The Joy of Losing Liberties

Hey, if you think my new status of motherhood is inspiring all posts on birth and babies, that’s not true. However, this one is surely the result of my current emotion. All mommies will agree that the feeling of caressing your baby, cocooned against you surpasses all known joys. Every ounce of my pain and discomfort seems worthwhile when his petite hands come around me. These days not just mothers, even to-be-fathers talk to their fetals, it is not surprising then that we chatter away endlessly with our new borns . God alone knows what goes on in their tiny minds and what they make of the adult gibbering. But I know what goes on in my mind; I want my five months oldie to respond to my every uttered syllable.

It is beautiful to see the little one gradually beginning to react with his smiles, laughter and rhythmic sounds. Of course this is only one side of the response, he also shrieks, shouts and howls. It is all part of the growing up game. This increased intelligence with advancing months also means that he now recognizes faces, surroundings and voices. And you know what comes next… he recognizes me, mommy. “I feel elated” will be an understatement. Though he is extremely comfortable and playful with other family members, he searches for my face and longs for my arms after a while. Trust me, the first time he out-stretched his arms to come to me, I had an air of pride all around me. Finally, I was the chosen one. Probably this is their way to make up to mommies for changing their nappies through the night.

Well, there’s a slight whammy in being the chosen one. As much as I may regale about his bonding with me, it also comes to mean that now my absence does not go unnoticed by him. In the consequence, my restaurant visits are rushed apart from being seldom. Before ordering for a dessert, I need to check up at home if he is still in his happy-go-lucky mode or the tantrum state has set in. While shopping, the first thing that appears decent to me, I pick up. Can’t take the risk of rummaging through the store and modelling in the trial room while he rises from his siesta looking for his mommy dearest. Did you say movies in theatre? Ah! that option has been deleted from my entertainment itinerary since the little angel descended in my lap. A Bollywood flick barely reaches its climax in three hours while in the same three hours my baby feels hungry atleast twice, pees four times and poops atleast once. Phew! No question of being sane and sober after this schedule.

All said and done, the privilege and joy of being The Mommy is much greater than the whammy of losing the liberties. No experience of dining, shopping or movie going comes even close to the experience of watching your baby laugh in response to you. Long Live the Mommies… both- my mommy and my baby’s mommy.

...And Joy found Me

I gazed at the path so wide,
But it narrowed to an endless wait.

Words were parched yet feelings flooded,
Drops like dew came rolling down.

Candles melted, flickers faded;
Even shadows didn’t chase behind.

Lyrics too, of the poet died…
Scribbles remained on the surface white.

Heart ached and mind reasoned,
But my Soul knew its way out.

Hidden beneath the frame of bones,
Lied a treasure precious so.

Joys boundless and hopes bright,
Key was within…I unlocked the door.

The Question of Birth

“A child gives birth to a mother”, read a striking mural in Mumbai that set me thinking. It is a beautiful statement of profound sensitivity yet biological contradiction. And the depth of the contradiction struck me. A woman gives birth to a child but it is the child who gives birth to a mother. The ability to bring forth life is the most sacred privilege of a woman. However, the pain undergone in this creation is also one of the greatest known. Nevertheless, the kindling of the spirit of motherhood and its experience is the justice of the child.

Innumerable paeans and prose have captured the glory of a mother. Yet ever wondered what makes her so strong, so giving and so forgiving? Are these qualities innate in a woman? Yes, but only to a small extent. There is an extreme emotional transition at the birth of a child. This new surge of emotions is the result of conception of a new relationship and the consequent hormonal changes. The unremitting waves of love, incessant warmth of care and the spirit of nurturing define a mother. The little angel cocooned inside her is both the benefactor and the beneficiary of these feelings. The presence of this well of love in a mother is not a rule but usually the norm.

Yet, a conundrum comes to mind, is a loving mother also an equally loving person? Does the personification of sacrifice and unconditional love retain itself in other relationships also? We know the answer to this is not affirmative, or else we would have Goddesses all around. A mother’s love is centered most protectively around her own child. She smilingly sleeps in the wetness of her child, happily gives her share of the bread to him and wakes up readily at the slightest moan of her baby. Her love, if not confined, is concentrated on her own offspring.

A child is biologically his parents’ extension. Whether born of love or lust, he is physically a part of the mother, which adds immensely to the mother-child bonding. Does it imply that a mother’s love is evoked for the fact that the child is her creation? It is not totally a baseless assumption. A writer falls in love with his characters, an artist falls in love with his canvas, and a musician falls in love with his notes. Similarly, it is not unthinkable that a mother falls in love with her own ‘created’ child, who unlike other creations is rather alive and kicking, and mirror of her aspirations.

Another facet to this love is, does an adopted child also give birth to a similar mother? When a woman is unable to conceive a child that she so desires, a growing anguish and sadness engulfs her. The grief accentuates looking at other parents blissfully involved with their kids. In such times, the adopted child is then lavished with all the pent up affection and mollycoddled even more so, for he fills the noiseless void in his parents’ lives.

However, what happens when you have your own child and an adopted orphan as well? Though this practice is quite uncommon, it is catching up with celebrities. Nevertheless, it is of interest to ponder over the implications of such hypothetical families over a broader and general spectrum. This is the iron test of motherhood. Is a mother’s heart large enough to look beyond her own progeny? It is almost effortless for a mother to love and forgive her child but can she show similar feelings of effortless love for the other child as well. Why have we most often than not presented a stepmother in, even if flimsy, but a garb of wickedness. Yes, there is certainly an exaggeration in fiction, but fiction is also inspired by reality. A stepmother is also a loving mother but does the stepchild find the same place in her heart as her own child?

The question is open ended without any conclusion for it will be unjust to be judgmental about such a sensitive emotion. Motherhood is a very different avatar of the same woman. A child gives birth to a new set of emotions and feelings. Every mother loves his child irrespective of his physical and mental abilities or disabilities. However, it is for every mother and every woman to see if the gifted experience of motherhood can enrich her with even more love to spread beyond the question of birth.

The Attirical Amusement

I am not making any novel statement of narrative interest by saying that the Eastern and the Western worlds are culturally apart. Though there is a generous exchange now, the two are still visibly distinct in their fashion consciousness, gastronomical preferences and overall lifestyle. However, what amused me most was the contrast in dressing style amongst women in beach destinations in the two societies.

On my recent holiday to Europe, I visited a couple of exotic and beautiful beaches. The place was teeming with tourists, mostly European and Australian. These tourists covered a wide span of age from young girls to their grannies but one thing common amongst the female tourists was the uniformity in their costume. All of them were in their two-piece swim suits irrespective of their age or size. This is the accepted and appropriate attire in their culture for the purpose of swimming or wading whether in a pool or the open sea. It has no association to size zero or toned bodies in revealing costumes, as is evoked in the Indian perception.

Shortly after my European vacation, I had a quick retreat at one of Pondicherry’s beach resort. The sand was soft and surprisingly even the beach was clean as in Europe. However, there was one stark contrast, I now saw the crowd specifically women sea bathing in varied costumes. Little girls of four and five years were in their colorful floral swimsuits. Teenage girls of seventeen – eighteen were in slacks and t-shirts. And the more grown up ones were in salwar suits and yes a few of them even in sarees. No Indian living in India will be either astonished or bewildered at this scene and neither was I. it’s just that the European holiday was still a fresh memory and the simultaneous slides of the foreign beach with the local beach made me chuckle.

Seeing it from my pragmatic seat, it totally amused and amazed me. My amusement went a little further when the saree clad ladies took a plunge in the swimming pool in the same costume. Now this was a bit too much even for my realistic sensibilities. Yet from my unprejudiced recliner, I realized for the first time that however non-topical or frivolous our actions or behavior may seem, they are the result of our history and after undergoing a mutant transformation over centuries they influence a future culture.

Oxygen could be less, but there's enough Joy in the air

(Published on http://www.mindbodynsoul.com/ , Copyright http://www.mindbodynsoul.com/)

An Open Mind to Carry Oneself

The need for self-approval is striking at times. And “striking” in all its senses. “Fashion is being comfortable in your own skin”, is a rather clichéd definition. Moreover, the irony is that it has nothing to do with those saying it. After all, who isn’t comfortable in designer skins, when others lurk at your haute couture with jealousy?

A few evenings back at an uptown bar, my husband made a rather startling behavioral observation under the gleam of neon lights and sound of experimental DJ music. Every time a swanky woman entered the lounge, heads turned and eyes stared. But the interesting part is that this head count had more women than men. No there is no issue of lesbianism here (we already have an overdose of reports on it) and neither does the lounge invoke any such preferences in its female guests.

Women have their own reasons to look with interest at other women. Fashion feisty that we have grown; it matters if my Gucci is better than her Prada or her Dior outshines my Chanel. In addition, the accompanying paraphernalia of fashion is ever growing. After all, girls will be girls. From stilettos to hand bags, bracelets to chandeliers (they have found their place from our ceilings to the ears as well) it all counts. I have myself indulged in such conversations at parties and know others do as well. Just as you take the glass to the lips and turn around, you see another guest entering and between the sip you mutter, “Oh! What a gauche she looks”. Suddenly there is a glint in your eyes. The tackily dressed guest gives you a double bonanza. Firstly, you get something to gossip about and secondly and secretly it boosts your confidence and ego. One less to compete in style and panache.

Funny as it may sound, we spend half a fortune for our outfits to become conversational topics at social evenings. Well, I myself revel in such trivialities. However, that is how our sensibility and sensitivity have evolved. There is another interesting insight in the fairer sex behaviour. While in her late twenties and early thirties, basking in the prime of her youth, a woman desires to catch every man’s fancy. The same is also true of the men folk at this age, which is attracting the opposite sex. However, with time and age while most men grow out of this vanity, women change their target. Now the purpose of all embellishments and adornments is to attract every other woman’s attention. Yes, it is somewhat conceit but gratifies us nevertheless.

Whether you are a human rights activist, or an art aficionado, a litterateur or a socialite, what you wear and how you wear should say it all. And bling! Do it all with élan. Make a statement but the trick is to do it without words. I guess it is here that style and fashion diverge. Style defines the individual while fashion defines the designer. Our excessive fancy and over experimentation with fashion rather leaves us a nonentity. Stendhal, the great French writer remarked, “Only great minds can afford simple style.” I believe it is true because while great minds have strikingly fashionable ideas and thoughts, we are still hankering about Fall Winter Collection 2009. Maybe we hide our unimaginativeness behind the façade of ensembles and accessories.


Gail Rubin Bereny said, “Above all, remember that the most important thing that you can take anywhere is not a Gucci bag or French cut jeans; it’s an open mind.”

(Published in the Chennai Edition of Indian Express on 8th Oct. 2009, Copyright The New Indian Express)

Perennial Spark

Togetherness of loving hearts,
Is that marriage all about?
Naah! It means much more
With the daily trivialities around.

The usual rut and rancour there,
Bills to pay and noisy prams to care.
But blood still rushes to her cheeks,
When he brings her the pink peonies.

His shouting at the goals…
Her sobbing with the soaps…
But they look at one another;
And laughter fills those silly jokes.

Either have a honeymoon in marriage,
Or make marriage your honeymoon.
‘Cos when in love; it matters not
If you swim in Seychelles or your suburban pool.

Tuning to his habits is not marriage;
His presence rather becomes your need.
‘Cos when differences become enjoyable,
Soul mates emerge from mere bodies.

Life Goes On...

The headline read,
“Young girl raped and killed”.
And the next moment I saw,
A little girl prancing in the rain on street.

It was difficult to decide
If to feel happy for the little girl
Or let my joy die.

In the world of mortals
Where fate and will collide,
A lot of unwanted things
Happen in broad daylight.

I am perplexed to call it,
‘Detachment’ or ‘Indifference’,
Because I find myself
Helpless, a lot of times.

In the grind of our life
Nonchalantly, we carry on,
While some live and others die.