read any meanness into it.

I'm quite a workaholic and in my 10-year career I must have taken a max of 10 days off every year for some sort of "enjoyment". Most of my leave gets gobbled up by sickness.

Sonny Boy's bout of chicken pox has grounded me, and poor him of course, for almost a week now. Not easy for me. Not easy for him either. Specially so, since I haven't stepped out of the less than 1,000 sq apartment in all these days, except one. And that has a disastrous effect on me. I'm feeling like a caged animal, puffing and huffing and walking up and down my cage in rage. My wings have been clipped. My feet tied. It's just that I'm so used to being away from home for at least seven hours a day for the last 10 years of my life! Of course I can at least vent all this here.

Poor Sonny is taking it out in tantrums. Understandable. I mean what kid would want to be in a confined space? But for his sake and for other's, we must be isolated :-(.

Which brings me to admire stay at home mums or SAHM. Wow! It must be crazy, to be doing so much work (that goes unappreciated mostly I think), and to be taken for granted. Hubby now comes from office and expects me to make tea, because I've been home all day anyway. Else, we would both get back from work after having stopped for a quick chai somewhere on the way.

I find it difficult not to have people to talk to. Yes, the phone is there, the Internet is there. But I crave humans like vampires crave blood. Face to face interaction. I crave to write. I crave to speak and be heard.
I don't think I'll get back to work another two days and the thought is making me morbid with fear. I've realised I have a fear of staying home.

I'm making extra food, because I'm home and it's like I feel obliged that because I'm home, I must pitch in with that little extra effort in the kitchen. Uff...I'm sounding all messed up.

I'm also getting worried because I'm worrying so much about me, and so little about Sonny, who, in fact, is in far more a mess. He can't meet grandpa, he cant walk in grandpa's garden -- two things he most loves.  feel terrible for him.

I found my mother selfish when, once, soon after i forced her to retire after having worked well over 30 years, she turned around one day and told me i had robbed her of as life. Now i understand what she means. I was a student then, and hadn't a clue about the like of a working woman.

There's so much to do at home, so much to constantly keep doing. When I'm at work, I switch off the home button. But at home you can never do that. I've hardly got to see any TV or read books I've been longing to read. I have no time to myself.If that's the life of a SAHM, god, I don't want it. (Again no offence meant to such mothers. My respect for you has gone up several thousand notches this past week.)

I'm bored, almost depressed, dying to go out, shop, eat at a restaurant, just chat with ol friends...even colleagues will do ......is anyone out there?????

Why was I raised like a daughter-son, only to be expected to behave like a daughter?

It's strange, the way I'm feeling these days.

I am an only child. That in itself says a lot about me to a lot of people.
My parents let me have such a great life -- they let me make all the big decisions in my life, I had my own room on the terrace with an independent entrance when i was in high school (can you imagine?!), i was riding the bicycle to school when i was ready...you know.


I always was the centre of all attention. I lazed on the sofa watching TV or reading and things were brought to me. I was pampered silly. I was taken on lovely vacations, i was bought things. I decided what clothes i got on my birthday and what clothes i got on my parents' birthdays. I WAS BOSS.


I got to choose my career, my husband, ....i mean almost everything i wanted i had it before i could say yes. My dad even bought me a car when i graduated! And i didn't even want one.


And now, I'm expected to naturally be so responsible, running my house smooth as silk, juggling my career, hosting parties, taking leave for poojas, taking ma-in-law shopping, keeping tracks if parents are going for their blood tests. I'm expected to keep tabs if things are there in the fridge, keep a tab on all groceries, stock up when husband comes back into town, keep tab of his vaccinations and doctor's appointments, clean the floor of crayons, lock the windows when hubby goes out of town (i run away to mom's!), know which medicine to give Sonny Boy for what, always cut his nails, tackle his tantrums, ....jeez. These are things i never did.


How am i expected to make this transformation so easily, like it's the only natural thing to do. In fact I've my older sisters (cousins) have always preached: "Necessity is the mother of invention...when the pressure falls on your head, you'll do it all." I mean, why do WE have to? We women?


Why can't men also easily make these transitions? It's made out to be like we have no choice but they have. It's ok if my husband still throws wet towels on the bed, but not if I did it. NO SIR. then i would be setting a bad example for the child, and who will pick up after me anyway? It's ok for him to come home straight from work and plonk in front of the TV, but I have to first run to the kitchen, put out the food, get dinner going?


A man can pick up his life at any point and at at any time and just move on. While i have plodded through pregnancy, delivery, post-partum, motherhood and working mom, husband just gets to live the life of a man. Life's unfair. So what's new?


But then, why raise me like a son? Really? Only to be reminded by the people and things around me at the end of the day that I'm after all expected to be just the daughter, and not the daughter-son I was raised to be?



PS: My dad was so busy celebrating his grandson's birthday he even FORGOT to wish me on my birthday.