Don’t judge me by the clothes I wear

Dear Auntyji

Last week I left my Auntyji in charge of my three-year-old son while I ran an errand. When I came home, my lovely little Kunal was dressed in his cousin Sheena’s ghaghra choli with full face of makeup. He was singing and dancing while Sheena clapped her hands and shouted wah wah at him. Auntyji, I took one look at this tamasha, shrieked out a Hey Ram and fell to the zameen. I understand that was a bit melodramatic, but I was too shocked, and Mai aur kya karti, Ye paap mere samne ho raha tha! To maine Kunal ko grab kiya and left the house. I have not spoken to my aunt since, and I think she must hate me to do such a thing. I think she is trying to convert my son, and she must be listening to too many lefties and thinks it’s acceptable for that behuda harkat in my family. I am still bilkul pagal ki tarah traumatised. Do you think you could give my Mausi Pushpa a piece of your mind please? Can you do this for my bechara nadaan Kunal?

Auntyji Says

Arre, tum bhi ek budtehzeeb paapin ho. Tumhara hosh kaha hain? Apne deemag ka darwaza kholo, aur suno meri leftist leanings wali baatein Baachche log are innocent, nah? They probably saw an old rerun of choli ke peechche and they were just acting out what they saw on the screen. Isme boori baat kya hai? Or are you such a dayan that you think that all of these things are and now your poor Kunal will become something you can’t tolerate? Well, if so, you are a bigot, and there is no place in society for you. Kunal should be free to become whatever he wants to - unless it’s a serial killer in which case we will probably need to look no further than his bigoted mother to see why he turned out this way. Bachche log were just playing and having fun. You simply revealed yourself to be a close minded hate- lled bigot, who brought Ram into this. You really need to understand that we are who we are, and if Kunal chooses to wear clothes that he likes, then who are you to stand in his way. Duniya badal raha hai and you need to get with the times. And you owe your aunt an apology. She wasn’t doing anything other than allowing Kunal and Sheena to be happy. Un ke liye janaat intezar kar raha hai, while for you, the bhoots of narak are just waiting.

BY NEHA MALUDE

“And there it is,” said the doctor, adding a pregnant pause (pun intended), “your baby’s heartbeat.”

The pulsating sound filled the silent room as all three of us – the doctor, my husband Chinmay and I – stared at the monitor.

“Wow.” That was Chinmay, his voice visibly quivering. “That was amazing.” Meanwhile, I waited for the flood of emotions that, according to the gazillion English movies I’ve watched, should be rushing through my body. But there was nothing there. Zilch.

I could feel their eyes on me so out of sheer pressure, I let out a “whoosh”, hoping it sounded like I was too overwhelmed to respond like a normal woman who would otherwise be crying and clutching the hand of her also-crying partner.

We were quiet in the car on the way

“I didn’t cry, ok?” he snapped right back. “I just teared up.”

“Pff.”

“But let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you.”

“What about me?” I asked guardedly.

“You know…” he said, “I didn’t even hear a sniffle from you.”

I blew up. “Fine! I didn’t feel a thing, okay? I know I’m supposed to bawl when I hear my baby’s heart beating. I’m going to be a terrible mother.”

Truth was, I had been feeling that way for a long time. After all, I never wanted to be a mum. My son Vivaan is what I call a “Oh my god, how did this happen” baby. I remember taking about five pregnancy tests before accepting that I was going to be a baby oven for the next nine months. I never cried for joy when I saw the two purple lines (10, in fact). I didn’t tear up when the sonogram showed the peanutsized person growing inside me. I didn’t even smile when the baby kicked for the first time. In fact, it felt like something I had eaten had become alive and wanted to find a way out.

I finally admitted to myself: I had no maternal instincts, aside from stuffing my face like there was no tomorrow, over the next few months. Chinmay told me what countless others already had. “Relax, you’re going to be a great mum.”

Doubtful, I thought. What I didn’t know then was that the first few months after Vivaan’s birth would be equally “feeling-less”. I would be an automaton, perpetually sleepless, roused at godforsaken hours for the Milk-on-demand episodes, eating during waking hours and going back to sleep whenever I got a chance. Where did I have the time to be a mum who bonds with her baby?

When Vivaan turned five months old, though, things changed. I can still recall the day. I had just finished feeding him and as I put him down, he grabbed my finger and smiled, for the very first time.

Something inside me stirred right then, and I felt like a mother for the first time. It was surreal.

But! Back to present day, for a moment. Chinmay and I were back home, watching a documentary about dogs on TV. He was smiling as dozens of puppies showed up, running helter skelter, falling over each other when he heard a sniffle. He saw me crying like a child.

“Puppies,” I sobbed, wiping my eyes.

To this day, I don’t know if it was anger or disgust (perhaps both) on my husband’s face as he said to me, “THIS? You cry for this? For god’s sake, it’s dogs! And you can’t spare a tear for your own baby?”

Yep, like I said. Bad mum.