Lost

I suffered a miscarriage on Tuesday.

                                                                                       

We did a pregnancy test at home on Saturday. When the imperious second line appeared, I was excited and happy, but not surprised. I had known that the baby was coming. There were signs – the backache, tiredness, sleepiness, tenderness in breasts and lower abdomen, where ovaries reside, the heightened sense of smell and the frequent mood swings.

But it wasn’t meant to be.

On Tuesday, I started to bleed. A few frantic calls to the obstetrician and a blood test later, we were told over the telephone, and rather rudely, that the pregnancy had failed. It was one of the most difficult days of my life. Our family had unexpectedly lost a member, and all that was left was the long shadow of grief. I was living my nightmare.

Men and women react differently to situations. While I was grieving and crying, Hubby was concerned about my physical well-being. Later he would tell me that even though he was sad that the pregnancy was over, he couldn’t feel my heartache, anguish and sorrow. Nonetheless, he remained with me for as long as I wanted and let me be. I talked about the baby, how excited I had been about being pregnant with our second child and how miserable I felt now that it was all over. The healing had begun.

Nature had picked the one on which wanted its resources spent and it wasn't my child. It pains me to think that my child was perhaps genetically inferior. I feel as if I have failed. I feel judged, by myself. But the past few days have taught me a great lesson – even the best laid plans go awry. The natural order must be maintained, even though a mother has to grieve the loss of the one who could have been many things. Many.

If my life were a movie, this would be its trailer

I wrote this piece in early October 2009, but never thought of posting it (until now, that is).

Since your birth, our – your Mummy and Papa’s – every day has begun and ended with planting a kiss on your body. You are only 10 days shy of your 5-month birthday and you have already taught us lessons of a lifetime (all so nice and sweet) and introduced us to emotions we didn’t know existed.

My heart breaks every morning when I leave home for work. I hug you and kiss you, but mostly you are not interested in this attention. You prefer to drool, try to control your tongue that you discovered only recently, look the other way while enjoying attention, or just make use of your high vantage point to look around and smile at things we had not yet seen, like a crack in the plaster or a patch of dirt on the table. You love your Mickey Mouse cutout and also your two caretakers, Geeta and Shayamala aunty, who you would one day call Ajji.

The day we met you for the first time was not the day of your birth, but the day when we discovered you were hiding inside me, just a tiny cluster of a few tissues, but growing. It was Sunday, 21 September 2008, exactly 15 months since our wedding.

I had been feeling a bit odd for a few days and Papa fetched a home pregnancy kit. At first there was nothing and we were disappointed, and then you showed up, in the form of a bleak second line on the panel. I saw that first and didn’t believe it. I said, “Is there really a second line or am I imagining it?” The line blurred, and I was convinced it was just my imagination. Then tears rolled down my cheeks and there you were…the line had darkened in the few seconds tears welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. A firm announcement that we had created something that will stir, move, kick, swim, sleep inside me and move, cry, smile, laugh, giggle later. Papa was happy beyond words. We hugged kissed and laughed through wet eyes twinkling with joy and anticipation.

We then called your grandmothers, Nani first, followed by Dadi. Nani would later tell me that she knew I had called to tell her I was pregnant. She said it was obvious from the tinkle in my voice! She told me to take care and see a doctor. Your Dadi did not react first, but asked me to take care of myself and not see a doctor.

Papa was so happy, he doled out warm hugs every few seconds. We went out for lunch to Bon South, a new up-market South Indian restaurant near his office. Then it was time to buy new, flat sandals. I wore a black suit with maroon piping and papa wore jeans. We will never forget this day. It was the happiest day of our life until then. I regret not taking any pictures of us, but we did take a few of you. 

You arrived on a Tuesday morning. You were in the doctor’s arm, crying like someone had punched you. My first words when I saw you were “he’s just like his father”. They took you away to a table not more than four feet away and I saw them cleaning your windpipe, throat etc and you oscillated between protesting and allowing them to clean you. Then, they wrapped you in a green sheet and brought close to me, close enough for me to see your watery skin and the folds under your eyes. I planted a kiss on your cheek and off they went to show you to your dad, Papa.

People I'm most likely to slap when I meet them

• Arnab Goswami for being in love with the sound of his voice. That and his sub-standard, rhetoric journalism
• Nandita Ghosh for trying to be the female version of Arnab Goswami and almost succeeding. What a waste of a pretty face!
• Gagan for being the chauvinist he sometimes is
• The makers of Huggies nappy pads. They suck. Yeah, the pads and those who make them
• Cousin C for screwing up his life and his parents'. He is the inspiration behind our resolution to have more than just one child
• A few nerds from work, but only on some days

Wow, only a short list after raking my brains for a while! I must be peace-loving.

I get to meet the crème de la crème of the retard world at work every day

It is Friday evening. I have finished ‘editing’ a very dull, long piece of equity research with my hands tied, ie no changed unless absolutely necessary. I look at the clock and the hour hand is close to seven. I save the document, email a copy and shut down. I pick up my bag and am half way across the floor when someone calls after me.

Someone: Now-self (of course, they call me by my official name, but you’re not getting that here), got a minute?

Me: Yes, what is it?

Someone: Are you leaving for the day?

Me (looking at my bag, proudly hanging by my shoulder): Umm, yeah.

Someone: I had a one-pager for you to edit and was wondering if you would be able to do it today.*

Me (abusing in my head): Sure, but I have shut down my computer. Can I use yours?

Someone: Yeah, that’ll be alright.

Me: So, where’s the piece?

Someone: Actually, I haven’t written it yet, but was wondering if you’d hang out in the office until I’m done.

!!!???

* When this guys says a one-pager, he usually means a five-pager in Greek, written in English script. If you all must know, his three-pager finally arrived in my inbox at 12.23pm on Monday and this guy came over at 12.35 asking if I was done!

Random thoughts

• I wish I were not a strong-willed, self-reliant woman. Then, no one would have expected this much from me. In fact, some might have even offered to help.
• I love you, but cannot understand why you're subjecting me to the stress of bringing up our [OUR, not just my] child alone
• Baby, why are you pushing me against the wall?

When was I myself last?

Many a moon ago, when I felt strange about who I had become, I created this blog – I used to be myself. Little did I know of what life had in store. If I had had even a remote inkling of what was to come, I would have either not created this blog or chosen another name for it. Life has now changed so much that I have forgotten what it was earlier – the life I regretted losing when I created this blog.

Meeting Hubby, falling in love and moving to a new city introduced many changes in my lifestyle. Marriage changed a lot too. It ended my, in words of a dear friend, ‘sophisticated wildcat’ days.

Motherhood, however, is an altogether new ballgame. It is a divine feeling, but being responsible for another person is overwhelming sometimes. Add to that my life as a wife, a single parent (we are neither separated nor divorced. It is a lot less complicated than that. He is away on work) and a career woman, and you have the full picture. Well, not exactly. In less than two weeks, I have to go back to work and I still do not have full-time help. There is someone who comes in morning and leaves after eight hours, much before I would usually return. I need someone to stay with me 24 * 7 or at least until 9pm.

Until last week, I was sure that getting help was the biggest problem, but how wrong was I. I had fully discounted that Li’l Bunny is a person (not a plant that has to be watered a couple of times a day) with definite likes and dislikes. He has to like the person with whom he would spend his entire day. Also, he has to get used to that person. As luck would have it, my first two tries (yes, I have tried two full-time maids already) have failed.

As I have mentioned earlier, the thought of leaving my coughplushcough job has crossed my mind, but that is not a healthy solution. Also, this past week we bought a very nice, huge, up-market apartment. It came at a cost…all our life’s savings and ridiculously high EMIs each month for 20 years. Obviously, we also want posh interiors! We can manage with Hubby’s salary, but only if we give up all nice things in life (and dinner every Wednesday). Therefore, I must go back and leave our Li’l Bunny with…?

As a young child, I firmly believed that nothing in life could be more dreadful than having to prepare for and take quarterly, half-yearly and annual examinations and the results thereof, and wondered why Ma and Papa sometimes spent hours discussing things in slow, worried whispers. I mean, they did not have any exams to take. Alright, no annual vacations, but no exams!

* I just proof-read this piece and realised how unconnected the last para was to the opening para…a striking proof of the dishevelled state of my mind. Wish I could just take an exam. I’m not even looking for any holidays. I have to go to office. Ah.

Bébé, bambino or just baby

I've been away for the longest while.

I'm now a brand new mommy with a brand new baby, who likes to sleep in his rocking basket (Thanks, Menakshi and Mudit) and giggles when he sees the Mickey Mouse cut-out we picked up from a roadside shack in Delhi. He hates to be put in a pram or a baby carrier.

Saumil* was born on 19 May 2009, and Hubby and I are delighted to have him in our life. He has always slept through the night, doesn’t throw tantrums while being fed and enjoys conversations, even if he doesn’t understand a word of it.

Parenthood is the best thing that has happened to me (Hubby is a close second). It is rewarding in ways that cannot be explained. I plan to return to work in a few weeks' time, and my heart explodes at the thought of leaving my li'l bunny at home with the caretaker. The thought of taking a sabbatical has crossed my mind a couple of times, but I'm not up to it. I'd like Somi to be indpendent. In any case, I'll be a nutcase if I stay at home for more than a few months.

When I was young(er), I used to get bored of people who'd talk about their kids forever, stopping only to have water. Therefore, we're off this topic for now, unless you want it otherwise!

* We didn’t want to have an unusual name, but here we are. Just like our honeymoon. I didn’t want a destination where every second girl would flash chuda. We went to Manali (duh!) and every second girl did flash chuda!