Still Furious, Still Sad, Still Upset, Still Mad....

After nearly 12 hours....


My baby hates parties. My baby hates crowds. As her stories and pictures amply demonstrate, she's a drop of pure sunshine in her own comfortable, familiar environs...

She plays, she gurgles, she laughs, she playacts, she's a regular dollop of delight...

But take her to extra loud, extra bright, extra crowded settings, especially in unfamiliar territory, and she dissolves into a mass of fear. And wails. Very very loudly. She's miserable and nothing soothes her until you get her out of that scary place...

I know that. And it doesn't surprise me, considering both her parents are pretty private, pretty reclusive people. So are her grandparents, largely. How is this girl, born into two highly introverted families, suddenly supposed to become a people seeker?

However, all situations can't be avoided. One doesn't want to appear rude. One doesn't want to seem unnecessarily unsociable.

So after turning down a rash of invitations one finally accepts one.

Last night was one such. A family do. My mom would be there. And other assorted relative-in-laws, from my brother's side.

Shaayari had been in top form all day. And I prepped her in advance saying we were going to place with lots of people, some babies, a dog, and granny. And she was not to be afraid, and she was to give all 'flying kishies' and say hi.

By the time we reached, it was nearly her bed time. Sleep grubby and confused, the house and lawn spilling with unfamiliar adults petrified my little one. She shrieked and howled. And awww... heartbreakingly - she remembered mommy's instructions, so in the midst of her wailing she kept blowing kisses at the highly amused and confused guests....

It didn't work. We had to rush her to a back room, switch on her favourite music channel on tv and rock her until she calmed. Which she did, the moment the crowd was out of sight...

But boy. Then the judgement started. How maladjusted. How socially inept. How badly brought up. How inccorrectly trained (hello, she's a child, not a dog) how singularly imperfect (hello, still a child, not a project!!).... How so-and-so's granddaughter loves all and sundry. And so-and-so's grandchild never cries. How that little one never watches any tv and this little one will say hello to all....

Yep, all old ladies. All competing with my mom and my mom getting embarassed on my daughter's behalf and offering explanations...

Which made me even more furious. Hey what happened to the family loving her for who she is and accepting her unconditionally? She's not an airconditioner who's tripped during the warranty period. She's my perfectly imperfect child of a myriad moods and many moments, high and low. She's my life experience and my greatest bag of surprises.

Why are we apologising on her behalf? Did she misbehave? No. Was she rude? No. Did she throw a tantrum and throw things? No.

Was she scared? Yes. Was she overwhelmed? Yes.

Hey. She's twenty months old.

Can she compete a little later please? Its bedtime. She's tired. I'd rather just sing her a lullaby.

Our little Tina Turner

Ab iska mundan kaise karaun? Batao?

Coming Home to Things

You come home from work and an exhausting gym session and find your baby alone in the house with the nanny and the cook (so far you're ok, you knew that)... with the front door wide open.

Yawning into a cruel stairwell, not to mention the unnamable horrors of life in Delhi.

Everyone is safe. Everyone is happy. Your baby jumps into your arms and as you inhale baby smell and feel podgy arms around your neck, you can't decide whether to wring the nanny and the cook's neck, or cuddle baby forever, or quit working.

Or simply thank a god you suddenly start believing in at such moments, for keeping baby safe.

This 'coming home to things' is the lot of working moms. The joys of it, the fears of it, the horrors of it, the delights of it, the wonders of it, the panic of it, the surprises of it, the shocks of it...

The utter unpredictable pallette of it.

The Coming Home to Things. And the realisation that for a mom, this is just the beginning.