The gift

BY RANI JHALA

What is this obsession women have about being a mother? Why do they feel half a person without a child? Being a man, I could never understand my wife’s unexplainable desire to be a parent. We could not have a child; it was sad, but it was not a tragedy. I still found myself grateful for all the other things we had together –a great home, super jobs, loving families and a love that few could boast of. We had plenty of nephews and nieces between us too. But after ten years of marriage, suddenly they were not enough for Rita.

Two years earlier we even tried being foster-parents. But each time the children went back they seemed to take away a part of her heart. Six months into the exercise, I pulled her out of it. I could not see Rita breaking apart, time and time again.

It was then that my mother suggested adoption. The gleam in Rita’s eyes spoke of the hope that the comment had raised. I was not sure if adoption was the answer. To bring up someone else’s child as your own, to give it your name yet know you do not share the same blood. To have people say, ‘Now who does he look like?’ and know there will never be a resemblance. There were too many negatives to warrant a serious thought, but looking at the hope in Rita’s eyes, I could not deny her the effort of at least pursuing this avenue.

The next morning she had already set up the interview. A week later we sat in front of our consultant Jenny, and gave her every detail of our life. We signed authorisation forms so they could do criminal and credit checks on us. We even gave our medical records, birth certificates and financial papers. And after a long and exhausting interview, we were told that if all the checks were cleared we would be put on a waiting list, and that it could take up to a year or two at the earliest.

And so began our wait, and with it our disappointments. On paper we proved the ideal candidates, but for some reason we met delay after delay.

Finally after a year, I had had enough. I told Rita I could not cope with the wait any longer and that I never really wanted to be a father in this way. That sometimes accepting destiny did not mean accepting defeat. It was just compromising with the inevitable.

I expected a fight from Rita, but this time she calmly said, “If that is how you feel then go and let Jenny know tomorrow before we change our minds. I want this waiting to end too.” Rising, she touched my hand and left the room with the words, “I need some time alone.”

So, the next day after my morning meeting was over I drove to ‘The Perfect Match’, our adoption centre. I was asked to take a seat in the glassed-in waiting room. And it was then that I saw the baby. With curly hair, huge baby brown eyes, chubby dimpled cheeks. It looked like a cherub! Even the mischievous grin had been packaged in. And the infant was looking at me. Just me! Of the four people seated in the lounge, it was me it smiled at. It was me it reached out for. Sitting on its carer’s hip, it was me it tried to leap towards, almost falling over in the process.

And of the four people in the waiting room, it was my arms that automatically reached out to break the fall, only to meet the glass screen. It was my heart that stopped and then raced again. And it was me who felt pain as the carer holding the baby securely again, walked away.

And I knew then, even if Rita and I had to wait a hundred years, we would wait it through, because somewhere in the future would be a child who would be ours. Only ours! A little babe who would make my heart stop, just like this little one.

Changing my mind about withdrawing our application I turned to walk away. At that very moment I noticed Jenny.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said. I turned back to look at where the baby had been and said, “Actually I’ve changed my mind. We will continue to wait.”

“Come in to the office, we can talk there,” said Jenny pointed towards her room

After we had seated ourselves she said, “I am presuming you were going to pull out. What changed your mind?”

How could I answer a question that I did not understand myself? How could I explain the feeling of wanting to protect that baby? How could I explain the feeling of loss as the infant went out of view? All I could say was ‘I guess, that baby!’

Jenny spoke into her intercom, asking a ‘Tina’ to come in. A second later, in walked the carer and clinging to her with little tubby fingers, the infant.

“Thanks, Tina, I’ll take over,” smiled Jenny, reaching out towards the baby. Only the baby had other ideas as it twisted, then leapt towards me. Once again my arms reached out, but this time to hold her safely.

After Tina left, Jenny went on to explain that our name had come up twice before, but each time she felt I was not ready. Jenny said she had to make sure that both parents wanted a child equally. Unlike biological children, kids who are adopted at some stage or the other have to confront the knowledge that they were taken from their biological parents, whether by nature, circumstances or other forces. And they must confront this knowledge from within a safe, loving haven made for them by their adoptive parents.

“I know of Rita’s pain, but I could not in all honesty, look at anything but the child’s well-being first,” Jenny confided.

As I looked down at the bundle now chewing at my knuckles, I was truly glad. Not only was I finally ready for parenthood, but it meant that this little one had specially been sent for us.

“Are you saying this baby is ours?” I asked nervously.

“Well, she has chosen her new family. Her mother this morning; her dad just now! I can see that your wife agrees,” said Jenny.

“My wife?” I followed Jenny’s gaze to see Rita standing at the doorway, beaming like a new mother.

Looking at Rita I had to ask, “This morning? What if I had stuck with the original plan?”

As if on cue, my daughter looked at Rita. I smiled, “So you worked in partnership with your mum, did you?” Her answer was to dribble some more as she laid her cheek against mine. I was seeing women’s power at its best. No plan of mine would have ever worked against this. And I was glad.

“You know, it’s symbolic that you came in today. I know you’ve not celebrated this day before, but you might as well start now!” said Jenny to Rita.

Cradling Niki, I rose and walked over to my wife. Handing the baby to her I said, “Just for today and only for today, she’s completely yours - Happy Mother’s Day!”

Pizza anyone?

The world’s most expensive pizza is valued at US $178. It is sold at Gordon Ramsay’s Maze Restaurant in London. It has onion puree, white truffle paste, fontina cheese, baby mozzarella, pancetta, cep mushrooms and wild mizuna lettuce, and fresh shavings of a rare Italian white truffle.

National Pizza Month is October.

The biggest pizza ever made was baked in Norwood, South Africa in 1990. It was a massive 100 feet across.

The largest pizza delivery ever took place on June 6 2006. Papa John’s pizza company took 13,500 pizzas to the NASSCO Shipyard in San Diego, California, USA.

In the 16th century, Maria Carolina, the Queen of Naples eventually convinced her husband, King Ferdinand IV, to allow the peasant dish pizza to actually be made in the royal oven.

In 1889 Raffaele Esposito, a famous pizza chef created a pizza for Queen Margherita with tomato, basil and cheese, to resemble the Italian flag. Today it is the most popular kids’ pizza – we know it as the margherita pizza.

Laugh out loud

John: I’ve got a problem. I live with my three brothers. One brother has six dogs, one has five cats and one has two goats. The smell is killing me! Jack: Why don’t you open the windows?

John: What, and lose all my pigeons?

Nicole: My mum has the worst memory in the world

Jennifer: She forgets everything?

Nicole: No, she remembers everything.

Q: What did one tonsil say to the other?

A: “Get dressed. The doctor is taking us out tonight”

Q: Why did the traffic light go red when it changed?

A: Well, so would you if you changed in the middle of the street.

Q: What did one flea say to another as they were coming out of the theatre?

A: “Shall we walk or take a dog?”

Q: How long is the song Soap, soap, soap, soap, soap?

A: About 5 bars. DL

Why elders pinch the cheeks of children

They want us to have red cheeks without having to use make-up. It’s a way of testing their finger strength.

It’s their way of telling us they find us really irritating.

how much weight we have lost/ gained.

They want to check if we have brushed our teeth well.

ML and DL

Foto Corner

Devna works hard to paint her room, but Manan prefers to muck around – and does not really paint, as you can see.