My Mother. My Hero.

My mother is going through one of the hardest phases of her life. She finds herself alone, helpless, bitter, humiliated, angry and, clueless. It’s a dark storm that she seems to have decided to bear out, hoping that like all storms- this too shall pass.

I find our roles reversing, me always trying to help sort her way through this hellish chaos. It’s been going on for a while. Long enough for me to start thinking of her as a child who needs constant guidance and support.

I couldn’t be further away from the truth.

Well, you see, my mother, she’s tough as nails. She’s the reason I am the person I am.  At those critical junctures in my life, she is the one who has taken stands and made decisions that most parents won’t for their daughters.

When my father thought it wise to handle the tantrums of a 12yr old me with the choicest expletives delivered amongst an audience, my mother told him in private to hold his tongue going forward. To me she said to not approach him for money anymore. She became my ATM for next 9 years till I could fend for myself.

When my father questioned my request to go out for a movie with classmates after our board exams to celebrate with a “Why?”, my mother swiftly responded “Why not?”.  Thereafter, my brother and I were equally, not differently, questioned about our outings.

She made sure I was treated equally so I feel like an equal. I have always taken it for granted. This sense of freedom, of self-worth, of equality.

The more I look, the more I see women being given a raw deal. What is most frustrating though is their acceptance of the deal. I am coming to realize that they have been raised to accept sour deals. To not think of themselves as deserving something better, to always compromise and keep their voices low. We are all the victims and beneficiaries of our upbringing.

I see my own mother struggling with her raw deal, trying to salvage it for what its worth. I ache seeing her repeatedly get wounded, knowing that it’s her private battle. I just need to stay put and lend her an ear or a shoulder or both, whenever she needs it. And need to keep reminding myself, that it is SHE who is my mother, my hero.

The Maternal Instinct Bunkum

I must be a bad mother.

I have had a baby inside/outside of me for 20 months now.  But am yet to feel those sweeping insurmountable surges of love for my son every now and then. Am yet to know instinctively how to tackle his painful bouts of constipation, disturbed sleep, fluid intake level, introduction to solids and other such countless decisions that are best left to a mother’s instinct.

But I am not a bad mother. I know that now.

I have stood by and let my life be turned upside down in unimaginable ways. I have endured, mostly smilingly, the sheer monotony of being with a small baby day in day out without a single night away, without a single night of uninterrupted sleep. His smallest discomfort agitates me till I can make it go away. I have made those countless decisions for him based on tiresome iterations, research, networking and doc consultations, no thanks to an elusive father and the even more elusive instinct.  I have seen the dynamic of my marriage change oh-so-quietly in a way that makes me uncomfortable.

And yet.

Life without him is no longer an option. He is a part of me. He smiles and everything seems a bit brighter. He poops, and my body feels a bit lighter.

I have consciously taken up the responsibility of bringing him into this world. And I will play my role well.

But don’t try to con me with the maternal instincts bullshit. It’s just a term this male dominated society has coined.  To keep women feeling perpetually guilty and striving harder to be that perfect mother who does not and cannot exist.

I have waited patiently for my maternal instincts to surface. They haven’t come knocking yet. I am no longer expecting the doorbell.

Marriages...like business after all

They say businesses can be set up as partnerships, limited liability companies, private or public limited companies. I say so are marriages.

Partnerships: Partners come together of their own will predominantly. They make big decisions together. If their partnership succeeds, they benefit equally. If it doesn't, they suffer equally. Commitment to each other is absolute and foremost, no boundaries drawn.

Limited Liability Companies: Just a weaker partnership, not necessarily a weaker marriage. Some boundaries exist. Partners are committed, yet withhold some territory as theirs alone. Like a private nest egg, veto rights on big decisions, an ex they still want to keep as "friend". Think love marriages with pre/post nuptials coded in.

Private Limited Companies: I think of traditionally arranged marriages as best fitting this format. The broad framework is drawn up beforehand between families, not the partners. These relationships operate as conglomerates. Marriage is less of a relationship between two individuals than an alliance between the families. Ledgers are maintained judiciously and accounting is sounder, not necessarily fairer than partnerships and LLCs.

Public Limited Companies: These are the real jewels in the basket. Auctions are set up and the highest paying bidder who benefits from this alliance wins the catch. Think middle class families raising their boys to be IAS officers in the hope of escalating their economic status in one marital sweep. Think marriages between business houses. Public offerings done not so privately.

I thought I had registered my marriage as a partnership. Am finding out it really is an LLC.

In which format is your marriage registered ?

 

Garam Masala

I have my favorite food columns. Jamie Oliver is so cool. The few recipe books collected over the 5 years of marriage are filled with enticing recipes. Yet, its another matter altogether to actually step into the kitchen and take charge of your food, three times a day, day after day. I am fighting my inertia to become friends with the kitchen. We are a bit awkward with each other right now.

You dig out a recipe. It seems so simple when you read it. When you actually set about it, atleast some ingredients are missing. You set about making tandoori chicken, and land up making garam masala. So you dig up a recipe for garam masala. Sanjeev Kapur says 10 things are needed. To hell with 10 things, you'll make it with 6.

You measure, you roast, you grind. You take off the lid and the magical aroma of freshly ground garam masala hits you. Sweet success.

The kitchen and you could be friends after all.

Feeding your family

I have been raised in a strictly middle class joint family.  Food was something functional and largely governed by budget. It was something that one working woman had to cook for a family of 10 members comprising mostly of adult males.

Our staple diet comprised of rice, lentils, over-cooked and spiced veggies and chapatis. Yoghurt, sweets, rice were a luxury. Salads were unheard of except the occasional slices of cucumber/radish or our plate. Steaming, baking, stir frying were techniques unheard of. If we got some custard with jelly and fruits, we were in seventh heaven. Good food meant something fried or sweet.

Times change. Disposable incomes change. Aspirations change. Exposure changes. Food habits seem to be sticky though.

I am a Dilliwalli, brought up on dal and aloo gobhi. He's a Mallu, brought up on dal curry and fish fry. We are both bored with the monotony of what we've been fed growing up and find our palate expanding gradually.

New flavors and techniques have been making inroads. I am fascinated to see the same old ingredients prepared in such different, delicious ways. I want to build a better, healthier relationship with food. I want to eat well at home and help my son (and husband) build the same habit. It seems like a daunting task.

Maybe Bangkok is where it will start falling in place.

Moving to a new country means...

....not quite knowing what to pack

....being reluctant to re-set your watch, knowing there's no turning it back

....trying to distract yourself with conveniences and sights to keep the loneliness at bay

....being in a tearing hurry to make that first cup of filter coffee at your new home

....savoring the less than perfect self-made dal, chawal, fish fry and pickle dinner

....finding comfort in personal objects, even the good ole ladle

Phir milenge Dilli,

Sawadee ka Bangkok ! 

Being a Mommy means...

...learning how to give, give and then some before you can expect anything in return

...learning how to love even when you don't feel loving

...dealing with a loneliness that is hard to explain to anyone but other young mothers

...changing your idea of luxury - 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep, 15 min showers

...living one day at a time, sometimes even half an hour at a time

...wanting more freedom but not being able to let go

...watching your insides dissolve each time your little one gives you that special smile