A month of sunshine

It's been a whole month since October 1st, that seemingly normal Wednesday morning, when I went to my doctor for a follow-up. And was told that I would be having a baby by the end of the day.

A bit of a history. I had spent the past weekend at the hospital due to a BP scare. So I was at the height of my frustration levels. In fact, on October 1st, I woke up and looked like a balloon- my high blood pressure had made my entire body swell up, to the extent that my eyes looked Chinese, and I couldn't even make a fist with my hands

Right. Coming back to October 1st. For a day which is perhaps one of the most important, defining days of my life, it's a surprise that it's perhaps the most emotion-less and blank days of my life as well. I remember feeling NOTHING through the entire rigmarole of going to my doctor, being told that a C-Sec was my best bet at the time, getting admitted, waiting for the husband to get in from office, filling forms, finally being wheeled into the OT, being subjected to an epidural (that was the scariest part of my delivery process), staring into the bright OT lights above me and suddenly hearing a baby's cry ("really? The kid is born?!")...yours truly was blank through it all.

But the point of this blog post is not my mental state on that day- although I would like to capture that some day soon. My little baby boy, aka Surya, has turned a month old. And I want to essentially capture his first month of living.

So a bit about my "Sun"
- Nothing gives him greater joy than being massaged and bathed. He would be crying before and after a bath, but is in a state of utter tranquility during a bath.
- Doesn't know how to fall asleep- so so so sad for a child whose parents could sleep for eternity if given a choice.
- Moves his hands and feet wayyyy too much. I suspect an incredibly naughty child in the making.
- Looks like an angel when he's sleeping
- Likes being held a little too much.
- Has big and super inquisitive eyes.
- Gives a toothy smile in his sleep, which has immense melting-your-heart powers.
- Looks the cutest when he cries (Sadistic mommy, check)

Motherhood is a strange phenomenon. I didn't feel motherly during my entire pregnancy...I was so incredibly preoccupied with myself. But now that S is here, things have changed. It's a joy having him next to me, to see his little being grow and develop, to notice his tiny little actions and quirks. The entire month has been exhausting and sleep-deprived, but the tiny human is just so pretty awesome, that it seems like a decent payoff ;) I know, biggest cliche in the world right?

(I is back on the blog...I missed writing. And despite the super tiring and exhausting routine that I have now, I hope to be regular from now on. Soooooo much to write about!)

Once Upon A Time in Mumbai

Five months ago, I came to Bombay as a new bride. It wasn't the first time I was coming to the city, but the arrival had many significant undertones. It was the real beginning of mine and AV's marriage, the first time we would be setting up a house together, the first time we would really start to live as a couple. The month following the wedding was a whirlwind of travelling, honeymooning, paperwork, packing, blah blah blah. But November 14th 2012 was the true start of the marriage.

I always knew that our time in Bombay would be short. But five months later, in hindsight, I have bipolar perspectives about my time here. On one level, it seems like an eternity that I have been here, that I have been dealing with the city. And on another, it seems like yesterday that I entered Malkani Mahal (yes thats the name of my building) and was so overwhelmed with the bombardment of information, that I started crying.

I was never a Bombay-hater; on the contrary, on one particular visit (which I also blogged about), I was quite taken by the city. However, at the end of the blog post about the eventful Bombay trip (eventful for reasons which ultimately resulted in me being married) I wrote that Bombay has had no emotional connect for me. Today, after five months of being a pseudo Mumbaikar, I can safely say that Bombay will always hold a prime place in my heart and soul. It was the city where AV and I met for the very first time in life and it's only fair that it has also been the city where we set up our first home, learnt to live with (and tolerate) each other. It was where we devised our own systems of living, own little rituals and routines. It was where we did so many things right from scratch- finding a maid, finding a presswala, a newspaper guy, a grocery store, a parlour (yes it's important!). It was where I learnt that I am responsible for paying the bills, and if I falter, there will be no cable, no internet. It was where I learnt to cook (like BIG pat on the back for moi), and while I have no Masterchef type qualities, and still can't make an above average Sambar (shame on me right?!), I am no longer scared of the idea of cooking, and can manage a halfway decent meal (and I am a certified expert in simla mirch-paneer ki sabzi- just saying). It was where I realized that I am NOT housewife material, and have the potential to turn crazy if forced to sit at home and do nothing but manage house. It was where I worked, and realized that managing house and work is a herculean task (big hug to my mommies who manage it with a huge smile), but it's not really undoable. Your house might be a little messy at times, and you might order in a lot more (especially if you belong to the ungharelu category of yours truly), but if your head is sane, the world is yours to conquer :)

Life lessons apart, Bombay is a storehouse of memories. My first weekend coincided with Bal Thackeray's death, and it was the quietest and 'dead'-est that I have seen Bombay (pun not intended). It was the weekend we celebrated one month of being married. And it was the weekend where I cooked proper meals for the first time, and emerged victorious ;) Bombay, to me, is about long walks to Haji Ali and eating the world's most awesome fruit cream there. High level intellectual discussions with the boss which eventually ended with the phrase "dimaag ka dahi ban gaya". Going to Phoenix practically every weekend for a movie, or dinner, or both, and struggling to find a cab back. The randomest day trip to Igatpuri with the office people, and chit chatting with the sister non stop through the day. Going to Bandra to meet the gang, and getting back at unearthly hours, too tired to even sleep. Random outings to Marine Drive. Showing my mommy around the city. The time we rushed through a dinner at Pizza By The Bay, just so we could have the homemade Parsi ice cream at Marine Drive. The time I went to CST to cheer AV for the marathon (listed in life's favouritest moments). The local ride from CST to Dadar, on marathon day. Brunch at Leopold and walking in Colaba. My surprise bday party at home, where AV managed to pull of a coup, in more ways than one. Going to Siddhi Vinayak, and still feeling awed by it, each time. Discovering Juhu Beach and Matunga with the in laws. The time the gang went for the premiere of Race2 and the madness which followed. Meeting the sister every day at work, and coming up with something new to dissect and analyze every day. Weekend brunches from Udipi. Learning Gujarati and Bambaiyya cultural nuances at work. Play watching. The super long walk to Matunga for lunch on a hot Sunday afternoon...and so much more.

People I met, places I saw, food I ate, things I did- all of it happened in Bombay. But as the Gestalt theory states "the whole is greater than the sum of its parts"...Bombay, has been more than the life lessons, and the memories- it has been life itself. Ciao Bombay- until we meet again :)

The time when I was a month late in saying "Happy New Year"

So I haven't blogged in a million years. But then I read this, by traveller, and decided that it's never really too late to blog. I wanted to blog about the wedding, and actually have a half completed post in the dashboard, but everytime I tried to complete it, Blogger did something funny to it. And now I just don't feel like completing it. The wedding was a.m.a.z.i.n.g, and a set of awesome and happy memories which I recall (and would continue to do so) every time I feel a tad low. Or every time I just feel like it. And some day, I want to write every single thing about it, just so I have it for posterity.

But this post isn't all about the wedding. This post is about 2012, as a whole. Although, to really put it bluntly, 2012 was ALL about the wedding. At least till October. And then it was about getting over the wedding, and getting into the marriage.

2012 began with the preparation of the engagement. The planning, the shopping, the hush hush invitations. The deciding of the wedding date. The arrival of people from far and near. And finally, the event itself. Which was just coolness. I mean where else amongst the community of Tam Brahms would you have a groom-to-be dance with his besties to Desi Boys and the bride-to-be rushing to hug the boys after the performance (sacrilege I am sure!). Mine was the funnest engagement I have ever attended (and I have attended quite a few, to be fair). It was Tam Brahm and Punjabi, loud and noisy and joy and happiness and warmth and love. And it was exactly a year ago..happy engagement anniversary to moi :D

Then came February. I joined CSR, went to Bombay, came back sick, and remained sick through my 25th- the worst 25th birthday in the history of 25th birthdays. March was defined by Holi, the first time I played (or rather, was forced to play), by the fiance and his besties. I am just not a Holi person, and I suspect that the Holi of 2012 is going to be the beginning of a life term effort on the part of the husband to make sure I become one (fat chance that).

In April, the father moved to Hambantota. I had my M.Phil viva (super duper awesome that was). Till the end of May, we were going at snail's pace with the wedding planning, very much in the "abhi toh bahut time hai!" phase. June was when things picked up speed- I quit CSR (sob sob) and went to Chennai for wedding shopping (super duper crazy).

July and August were all about shopping, visits to tailors, and basically a million lists. The father visited in August (after hoisting the Indian flag in Lanka land- proudest moment e.v.e.r), and card distribution/posting/inviting began in September. And then came October. How it flew! One of my favourite memories of the pre-wedding days is going for an impromptu movie outing with the parents (English Vinglish was utter rubbish, but it's the sentiment which counts right?)

And then began the wedding, a week long celebration of the greatest event ever.The cocktail was super fun- I wore a lehenga after practically a decade, and a bun for the first time ever, and looked and felt like a completely different person. The day after the cocktail, was when the greatest disaster turned greatest miracle of all time happened, amidst the family musical session. To cut a long story short, the childhood friend from Canada was stranded at Mumbai airport with her boyfriend, and the parents and uncle pulled every string known to mankind to make sure she gets to Delhi, and the wedding. While she was on her way to Delhi, the bride to be (moi) declared to all and sundry that she wants to go to the airport, and since she was the bride, she had to be obliged (coz you know, you don't piss a bride to be off). But then, since she was the bride, a four member delegation (comprising the father, the uncle, and two cousins) accompanied her in two cars (yes I come from a madcap paranoid family) to the airport. And reunion with the childhood friend happened- 13 years later. Listed in life's favourite moments? Check.

And then the wedding happened. I don't know what all to write about- the leaving home, the grand welcome given for the bride, the chit chatting with the BFFs, the irritating beautician (who did a great job btw), the husband's incessant talking in the middle of all the rituals, the sister's beautiful surprise dance, the family's phenomenal group performance, the chariot, the besties removing makeup and hovering around me, the early morning gossip with the twin, the BBMing with the husband, the family oohing and aahing (as always) over how pretty I looked, the girls chit chatting away to glory, the jaimala (where I was actually lifted!), the kanyadaan (where the mother and sister started the never ending copious tears), the moment when the mangalsutra was tied (goosebump inducing till date), the pheras, the grihapravesh, entering my room after everything was over and the girls pulling and pushing to remove all the paraphernalia, the chit chatting with the husband and his besties hours before the reception, the FINAL visit to the parlour, the non stop standing and smiling at the reception, the irritating photographers, the teary vidaai....

The list is endless. But the wedding ended. And the marriage began. The honeymoon(s) happened- in Goa and Kashmir (and ended with Vaishno Devi- super yay!). In November, the marriage was registered and I changed my name. Diwali happened, and I moved to Bombay. I set up a house, learnt how to cook. The mother came to visit for a week, the husband had his first birthday after the wedding. I am still getting used to being (and feeling) married...but really, it doesn't truly feel any different...I don't feel different! I still feel silly and stupid and filmy and...me. Except I live in a different city, with a boy, and I cook (more astounding and unbelievable than the living with the boy part). 

Coming back to 2012- it was a whirlwind year, ending as quickly as it began. A year where I got to meet all of my most favourite, most important people- people who made me, me. 2012 would always be the most unforgettable, the most crazy, the most life changing year. A year which I would always hold extremely close to my heart and soul. A year which gave me a new name, multiple new relationships, many responsibilities, and a lot of happy happy intangible things.

It's ok 2013, you have a lot to live upto. You can never be 2012, but let's hope and pray that you are as happy and full of good memories as 2012 was.

Final Countdown

A week from today, my hands and feet will be full of mehendi. A week from today, will be my last day at home, as just me. Because the next time I come home, I'll be someone's wife, someone's daughter-law, someone's sister-in-law.

I am getting married in NINE days. The wedding officially begins in EIGHT days.

Y.I.K.E.S

I havent blogged much this entire year. Partly because for practically half of the year, I was blogging for CSR (the most amazing job experience like ever). So there really was nothing to write about. Or rather, no energy left. I could have blogged about wedding shopping or any of the wedding preps, but seriously, who really wants to know all that? I didn't blog about the engagement- the most 'out of body experience' of my life- because it was so difficult to really verbalize and convey what that entire event was. I haven't even blogged about the way the fiance (soon to be 'husband') and I met- now that is a story worth a book and a movie. Maybe a sitcom too. I think I'll save that post for our first anniversary. Or tenth. Whatever.

But I had to write one final post. Not that I am dying or anything. It's just one of those stupid sentimental things. One final post as a single girl. One final post as a girl devoid of responsibilities and duties and roles. One final post as a kid.

On another euphoric and manic note, I am extremely excited about the wedding. Extremely looking forward to having most of my favourite people in the world under one roof, to celebrate the biggest event of my life. I can't wait for it, and I can't wait to write about it. People say they don't remember their wedding day, that it's all a big blur. Not me. I remember each and every moment of my engagement, and was unabashedly a pretty 'over enthusiastic' bride-to-be. I plan to do much the same at the wedding- the remembering part, not the over enthusiastic part. The mother has told me to be demure at the wedding- let's see how that works out.

So there. That was my lastest post as me. The next time, I'll write about the wedding. As Mrs. Runjoo. Whattey fun :D

Being a pseudo-feminist

For those who don't know, I have been working as an intern in the Media and Communication division at an organization called Centre for Social Research, for the past (almost) 3 months. Needless to say, its been an incredible journey so far, and I know for a fact, that the next 3 months at CSR will add to this (oh by the way, the reason for not updating this blog for ages, is that I write for the CSR blog now. Just saying.)

But this post isn't about CSR (although I am definitely going to do that some time...maybe when I leave in August?). No this post is rather about how working among gender activists, and being surrounded by issues facing/plaguing women, has slighttttly altered the way I look at things.

Take for example what happened today. I was having lunch with my aunt, and while switching channels, we stopped at Sony TV and started watching Kya Hua Tera Vadaa. Till date I hadn't seen a single episode, but knew vaguely that it was about extra marital relationships. Anyway, as is habit, I asked my aunt the story (I LOVE listening to stories), got a brief synopsis, and started watching the episode. So the story is essentially about a much married couple with three kids, and how the husband starts an affair with his ex girlfriend turned boss. Now the wife finds out, and along with the mother in law, concocts a plan, wherein she leaves the house. The 'catch' is that she leaves alone, leaving the husband to fend for himself and the kids, along with the other woman, who has moved in to the house, to make merry since the wife is gone. So apparently this is a plan, so as to show how effortlessly the wife managed the house and the kids, and how the husband doesn't know a single thing about the house, and how the 'other woman' is a spoilt rich woman, who can't lift a finger around the house. It is supposed to show the husband (and us apparently) how nice the wife was, and how stupid he was to leave such a 'sarvgunn sampann' wife for a 'witchy' other woman.

The story is uncannily similar to David Dhawan's Biwi No.1, although Ekta Kapoor would like to believe that hers is a sensitive tale of adult relationships, far removed from the slapstick which David Dhawan's brand of cinema is. For the record, when I saw it, I absolutely louved Biwi No.1. In my defence, I was barely 12, and definitely not a pseudo feminist.

My problem with Kya Hua Tera Vadaa (or for that matter even Biwi No.1), is that it treats the complex issue of extra marital relationships with naivete and insensitivity. Why should the resolution of the problem which has arisen between a married couple, involve teaching a lesson, let alone such a stupid one? And what is with making a villain, sorry vamp, of the other woman? I mean yes being involved with a married man was probably not the best thing to do, but where was the married man's brain? Why do movies/tv serials and even common people portray the man as a stupid being, who has no mind or will of his own, whose need for sex outside marriage rises above all rationality? I mean sure men can be stupid some times, but give them some credit! And why is a woman's worth as a wife, defined by her ability to successfully run a house and taking care of the kids? Since when is marriage only about these things? Why do we, as a society, portray extra marital relationships only in light of one woman stealing another woman's man? Whereas if a married woman is involved with a man (a concept utterly alien to all it seems) we never say that one man stole another's woman...even then the blame is placed on the woman, and she is called immoral and whatnot. Gender bias anyone?

Yes I know expecting sensitivity and subtlety in Indian television is my fault. And I also know that most people, save a few hard core feminists, and some pseudo feminists like yours truly, wouldn't even bat an eyelid at such serials/movies. Perhaps they would even cheer for the wife, and curse the other woman, but always, always, forgive the man. But for once, it would be nice to see something which is inspiring, instead of perpetuating illogical ideas and stereotypes.

The year that was

Yes, it's 31st December again. Time to reminisce, recollect, revise the past 364 days. Before I started writing this post, I went over this one from last year, and I was struck by how different 'I' seem. It seems as if eons have passed, and the 'me' of today, is a mere shadow of the 'me' of 2010.

2011- OMG. What.A.Year. If 2010 could be classified in one word as a kickass year, 2011 can only be classified as a life changing year. It was a year of heartbreak, disappointments, failures, unexpected sorrows. It was a year of travelling alone- the mindblowing Bombay trip, and the gorgeous trip to Vaishno Devi. It was the year where the BlackBerry entered my life, cemented old friendships, rekindled others, and changed life, along with playing a key role in the most important relationship of the year (and now, of life). It was, hands down, a year of friends- their presence and involvement in every single small and big event of the year is undisputed. It was a year of coincidences, of worlds being small, of chance encounters, and of destiny reiterating its strong presence over and over again. It was the year where life changed forever, and I can safely say, nothing will ever be the same again- in a good way of course :)

It was a year where highs and lows walked hand in hand, perhaps to remind me at every step, that this is what life is all about. As the year ends, I am at a personal high- it's a good time to be me. But some of the people I love are going through personal lows, and somewhere, their pain keeps me from being uninhibitedly happy.

2012 was always going to be an important year. It's the year I will turn silver, the year I complete a decade of being in Delhi. Now, along with these things, it will be the year where the biggest life event is going to take place- something which was nowhere in the life plans at the beginning of the year. Just goes to show that life actually does happen, while you're busy planning it.

Good bye 2011- you have been difficult, disastrous, disappointing at times, and immensely joyous and surprising at others. You will always be remembered, with tears for the rough patches, and a huge smile for the happy events.

Welcome 2012- let's see what you've got in hold for us.

Happy New Year people!

Do naina, aur ek kahani

My first eye test happened when I was barely 10 years old, the reason behind which is subject to some debate. As far as I was concerned, I went to the eye doctor because I had a small cyst in my right eye. Many years later, the mother told me that my dance teacher had told my father to get my eyes checked, because apparently I was exhibiting signs of less-than-normal vision during classes. I remember howling after coming home post the eye-exam, and instantly picking up a book and shouting"Hey I can read just fine!"

My first pair of glasses was a quintessentially nerdy pair- big brown plastic frames, which covered my whole face in a sense. I loved that pair, and somehow believed that they were the coolest thing existing on the planet (once a nerd-at-heart, always a nerd-at-heart). I remember walking into school on the first day of 6th grade wearing them, nervous about what my friends would say. And I distinctly remember one girl saying "Really? You never had glasses before? I always thought you wore them!" I just had one of those faces I was told. I hated removing my glasses even for a few minutes, which I was subjected to often, being a dancer and having to perform on stage ever so often (and a mother who was baffled that her daughter was bespectacled).

I got contact lenses when I was 15. The first time I wore lenses, I kept thinking that they would fall off! Initially wearing them would be a herculean task (umm...not that they got any better, but I just got more used to the process). And for the first two years, I was very irregular with them. Contact lenses scored over glasses on some counts- you had a holistic vision, they didn't fog up when you got out of an air-conditioned car, and you could actually see the rain. Not to mention, the whole aesthetics of it. But you couldn't sleep with your contacts (without getting a headache that is), and god save you if you got something in your eye. Actually, my worst contact lens experience involved me cutting green chillies, washing my hands over and over again, and still having burning eyes when wearing the lenses hourssss later.
Bottom line: I was never much of a contact lens person. I never wore them unless absolutely necessary, and most certainly never while loitering around home. I was never the kind of girl who would balk at the idea of people seeing her with glasses.

So life continued, between the glasses and the lenses. Many people suggested laser eye surgery, and while the idea was very appealing, I never really put much thought into it. Primarily because I was always studying, I always had exams, and basically never had much time at my disposal to go through a surgery, and follow the myriad of precautions which I was told the surgery entails.
That was until a few months ago. After much pondering (and procrastinating) I finally got an appointment with an eye institute two weeks ago, just to see what the fuss was all about. After three hours of testing, and dilated pupils, the doctor told me that my eyes were perfect for the surgery- when would I like to have it? An appointment was scheduled for the week after, and the countdown began. I kept harping about my 'surgery', freaking out only hours before the event when I saw how nervous the parents were.

I wont go into the details of the actual surgery- which are actually imprinted in my brain for life- coz its difficult to put into words the intense fear, and nervousness I experienced for those 25 minutes (the most nerve-wracking time frame of my life). I was numb when I was taken out of the operation room, partly because of the fact that strange things had been done to my eyes- but more so because despite those strange things, my vision was perfect, albeit a tad hazy. It was like I was suddenly wearing a pair of dirty contact lenses. When the parents came to see me with solemn faces, and a pair of dark glasses, I was trembling when narrating what had happened inside that dreaded operation theatre, all the while saying "You know, I can see you both clearly". It was all very surreal- especially for someone whose longest time in a hospital has been the root canal the day after the 24th bday, and the cavity filling at age 10.

The day after the surgery, was the first time in 14 years that I reached for my glasses first thing in the morning, and realized that I no longer needed them. It was the first time that I woke up with clear vision. Surreal? Check.
No its not all hunky dory. The first week, I had to wear a pair of dark glasses 24/7- yes, even while sleeping, which was just the biggest pain e.v.e.r. Not to mention the endless eye drops I was (and still am) subjected to. And the fact that I can't wash my eyes/face, or that my vision is still stabilizing (I'm always nervous about less than perfect sight- aren't we all?!)

But it's still not sunk in that I don't have to wear glasses or lenses anymore. For the latter, I would just say "good riddance". I guess I will miss the former in a strange way. Glasses always worked to make me look more intelligent than I am (!) But more than that, it's like letting go of a part of my identity.

Thus, here goes, a pictorial ode to the tools of vision I was so dependent on for the past 14 years.

Through exams, dissertations, projects. Through performances and parties. In sadness and in joy, in sickness and in health. Good bye old friends. In a way befitting your place in my life, I will forever be grateful to you.

And finally, a few words from the song from which I lifted the title of this post. Perhaps these define the thin line between my old vision and my new vision best.

थोड़ी सी है जानी हुयी थोड़ी सी नयी।  
जहा रुके आंसू वही पूरी हो गयी।  
है तो नयी
फिर भी हैं पुरानी।  
दो नैना और एक कहानी 
थोडा सा बादल
थोडा सा पानी
और एक कहानी।