The year that was

The year 2012 was full of revelations – about myself and about people I called my own. My daughter’s birth almost a year ago set in motion a series of incidents that left me bitter, full of rage and cynical. While I struggled to take care of my girl, deal with ailments and settle down in a new country, my extended family ensured that I sank emotionally. I have been through enough quarrels, borne enough insult, been shocked enough, and cried enough as people denied what horrible things they said. I might not be the most perfect being, but I am fair and decent enough. I have never badmouthed anyone (until now), never played dirty games, and never been disrespectful to elders. But when you are forced to listen to insults against your family, be manipulated for everything you say, be taken advantage of because you do not know how to hit back, expected to compromise for the sake of peace at home – something breaks and something changes. I have had enough. Enough of the doormat treatment! I still do not know how to end it, but I am not going to take it anymore.

Finding my feet

You cannot seek peace. You can only live your life, hoping it will seek you some day. And it sought me out last evening as I walked along the Marina reservoir, soaking in the silence evening brings, humming Wo shaam kuch ajeeb thi… It has been over a year since we left Hong Kong, and our life before our girl came along. Pregnancy, displacement anxiety, P’s work situation, family issues, and initial hiccups of parenthood have kept us away from relishing the adventure that moving cities and countries entails. And, I suppose, it has reflected in how I have lived my life in the past one year. Looking back, I am afraid, I have given people the impression that I have been bitter. I was bitter. Bitter the way one is when nothing makes sense. With no friends, nowhere to turn to for support, no help, a battered body and a little baby, I fear, I was depressed for some time. I did not step out of my apartment for days, feeling victimized and wronged. All the optimism that I had gushed about earlier on this blog deserted me. I was so forlorn, so unhappy that I shudder thinking about it now. Thankfully, I have begun to understand the injustice I have been doing to myself. Talking to random people, boring my mother and sister to death, and trying P’s last bit of patience, let me vent out. After months of complaining, I think my negativity is losing steam. Healing begins when you begin to accept your reality. Bit by bit, I am making peace with my situation. I have begun to pick pieces of my life, cherishing all the good stuff it has showered on me.

Bitter and sweet-II

I had never imagined that I would be caught in a complex web of hatred, slander and meanness, but I am. The people involved are some of my closest and the people targeted are the closest too. How can one demand respect when they do not know how to give respect. How can one claim to be hurt when they let go no opportunity to hurt. In the vicious cycle I am caught what I say gets used against me and sadly accepted too.

Bitter and sweet-1

It has been five months since my girl's birth. Five long months that have been filled with countless lessons and revelations about me and others. In the strange world of relationships we tread, there are no caveats about what a possible step could entail. What things seem and what they are - are two different things. And, it is when the two realities collide and put things into perspective, the worthlessness of it all strikes. I am tired - rather shocked by how fragile bonds could be. One invests so much in other people, in forming bonds, but at the end of the day, you realize it was worth nothing. All it takes is ego, jealousy, insecurities and selfishness to undo it all. I am weary of what my daughter will learn out of it. I am disillusioned now that I know how grey the grey is. I often thought that I am fortunate to have been blessed with my little world. But like all bubbles, this one burst.

Get arty

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Bitter and sweet

In my ten days of motherhood, I have learnt:

1. A normal delivery is just a delivery with fewer complications but no less sweat.
2. Pain gets redefined once you go into labour.
3. The real work starts when the baby arrives.
4. Rest when you can because the rest can wait.
5. If you initially feel no love for the little being, it is alright. You are human and you need time to adjust to the big change.
6. The bonding will happen. It always does!
7. In the end you are on your own, so stop feeling sorry for yourself. But if you cannot, go ahead and cry, and then tighten your belt, and get some work done.
8. There is always a first time, so never shy from asking for help.
9. A lot of people will claim to be ready and to be in the process of doing a lot for you but when the time comes, it all goes poof!
10. Free advice should always be treated as free and readily dispensed with.
11. Some people get more credit than they deserve, and often, those who do the dirty work do not.
12. No one can be frailer and in need of more attention and love than women who have delivered a baby.
13. Expectations are a two-way street.
14. Time flies, so know what to do with it.

Sweet indulgences!

I have been shopping like there is no tomorrow – jewellery, sarees, suits, home stuff, utensils, baby clothes, gifts, make up. And, I am yet not quenched. I have always bought the essentials on my India trips, stocked up on what was not available; but with SG taking care of masalas, and other basic stuff needed in an Indian household, I am free to direct my energy and attention elsewhere. And what a ball it has been! Tough on the purse but energising for me and my frayed spirits!

I have not been able to venture far but been happy shopping in the little shops that dot the bazaar near my home. There is no fun like sitting in a shop, watching fabric after fabric falling in a heap in front of you. The variety available is a treat. Brocade and chanderi prints are the rage here, and just feasting on the blazing and antique finish colourful fabrics is enough to bring a smile on a woman’s face. Add to this, shopping for chikan suits and kurtis. There is something about this form of embroidery, full of nazaakat, that you can never have enough of it. The heavier and the brighter, the better!

I have walked down narrow lanes into dirt-wracked pooja bhandaars selling deepams and all stuff brass and its copy. It is not like walking into a fancy home store but the treasure hunt and prices are worth it. I visited a street market, going berserk buying spools of fancy lace at ludicrously cheap prices. They are bit shiny and gaudy, but then doesn't every thing find its place some day. Another great buy on this day out was a traditional wooden bangle stand. It has four horizontal wooden rods, with dome-shaped edges painted golden, balanced on roughly cut vertical, wooden blocks. It is not an excellent piece of artisanship but its crudity is what makes it pretty.

When I could and had the appetite, I jostled with crowds, with my pattal stretched, waiting for my turn for yummy golguppas. There is nothing like biting into a jalebi or samosa fresh out of the wok on a cold day.

Sadly, much of this has slowed down as the countdown to the d-day has officially begun. I am excited but slowly losing enthusiasm. The big day is no more months away and can no longer be postponed to the future. Bodily signs in preparation of the big day are slowly and silently making their appearance. It gets uncomfortable, not to mention the frequent mood swings, but the thought of all that I have bought and would buy in the future keeps me warm and happy. I may appear funny that way but that is how I am.