The Birth Story

               During my 6th or 7th month of pregnancy, I had read a blog where a woman gave a detailed account about her delivery. I felt quite shaken and scared as I went through it. But once I finished reading the entire article, I felt oddly confident. Like - Hey! Maybe.. just maybe I will also be able to go through with this without completely freaking out. The writer did not mince her words, but didn't make it sound grotesque either. She had written it all very matter-of-factly which i quite liked. I made my husband read it too and it made him sweat and shiver. Pfft,  men.

I don't remember the name of her blog anymore but if I do find it, I'll link it over here. Meanwhile, here is my account of my big day. I didn't want to write it since its now been more than 2 years since I delivered. And my theory is that only if the memory of the first birth vanishes completely from my mind will I be able to say to my husband,  "Hey, don't you think its time for another child?"

I remember watching this one episode from the TV show Friends where Rachel is in labour for 2 whole days. And I used to think - Nah! No way! That's just exaggerated. Noone stays in labor for thaaat long. She would've gotten a c-section long back. Well.. I'm no Rachel but let me begin by telling you that I was in labour for 21 hours. I get mighty proud saying it. And try throwing it out there every chance I get. When my husband says "I was on my feet for 5 hours today at office.", I usually respond with "Yeah well, I was in labour for 21 hours," . My poor husband. I don't think I will ever let him forget it. My child will also probably have a poster in her room that says "Your mother who you rolled your eyes at just now was in labour with you for 21 hours. 21 hours of pain. Just for you." 

So anyway,  I didn't have the whole "Oh my God, my water just broke" scene like in the movies. Which was a pity because I had practiced saying it so many times. Although my due date was right around the corner, my body wasn't doing whatever it should have been doing when it nears labour. 

I'm going to try and put it in metaphoric terms so as to not terrify or gross you people out completely. So let us suppose that there are these inflatable sliding doors inside my body that has to open for the baby to come out.  These doors must first deflate and then open up little by little. And that is when the water breaks. Well, my doors were fully inflated and tightly shut. My doctor said that if nothing happens within the next few days then, they would have to induce labour. 

I was so disappointed because I really wanted it to happen on its own. I tried everything. I walked, hopped, trotted, climbed up and down stairs. I did squats, cleaned the floors, ate spicy food, drank herbal tea (again that Friends episode was so informative.) but nothing was working. My husband flew down the night before I had my next doctor's appointment. Which made me feel a little less stressed. 

We went to the doctor's in the morning hoping to convince her to give me some more time. But before I even knew what was happening, I was lying on a hospital bed in the labour ward. But what about my sliding doors?! 

My doctor explained that the plan was that inorder to try and get those sliding doors to deflate, they would literally give it a little push.  She would jimmy a deflated balloon through the doors and fill it up with water forcing the doors to crack open a tiny bit. And thus jump starting the process. And all the while in my head I was going "You're going to WHAT???! Uh-uh. No way. Let's just cut me open right now." But she was convinced that this would be the safest and best option. And since I wanted to birth naturally as well, I gave in. 

The pains began almost as soon as the procedure was completed. Pulsating pain. Almost like contractions. Well, that was quick, I thought. I was already moaning and groaning. Back in my room, I found that my 6-year-old nephew had been waiting to see me.  He was a sensitive little soul and could never bear to see me in any sort of pain. I smiled through my pain and squeezed his hand kept telling him "I'm okay. I'm okay" without flinching while trying to stay upright. But still I could tell the little fellow was a bit shaken.

 As soon as he left I lay in bed trying to find a position that helped ease the pain. My husband was constantly by my side, holding my hand telling me to squeeze his hand everytime I felt the pain take over. One minute it would be so intense that I can hardly breath and the next minute its gone and I'm chatting with H about something on TV and taking selfies. It was so weird. I was afraid people would think I was faking it for attention.

I was asked to eat dinner early since I wouldn't be allowed to eat anything once I was taken into the labour room. My mom was feeding me chapati and some curry when I was suddenly overcome by a huge wave of pain that I hurled. And along with the vomit, I felt something pop down south and looked down to see that my clothes were soaking wet. I finally got to say "My water broke!"

Except no. It wasn't my water. It was that damned balloon. It had burst. Ugh!

I was taken into the labour ward shortly after that. The labour ward consisted of two lines of beds separated by huge curtains. I was able to hear various levels of crying from behind each curtain. Which was extremely relaxing. Not.

Only my mom was allowed to remain with me in the ward. This was the first time my mom got the opportunity to witness any of her daughters in labour. And I don't think she's going to want to again.  I get it now being a mom myself. Seeing your kid writhe in pain while knowing that there isn't much you can do to make her feel better is just pure torture. I feel sorry for making her go through that.  But I don't think I could have done it without her.  

Since I had vomited everything, I felt hungry again and begged the nurse to let me eat.  She finally agreed to let my mom bring me some food. And my mom brought me two slices of bread with jam. I looked at her like "Are you seriously kidding me?" I was hungry enough to eat thirty packets of bread. I told her I wanted more.  And that is how I got to eat the first ever meal that my husband made for me.  Those absolutely delicious bread and pineapple jam sandwiches that he made and handed over to my mother. 

After confirming that nothing would be happening that day, the nurses decided to give me a sedative so that I could sleep through the pain and go at it again in the morning. And I tell you, sedatives are freaking awesome. It felt so wonderful and nice. I could tell that the pain was still very much there but I was just too sleepy to care. 

But that blissful slumber did not last as long as I wanted. At the crack of dawn, I was up again and was being poked and probed. The nurses came every 15 minutes to check the baby's heartbeat and to check if I had dilated enough. And I just wanted to tell them to leave me the hell alone. This went on till mid-day. The pain was starting to get severe. 

At one point I grabbed hold of my mom and said " Okay enough, I don't want to do this anymore. Let's just go home." I was so thirsty but wasn't allowed to drink water so my mom kept wetting my lips with coconut water, like the nurses suggested. My shrieks went from sad and desperate "Amma.. Ma.. Amma..enough, Ma" to furious cries of "AMMA! AMMA! AMMA!", like I was mad at her as though she was responsible for this pain. 

The doctor asked me if I wanted an epidural, but me having so much stupid faith in my own level of tolerance thought I could endure just a little bit more. So I said no. 15 minutes later, I was like "Hey doc, about that epidural you were talking about. I changed my mind. I'll take two, please." But she told me that I was almost at the final lap and that I had dilated a good amount. The words I'd been waiting to hear for so long.  

Soon the doctor asked me if I wanted to try and start pushing. It was all that I wanted. I pushed with all my might. Everyone in the waiting room heard my shrieks. But now it was more of war cries rather than helpless yelps. I was on a mission. So I continued to push. I pushed while I was being wheeled into the delivery room. I pushed as I hobbled onto the bed. I was so busy pushing that I didn't notice that the room was suddenly filled with an army of male and females nurses.

 Normally I would've freaked out about having being so exposed in front of so many strangers. But at that point I didn't care if the whole entire population of Kerala was there as long as they got this child out of me. 

My doctor came in calm as ever. She was even humming a song.  I immediately felt at ease. She told me I was doing very good and to continue pushing. And there is nothing I love more than people complimenting me on my effort. Besides there were so many people around cheering and shouting encouragements at me that I felt so damn motivated. "Come on! You can do it! Very good! Almost there! We can see the head! One more push, come on!" 

I pushed and pushed and....

*plunck*

I froze. My eyes widened and my mouth was open but no sound was coming out. It was a sensation I could never put into words. It was so quick and sudden, I think I was in shock.  In my head, the whole room had fallen to a silence when it was actually probably quite noisy. 

The next thing I heard was my doctor saying-"Pennkutty aane tto - Its a girl!" My face broke into a humongous smile. One of the nurses laughed and said ooh look at that smile! 

I was so surprised because I had somehow made up in my mind that it was going to be a boy because I terribly secretly yearned for a girl. My whole family, as well had predicted that I would have a boy for some reason or the other. I wish I could've seen their gob-smacked expressions when they found out.

I looked around to catch a glimpse of my newborn daughter. I didn't have my glasses on so from a distance I saw a blurry, very tiny dark head. 

The nurses around me continued to poke me and stitch me up or whatever but my whole attention was at that corner of the room. I think I was a bit light-headed from the medications. I said to the guy who was checking my bp "Edo, ende kochine kaanikke. ende kochine endha thaan kaanikaathe." (show me my baby,  why you no show me my baby.) And he said they would in a minute. She was being cleaned up immediately since she had ingested some fluid. 

Now my cousin had advised me that during labour it is best not to cry since it would take up energy unnecessarily. I had screamed, moaned, yelled and groaned but I had managed to get through it without shedding a tear. Until that moment.

I saw the nurse come over to the bed. She held my baby's face close to mine so that I could see her clearly. A tiny round pink face. With two tiny dark eyes and a funny nose and the tiniest little rosebud mouth. With a shock of black hair. The nurse gently pressed my baby's cheek against mine which was wet from my tears. She felt so warm. And so so smooth. I wanted her to stay there like that. 

But they took her away to show to my family. I wanted to stop them. I wanted to look at her some more. I craned my neck to see her until they walked out the door. 

The exhaustion hit me like a wave. I completely conked off and fell into a deep sleep. Like my sister says the best nap ever! 

Once I was moved back into the ward again, I met my baby again. And fell in love all over again. That's when I really got to take her in. Touch her. Count all her fingers and toes. Smell her. Kiss her. Tear up looking at her again. She bit right into me during the very first feeding and left me bleeding. But I didn't mind very much.  I was too much in awe that she could've sucker punched me all she wants,  I would've just sat there and gawked at her in amazement.

The next best moment was when I was finally released from the labour ward. I was wheeled out and welcomed a crop of smiling faces. My dad who patted my head and looked proud. My poor sleep deprived but happy mom, my two sisters who were beaming with happiness, my two excited and ecstatic nieces and my very concerned but sullen nephew (He was pissed that it turned out to be Another girl. He forgave me eventually though.)

This moment felt like my glory moment. Like I had gone and done something so great and emerged a hero. Like I had won a long race. And at the finish line were all these smiling faces. In my head they were applauding as well. 

My husband, who had gone to get some medicines, met me near my room. He came up to me and squeezed my hand. I could see the joy and pride in his eyes. We were parents! We have our own little girl! It felt like a dream. One we never wanted to be awoken from. We looked at each other while smiling like crazy.

And that was it. From there began the rest of my life. Life as I know it now. Life as a mother. A fairly okay mother. I think.  Haha, More on my mom-ventures later!  

Life After Marriage

I started writing this post ages ago. Never got around to finishing it. I figured I better post it now before my life changes all over again and this would seem irrelevant. 

It has been a year and a half since I got married. And I don't think the fact that I'm a wife has still settled in. Though there has been a few random changes in me. Few things that were new or weird to me. Here are the things that are different since I tied the knot.

FAT : For people who thought "This girl is so skinny, when'll she ever get some flesh on her bones", your wait is over. I am officially fat. I know slightly overweight people will look at me and scoff thinking "you call that fat?". But for a person who could still fit into her 6th grade tights at age 27, yes I am fat now. Forget bout 6th grade clothes, I don't even fit into the 100s of clothes I got just before the marriage. At first I thought my clothes were shrinking because of the water or something. Then in a picture, I noticed my upper arm is now the size of both my upper arms together. And I had to throw away 3 pairs of jeans because I couldn't put the button on. These are things I have never ever witnessed before. It was almost scary. All of my sisters' clothes used to be too loose for me. Now I don't even fit into their tiny-miny clothes. I've become a friggin giant! The saddest moment was when my collar bones were no longer visible. They were the favouritest part of my body. And now they've gone, without a warning. All the aunties who kept bugging me to put on more weight are now like "whoaaaa, don't put on any more, okay?" I thought I was the kinda person who'd never get fat. Apparently not. Thankfully, my husband has also joined me in this fat journey. So we don't look weird together.

PET : The only pets I've ever had up until then were dogs. That stayed outside. Who I pet and played and fed on some days. My dad took care of them all the other days. I was completely oblivious to their existence on most days. Until I got married to a crazy animal lover. The first thing he got was a tiny little frog. Which was cute. It hardly ever did anything. Feeding it was fun and I didn't have to do the cleaning. And then we got a tiny little turtle. Which was adorable too. It kept escaping from its container and we'd frantically search for it. We figured the frog and the turtle could be friends. All very cute until the turtle chewed the frog's leg off. After a tearful burial of the frog, we went and got a rabbit. A tiny lil adorable fur ball. Who would climb up our back while we were sleeping and curl up in my arms like a little

baby. Who shit like crazy and peed all over our until then clean room. Who died on the third day, before we could even name him. The rabbit dying was just too much for me to take. No more pets, I said. And then proceeded to get two more rabbits (both which died), another turtle (who died) and finally a snake. Yes, a snake. Wasn't my idea. Don't even ask. And no, I do not touch it. We now live with a cat. And people who know me knows that I'm not exactly a cat-lover. So I'd rather not comment on the cat. Or this whole blog post will end up being about it.

SILENCE : The place where I live now is very very quiet. My in-laws are quiet people and everyone does everything quite quietly. Back in my house, I usually wake up to the sound of a toddler singing at the top of her voice, another one crying out her lungs,the neighbor and his singing class, the mixie in the kitchen whirring, the maids chattering, the t.v blaring, the dog barking madly, my dad yelling at someone or the other and my mom laughing hysterically on the phone. We also have a radio in every room. There are days when I'm back home and I miss the silence. But on most days, the silence here is almost deafening. I find it especially hard to fart or burp loudly because I feel the sound echoes.Although sometimes I feel the silence is soothing.

LIVING WITH A BOY : I grew up in a house full of girls. Even if I go visiting my cousins, I have a total of 38 girl cousins and some 9 or 10 boy cousins. (It took me a while to calculate that) So life for me had been predominantly around girls. Most of my closest friends are also girls. So life with a boy, I figured was going to be really really new for me. Surprisingly though, the boys in this house are a lot like me. In fact, I feel I'm messier and slobbier than them. Boys are surprisingly neat. I'm the one who usually leaves the wet towel on the bed. And the leaving the toilet seat up doesn't really bother me because it makes sense to do that because there are more men in the house. But then again there has been so many instances where I've been surprised by something my husband or his brother does which has had me raising my eyebrows like "Really? You're allowed to do that?"
Boys don't seem to care much about a lotta stuff like girls do. Like they don't go out and buy a new pair of shoes and then find the need to show it everyone in the family and discuss all its wonderfulness. They're very particular about their stuff. If you move their things from the middle of the room into a more reasonable location, they get all mad about it. And its not like you mean to forget where you moved it. I discovered a lot about boys and their underwear habits. Which I'd rather not discuss here and get murdered by my husband.

FOOTBALL, CARS AND BOY MOVIES : I used to watch football even before I got married, but then that was because this game was so much easier to understand than cricket. And also, David Beckham. Now I'm proud to say, I know names of players who aren't David Beckham. I know most of the teams in English Premier League. I know what an English Premier League is. I have watched matches from the beginning to the end without siding with the team who had the cuter players. I have watched a match in a public place around other football enthusiasts and not felt completely out of place. I have also worn a football jersey on many occasions. (Though my husband is always scared I'll spill something on it) And I also somewhat kind of know what offside means too. Its when someone scores a goal and noone shouts and scream excitedly.

I didn't know much about cars at all. When someone once asked what my favorite car is, I googled the most expensive car or something and learnt the name Lamborgini. Now, I can identify some cars. And I get it right most of the time. And I found out that the year makes a difference in the model of the car. And now when I hear Ford, I don't always think of my dad's dear old Ford that he drove us around in for 14 years, I think Mustang. I think of Shelby or Cobra.
I used to be a hard-core fan of chick flicks. I change channels until I see a movie with nice bright lighting and and upbeat background music. My action movie knowledge is limited to Speed and Mission Impossible, maybe. In the past two years, I've watched more action movies to make up

for all the action movies I've missed out on my whole life. And I've found that I loved most of them. I was completely floored by Iron Man. He is absolutely the coolest superhero ever. Sometimes I bargain with my husband and make a deal for one boy movie if he watches one girl movie with me. But it doesn't faze him. He falls asleep sometimes but most of the time he holds his court pretty well. Once I made him watch Pirate Fairy, a Tinkerbell cartoon, as a joke because he made me watch a lot of boy movies in a row. And he got more interested in the cartoon than I did. I thought I'd just make him watch for a few minutes until he begs me to stop it. Instead he made me watch a good half hour and watched the rest of it on his own. My evil plan completely back fired.

LATE NIGHTS OUT : My dad wasn't exactly strict. But he wasn't exactly  the type who'd let us roam about outside after a decent hour. It wasn't really a big deal because I didn't really have anywhere to go either. But after marriage, when my husband suggested we go eat an ice cream at 2 in the morning, I was surprised and beyond excited. I've seen stuff like that in movies and I knew guys from my college who'd tell me about their midnight long drives and junk food rounds. Walking down that road in the silence of the night was one of the most romantic and exciting things ever. My husband was surprised and I'm not sure he understood what it meant to me. What I loved the most was that I felt safe.

So that's some of the changes I've gone through after marriage. There are so many many more, some mention-able and some not. But the fact is that I'm still changing. Everyday. I'm figuring things out as it comes, I'm making new discoveries. And I think that's what marriage is about. I'm not the person I was one and a half years ago. And I'm sure one and a half year from now, I'm going to be even more different. Life never seem to stay the same for too long nowadays. I'll see you guys at the next milestone. :)

Greedy Pop

Growing up, I was what you'd classify as one among the "awkward" girls. I wasn't in the popular group. I wasn't in the bad girls group. I wasn't in the brainy kids group. I wasn't in the athletic kids group. I was just that - awkwardly stuck between the many many cliques. Even today when people from my school adds me on Facebook, especially if they belonged to any of the above groups, I'm so completely wonderstuck that they actually recognize and remember me. When all this while I thought I'd been invisible.

I wasn't a loner or anything. I did have my group of friends. Every year a different group. Mostly just kids who sit next to me. And their friends. When those kids get shuffled and put into different classes the next year, the walls between us causes us to drift apart. My sisters were part of these really big gang of girls. And they'd tell me the kind of fun they'd have. Though I'd never craved to be a part of a big group, I'd always wondered what it'd be like. And what I'd be like if I were in a big group like that.

I got my chance during one lunch break in 4rth or 5th grade. I was on my way back from canteen. And on my way I passed by one of the biggest gangs of my class. I think it consisted of ten girls or so. All beautiful, popular and/or brainy. One of them beckons me. I walk up to her and is immediately surrounded by the whole gang. She looks at the chicken sandwich (or atleast I think it was a chicken sandwich) in my hand. 

"You want to join our group?" she asked.

Just like that. Do I want to join? I looked at her like I didn't understand what she was saying.

"You want to join or what?" 

In the distance, I can see my two friends waiting. And I'm torn. My mind was whirring.
This is my break. My big opportunity to get into the big gang of popular girls. My folks would be so proud. (Yes, they actually would've been. My dad always wanted me to hang out with the bright and brainy kids so that I get influenced or whatever). My whole life could change with this one minute.What about my friends? Oh, I can still be friends with them and still be in this group. They'd understand!  I should just say yes. Yes, yes, YES!

"Yes", I said timidly.

"What? We can't hear you. Speak loudly."

"Yes!"

"Okay, good. So she is now part of our group now, okay?"

She takes a candy bar. Hobby, I think.

"Here, take this." she said holding it out.

I'm hesitant. 

"No, its okay. I don't want. Thanks"

"Arey, just take it, yaar. We're all friends now."

I'm still a bit reluctant, but I manage to reach out and take the chocolate.

And regretted it a second later. The minute the chocolate was in my hand, all the girls who had been standing around watching the whole exchange started chanting at the top of their voices.

"GREEDY POP, GREEDY POP, GREEDY POP, GREEDY POP"

Okay, Don't ask me what a greedy "pop" is. But I was terrified. And so damn humiliated. I let go of the chocolate and ran away as fast as I could. Not stopping to look back while they continued to chant and laugh at me. I don't remember where I ran to. I remember crying. I remember vowing to get revenge and all that. But I don't think anything happen. Everybody forgot about it and so did I. I never really thought much about it after that. Just a stupid little incident.

It was only after I had grown up, I realised that I had an aversion towards gangs. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have had small groups of friends too. But I've never gone up and tried to become part of an already established gang of friends again. I'd make friends with a person, but when I realise they're part of a group, I'd slowly move away from them, rather than be forced to join in. When introduced to a group of people, I get nervous and fidgety and anxious. And like I want to run away as far as I could as fast as I can. Which is stupid, because its not like they're going to suddenly start yelling greedy pop, greedy pop or anything.  I somehow expect them to pull the rug from underneath me at any moment.
I don't know what the point of this post was. I just suddenly remembered this incident couple of days ago. I had always dreamt of one day becoming rich and famous and driving to my old school in a huge fancy Porshe in front of all those girls and screaming Greedy Pop in their faces. But then here I am unemployed and old with a life that is going nowhere. And most of those girls have got amazing careers and are married with kids and, this is the worst part, have gotten incredibly hot over the years. Ugh. I wish my life was an American teen movie.
But then life goes on. I don't think I hold a grudge against them anymore. In one way or the other, they helped me become the person I am today. And while its not the best person imaginable, its not too bad either. I may not have the dream life that I dreamt of. But I am pretty happy what I've got. I married a fantastic guy, I have a few close good friends and an amazing family. And this blog that all you awesome-sauce people read! I wouldn't trade all that in for anything. Not even a shiny Porshe. :)

Here Comes The Bride!

So I finally went and did it. I went and got meself one of them husband things.

It’s been a while since I got married and I kept meaning to post about it but wasn’t sure how to write anymore, without hurting feelings and sentiments and opinions. But I felt a little bad not sharing it with you guys because I’ve written a lot about marriage and prospective grooms and stuff on this blog before.

My wedding day wasn't exactly the one that I had been picturing since I was a little girl. Well, thank god it wasn’t. I’m not sure if I’d still have wanted my groom to show up on a pink horse or a flying carpet or burst out of the ceiling…. Okay who am I kidding! That would have been awesome.

But seriously though, my wedding went by quite peacefully. I didn’t trip and fall on my face. I didn’t stick out my wrong hand for the ring. I didn’t start a giggling fit. Most of the day went by in a very hazy mode. You know how it feels when someone wakes you up too early to do something? And you know that once you finish it you can go back to sleep? So you don’t bother to fully wake up. And so you’re not sure if the things you’re doing you’re doing for real or if you’re dreaming. That’s what it felt like most of the time.

I kind of liked the dressing up part. Ok, I loved the dressing up part. Every time I freaked out before the wedding, my friends and sisters would be like “Think of all the shopping you get to do. Think of the wedding day as a free make-over day.” And it was just that. Like someone did a make-over on me. I didn’t look like me so it kind of felt like I was pretending to be someone else who does big grown up things like get married and stuff.

The place where I had to go dress up was crawling with brides. There were about 9 or 10 other girls over there who were getting married the same day. So the feeling that you’re the prettiest girl in the room on your wedding day wasn’t too strong at that point.

But I loved the attention. And one lady said I had nice hips. When I didn’t even think I had a visible one. Once they were done with me, I felt like I had to walk in slow-motion and had a here-comes-the-heroine background music running in my head all the time. I couldn’t move my head left or right or look up or down. But it was still awesome. I loved the ride home where passersby casually look in the car and then do a double-take. I had an urge to smile and do the royal wave at them all.

Once I was home, I hated not being able to run about freely because there were so many things I wanted to do but with the heavy saree and jewellery and fake hair and the flowers, I was literally tied down. Someone had to spoon-feed me some breakfast. After which, the photo session began. Or resumed actually. I’d had almost enough of the pre-wedding photoshoot the night before. It was fun at first, pretending to be a model and stuff. But then you think they’ll say, ok, that enough, that’s it. But they don’t. Two hours later you think, ok, this is gonna be the last click. But its not. And I knew I’d have to do the embarrassing poses. But one photographer wanted me to lie on the floor with my legs all twisted and turn in really bizarre ways. I am not sure what sort of photography he used to do before this. And the lights make you sweat. And the flash makes you blind. I have a whole new respect for models who does this day in and day out.

Before we left home, me and my sisters had a “Oh my god, look at you? Aaaaaaaaaaah!” moment as they squeezed my hands. I guess it was at that moment a tiny bit of tension arose. I pushed it aside. Naah, it’ll be okay. We’re just playing pretend wedding.

I loved how everyone approved of the way I looked that day. Noone complained that my hair was not right or I’m not wearing bangles or how my neck is too bony. They’d all come rushing towards me with a urgent expression – eyebrows knitted with anxiety and searching eyes. And once they saw me, their shoulders relaxed along with their eyebrows and a huge grin form on their face from side to side. Score from annoying aunties! Actually double score- they couldn’t complain about the way I dress or the fact that I still wasn’t married, anymore.

I got a little fidgety in the dressing room in the wedding hall. The groom hadn’t arrived yet. And I always had this huge huge nightmare where my groom doesn’t show up on my wedding day. I know, it’s probably because I watch too many silly movies. And also I look so nice, it would’ve been a shame if he didn’t come and see that.

Anyhow he did turn up soon and it was time to do the walk down the aisle. Two rows of girls with oil-lamps and would walk before me and I’d follow them at the end of the row. Okay, apparently during the walk, one of the girls accidentally set another girl’s hair on fire. And I didn’t even see it! When they told me later, I wanted to kick myself for not having seen. I always miss the fun stuff. I was in that haze thing I told you about earlier.

I’ve often wondered what the brides think about while walking down the aisle. The future that lay ahead? The enormity of the act they were about to perform? Their loved one waiting at the end of the aisle? All that was running through my head was “Please don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, who put these stupid F**%$^g wires on the floor? Oh my god, don’t fall, don’t trip!” I had originally wanted to walk smiling at everyone and waving if possible. But I didn’t feel like smiling at anyone. Until I looked up at one point. And I saw the guy on stage who actually wants to marry me, happily unaware of how crazy his life is going to get. And I broke into a smile. It was a private personal moment. Except it wasn’t. Later when the wedding album came, that secret smile was plastered across a double spread. Oh well.

Once I was on stage, I wanted to talk to him and go all “Dude, how freaky is this!” And laugh about it. I barely even managed to look at him without feeling all awkward. I think he told me I look nice. Ha-ha, score for him.

Later the pujari guy made us hold hands and say a lot of chants. Which made me want to laugh a little. Because some of the words sounded so funny, I was pretty sure he was just making them up as he said it. Then he made my dad take my hand and put it in the groom’s hand. Which made me kinda sad. Because of the symbolism. And my dad said stuff which I think means “I give you my daughter..” which made me sad.

Then the major things happen. I was in a haze during most of this too. Except when he tied the knot. And the music started. It usually gives me goosebumps, this point of a wedding. Well, at mine… I broke into tears. I don’t know if anybody noticed. I didn’t like cry out loud or anything. I just had tears streaming down my face. I wasn’t crying because I was unhappy. I was crying because at that moment, that was when realization hit. That I’m not playing a game and pretending to be a grown-up. I actually doing this very huge thing. It’s actually happening. And I felt dead scared. He noticed. And he whispered “Please don’t cry.” Which helped.

By the time it was time for the sindoor, I forgot to feel scared or cry. Because  I’ve seen the sindoor scene sooo many times in movies. And that moment felt so filmy, I wanted it to happen in slow motion. I looked at him with my filmiest eyes. I was also trying not to giggle. That momentary feeling of maturity I’d felt had passed.

The part where we had to hold hands and walk round and round was pretty fun too. I tried to send him a secret message by squeezing his hand according to the alphabets. But he was concentrating too hard on walking.

The rest of the wedding went by in a whir. My mom got to get me to drink milk after many many years. And this time I couldn’t roll up on the floor and kick and scream and throw a tantrum about it. I smiled at and took photographs with so many people, most of them who went “You remember me? Yes? Then say who I am” Aarrrrrg, so annoying, especially because of course I don’t remember them!

When it was time to leave, I cried. So did the rest of my family. But that was expected. It’s kind of a norm in our family. Even if we don’t cry the rest of the 365 days of the year, we can and we will cry at one of our own’s weddings. And this was the last wedding in our family. Which made it all the more sad (Probably not so sad for my dad who’s paid for all three of his girls’ weddings)

And that’s the story of my wedding day. It was exciting and it was exhausting. All those months’ preparation had finally come to an end. But I’m also a little sad that its over. I can’t go shopping crazy and nobody would think it was normal or okay anymore. I can’t have people at the parlour ask “Bride?” to me and then proceed to treat me better than the other non-bride people. I can’t wonder about what my wedding day would be like, like I have been since I was a little girl. I can’t look all nice and get up on stage and be centre of attraction again. Unless I decide to do a dance or sing on stage or something later in life. Which I know I won’t. I can’t randomly boss people around because I’m the bride (Don’t do this for too long, or they might ask you to go to hell.)

But hey, I’m a wife now. And that’s a whole other ball game. I know it won’t be easy. But as long as I have a few filmy moments here and there, I should be fine. My “life as wife” posts will follow shortly. So watch this space. :-) 

Tree of Wisdom

So it was one of those ordinary days when I hadn't done anything out-of-the-ordinary. Just sitting on my behind, whiling away time, wondering if tomorrow will be any different. Since it was an exceptionally breezy day, I took a walk in the yard around my house. My niece joins me and soon we were this happy duo sitting on a stone, singing nursery rhymes and pointing out funny looking clouds. My mom and sister were trying to pick ripe guavas from the guava tree nearby.
Now since the day my hormones acted up, I knew that my being the tallest in the family is going to bring me absolutely no good in future. It didn't. It brought me a slouch. It brought me the embarrassment of being the only head sticking out above the others in family portraits. It gave me the rare privilege of being called up in case a "thotti"(a stick used to pick fruits and stuff from trees) was unavailable. So I had to put an end to my perfect evening setting and prance around the guava tree trying to reach the ones on the higher branches. Then, I don't know if it was my sister or my mom, whoever it is who has been secretly plotting a revenge scheme for the past few days (probably for finishing all the chocolate biscuits in the house. In my defense, that extra few inches of height always makes me a little extra bit hungry always), figured that if I could climb up a little, I'd have better reach to the riper guavas. Okay first of all, the last time I climbed a tree was some 20 million years ago. And secondly, I was wearing a skirt, which is definitely not tree-climbing friendly. And thirdly, the tree was infested with huge red ants. In any case, mom and sister persuaded me. And also because my niece was looking on in awe. So in an attempt to impress a 3 year old, I mount up the first branch.
It wasn't too bad. I soon had both my legs off the ground.
Good start.

The trick is to find the right branches to grab on to so as to pull yourself higher. A little shaky but progressing well. I put my feet up on a higher branch and slipped slight. That's when I yelled at the top of my voice "Oh my god, I'm going to die!"
My audience who up until then were shouting up directions burst into laughter. Not very encouraging when I'm engaging in a life-or-death activity here. Anyhow, I proceed higher and with an occasional ant in my mouth and branch poking my ear, I picked my first guava. I waited for an applause. I got none. 
Instead my mom hoisted up a stick and told me to pick one on the edgier branches. Seriously, did she think I was training to be a trapezes artist? More shakiness. I managed to pull down a few more guavas. After a couple of minutes of them shouting up simply un-do-able instructions and me shrieking that I was Definitely going to die now, we decided it was enough. Mom told me to slide down a branch like Tarzan does in that cartoon. I looked at it and well, it certainly did look pretty slide-y. Nope, no way, I'm not out of my mind. I'm not a 2D character. I tried to move slowly but steadily.

Suddenly I have no idea what happen. It was a blur of green and WHAM! I was on the ground floor sitting pillions on the lowest branch. My leg hurt like it was broken into a billion pieces. I bet it was. I let out a yelp. I was helped out of the branch. I am so never climbing bloody trees again in my life. I wanted to keep a straight face in front of my niece. I wasn't very successful. I howled and cried and made faces and cringed and soon lay in bed like an invalid. Okay so maybe the leg wasn't broken. Wasn't sprained even. I mean, I took such a great fall, it could have atleast sprained a little. All I had was a few measly scratches on my left ankle and a tiny cut on my foot. Blah.
But being the drama queen that I am, I moaned and groaned and cringed whenever someone even looked at it. The last time I got to put up such a moan-fest was in college when I hurt my finger with a razor while searching for a razor in my bag. It was a bit bloodier then. Cried buckets. My roommates came up with the biggest cloth band-aid possible. Called my folks at home and cried and exaggerated and all. And just like they did  today, they laughed at me then too. I live with a bunch of hyenas. And I remember holding it up and waving it at every random person who walked by me. A few were quite offended I think because it was my middle finger that I had hurt.

Anyhow, back to now. As I sat there looking at my injured foot, I kept thinking how on earth do little kids do it? Get hurt like this on a regular basis. Because it really did sting. How on earth did I  do it when I was younger? Maybe your pain hormones or whatever grows as your grow older. Oh well, it isn't every day you fall from a tree and hurt your foot. Not when your 26 atleast. So I hobbled all the way over to the computer balancing on my niece's shoulder (who was, by the way the only one who is treating me like the injured soul that I am) and blogged about it.  Even as I was falling the second thought (the first was of course that I'm going to die now.) was that this would make a great tweet/status message/blog post. That doesn't make me pathetic, does it? Well, a little I guess. My last words before death would probably be Somebody..please...take...a..picture...and...post it...on...FB..... :-/
My mom told me that this fall was probably God's way of telling me I'm too old for this shit now. He's probably sitting up there with His head in His hands going "How many times do we have to go through this?"
Um.. whoops?

All for a Speck of Happiness

I need a new best friend.

Uh, no...not a human one. Not an invisible one either, got enough of those. I meant the ultimate man's best friend..A Dog!

It's so dumb that the woman's best friend are supposed to be diamonds.. I mean Diamonds are rocks..an inanimate thing...and men get dogs.. How sad does that make women look? Hi, my best friend is a rock. That is just dumb. And so not true. Women's true best friend would be something like....um...chocolate ice creams and discount sales.. ok ok so they're inanimate things too but they're a lot more closer to dog than diamonds are.

Anyhow, I've been watching all these movies with dogs and cats and monkeys and stuff and how people seem so content with life with the whole slow-mo running in the wind and happy kind background music n all.. I want that.. I need a new happy quotient in my life. I figured it'd be fun. It'll be like looking after a little baby and I'm super good with babies. The only difference is not I'm not even a wee bit afraid of babies...like I am of dogs. I'm not thaat scared of dogs.. I mean I could look at them hours.. in pictures or on TV or from a distance. It's just the way they're always moving about.. as in there is no certainty as to what they'll do next. I can't live with the suspense that comes with dogs. And also, the barking. My neighbour's dog is just adorable well.. from this side of the wall. But when it starts barking in the middle of the night.. I mean, again there is no warning. It's like a gun shot. One minute its all quiet and cute and then WOOOOOOFF! Its like a bazillion decibels.. And I swear that is what is going to cause my heart to stop one day. I'm putting that neighbour's dog's name on my death note.

Okaaay.. so maybe dogs are not my best option. I considered cats, but their meow is just so whiny and clingy and yueaack.. Also its not just their meow thats yucky... This one time I was sitting in my balcony staring into nothingness, when I see this cat strolling along on the roof of my house. We make eye contact. I wondered if I should run (ok blah so I'm kinda scared of cats too. I'm scared of anything that has claws.) But then I figured it was at a safe distance so I settle down and decided to have a bit of a chat. It was the most attentive cat, I'd ever met. It never took my eyes off me throughout the conversation. But it was also highly inexpressive which made me feel a little awkward. All of a sudden the cat starts jerking its head back and forth, like a bad dance move. I'm like what the.. and BARF. Bright yellow liquid burst out of the cat's mouth. And so that is how I dislike all insensitive cats who throw up listening to your problems.

And finally it was my sister who helped me decide on my animal pal.. She got me not one not two not three but four best friends for my birthday. Kinds that don't shed fur or slobber or puke on you. She got me Chicken! Three female ones and one male. I was just thrilled. Sure, I've had a life-altering experience with a chicken in the past (too long to explain. will write as a whole different post someday) I decided to let bygones be bygones and welcome these charming creatures back into my life.

We got a little house build for them and painted it and everything. And one of the hens started laying eggs.. and when they hatched, I felt like a mom would when she sees her baby(s) for the first time. My mom said that we'd have to dye them green so as to camouflage them from crows and eagles. Which was great except then we could'nt find them later either amidst all the greens.

This one time one of the little chicks hurt its leg and dad brought it inside the house and me and my sister tried to feed it and everything. And we fixed it a bed inside a box and I sang it to sleep and ran to its side everytime it woke up in the night. It went right back to sleep when I cupped it in my hands. The whole happy feeling the movies showed were coming to life alright..........Until...

They all grew up and turned into.. well.. animals! They'd poop anywhere and everywhere. They do IT anywhere and everywhere with anyone. I swear, there was something really creepy about the way that rooster looked at me sometimes. Brrr..

And the worst of all.. you know how in movies and everything, they symbolize morning with a faint yet refreshing sound of rooster crowing.. and you're all like aaahh and feel nice and warm inside. right? Well, movies are nothing but a loada bull-crap. There is nothing refreshing or warm or nice bout a rooster crowing. Because first of all, my rooster has got its biological clock all messed up. It crows at 12 in the night then at 2 then again anywhere between 4 and 6. Messed up, I tell you. All of the chickens abandoned the nice home we built them and took to perching on the open windows of my bedroom. So when they do the whole cock-a-doodle-do.. which by the way is nothing like that, its like a creepy croak crossed between an agonizing yet blood-thirsty scream. And at that hour, its like a bloody Dolby system. At one point we had two roosters, one at each window. So when one stops the other would follow. Torture.. it was Ultimate torture. Up to a point where I would actually pry my eyelids open, grab a mop from the bathroom and wave it frantically out the window hoping to stick it through their throats. My dad was all like you shouldn't stop them, it's a part of their instincts and nature and blah.. So you sleep in my room then, I retort. Uh-uh no way.. Ha!

Finally we decided to give the roosters away. This lady my mom knew came by the house to pick them up one day. She needed help putting one of the roosters into a large bag. So I helped while the rooster looked at me for not more than a second with those beady black eyes and WHAM, pecked me nice and hard. He had gotten his revenge for all the mop poking nights.

I said goodbye to him then but I still have an ugly dark scar between my thumb and index finger to remember him forever. And ok I admit although I was ecstatic about being able to sleep in late, I missed seeing the lil fellow strut his stuff looking like he owned the place.

Maybe chickens are not the answer to lifelong happiness. They brought that much needed drama back into my life. And I'm grateful to them for that. As for a new best friend... I think I've got one in my fridge right now. A huge tub of chocolate ice cream! Yay! Nothing can beat that kind of happiness! Ta! 

Ready. Get Set. View!

Bird watching, whale watching, solar eclipse viewing, tv viewing and bride-viewing. Ugh.
Bride-viewing. Ugh.

Honestly though, I never really had a problem with the whole process. I thought it was something that everyone just has to go through and it was rather fun when my sisters had to do it. But seriously.. bride-viewing.. ugh..I'm sorry everytime I say the word it makes me wanna say ugh cos it is...just UGH!

Viewing it seems. Like a bride.. is a view.. and why is it bride viewing? The bride "views" the groom too! Why not groom-viewing? Ugh. Ok maybe it the viewing bit that gets to me. Viewing. Yeesh... I just checked the thesaurus to see if there is a better term... apparently it could only get a lot worse. It could be bride-observation or bride-scrutiny or bride-analysis (You gotta admit this one sounds kinda cool though) or bride-inspection. 

Yuck. No matter what you call it, the whole damn process will remain as yucky as ever. For those who are not familiar with the grand process, you could either google it... or I could just tell you since you've been kind enough to read bout it this far without having a clue what I'm talking bout. Bride viewing is when a random guy's mum n dad decides to meet up with a random girl's mom n dad for tea or whateva and talk to each other for say half hour and let the random guy and girl talk for maybe 10 minutes as a result of which they are expected to fall head over heels in love with each other and want to marry each other immediately. 

But the guy falling in love with the girl will be unaccounted for if the mom and dad does not fall in love with the girl first, based on her looks, the number of ornaments she is (read - been forced to) wearing, her posture, her voice, her teeth, her skin colour, her size (now I could be referring to any size..including shoe size), the way she ties her hair, if she's smudged her kohl, the way she makes small talk and the way she smiles and smiles until her cheeks fall off. After which the guy's mom n dad has to fall in love with the girl's mom and dad. And the house. And the furniture. And the car.  And the servant. And more. You would sooo not have found a defnition this apt if you had googled. :-)

So anyways, I kinda thought that it was gonna be fun. I mean if you think of it, you get to check out a random guy head to toe without even having to step out of the house and with your parents permission. How bizzare is that!?

Except the closer you get to actually experiencing it, the more you realise that this is a bad bad idea.
The first guy who came to see me... well I didnt even give the poor guy a chance. I told my dad that I don't think I like the guy right after I read his biodata and saw his picture which I believe he took right after or right before he threw up. I also dug up stuff from Facebook and Orkut about the poor lad that could help me justify why exactly I don't like him. Even then my dad was under the impression that if I "just speak to the guy, I will change my mind" and fall hopelessly in love with him. I didn't think so but whatever. Decided to humor him.

The only thing I was worried bout was everyone making a big huge deal out of it and getting all nervous. I was hardly nervous or excited about it. I was totally and entirely tensed about my driver's license test the next day though. This seemed like a cakewalk compared to that.

 
Things were all good until the relatives show up. I forgot to mention that for these kinda "ceremonies" more often than not, relatives and friends are invited to witness the grand event all and to bug you until you  wanna run off and join a monastery. 

So until then everyone was minding their own business and I was playing with my nephew and the chickens n all. The relatives bug me into changing my clothes and getting ready although it would be hours until the "viewers" would show up. I didn't argue. I went and changed into "very" decent girl clothes and totally did everything they wanted me to and tried my best to turn me into someone I'm not. One of my relatives wanted me to slap on a coupla layers of foundation. That really pissed me off. I mean say I get married to this dude. And the day after I'm married he sees me without the 10 layers of foundation, I wouldn't want him to die of heart failure. I mean in this setting, I'm really not gonna get married to a guy who loves me for my personality or shit. Mite as well marry a guy who likes me for what I truely and honestly look like atleast. So yeah anyway, I swallow my frustration and ignore everything else they have to say.

Anyway to cut the long story short, the guy shows up. And I was busy playing with the chicken. Mom announces their arrival and suddenly I have this incredible urge to laugh uncontrollably. I reaally hoped I wouldn't go stand in front of them and have a giggling fit. Maybe it was then that the ridiculousness of it all sank in. 

I sneak a peek and see the guy who looks up and sees me at the same time. In a normal situation I would've totally gone all la-la-la at this point since I loooove filmy moments like this. Right then it just made my stomach ache. Not in a good way either. I was forbidden from going out there and meeting them until I'm called out. So I'm sitting there in my room, texting my friends and waiting and waiting cos I was really hungry and my folks had got all these goodies and snacks for when these people show up. My sis comes in and tells me that they're eating now. Oh goody now I can go. No not yet, says Sis. Ugh.

 
So I'm waiting and waiting. They finish eating and they still havent called me out. Now I was like oh good, maybe they all forgot all about me and why they came and now they'll just leave and this nightmare will be over! And thats when Mum comes in with the same smug smile she had when she once caught me checking out guys from the window in my room, before I could even deny what I was doing. I'm not sure why she had that smile on now. Anyhow, I step out with a broad fake smile. I totally rock at fake smiles. You can never ever tell when I'm faking it. Its an art that I've perfected. So I'm fake smiling at all these people and I totally check the guy out. 

And the first impression that I have of him is that he's the kinda guy you see in buses. Not the touchy-feely jerks. The kinds that sit in the last seat and stare at you until you get off the bus. I had a feeling I might've even seen this fellow in a bus somewhere. And he was staring at me right then. Yikes.

 
The mom and aunt and whoever that was makes small talk. I smile and talk, smile and talk. I felt like I was acting out the part of decent prospective bride in some B-grade movie.

And as much as I hated all of it and wanted to kill everyone for making me do it, I was obliged to behave. Too complicated to explain why.

 
There were these awkward silences where noone would say anything. They'd just have these huge toothy smiles and they'd all be staring at me. You have nooo idea how freaky that is. You look at them and they're just smiling and staring. Like in psycho movies! So I look at the guy. Who looks away whenever I look at him. Hello! What was with this dude?! He looked extremely uncomfortable and was totally fake laughing too. Well, it sounded fake. And he kept laughing at things that weren't funny at all! I hate having to do that. Smiling is ok. I really can't laugh at unfunny things unless its done/said by a really really Really cute guy. But even that has limits.

Hmm, anyway everything depended on the 5 minutes that I get to talk to him personally. I had even prepared a list of things I could ask him (few of which were totally vetoed by mum). I had the whole thing planned in my head. Either I prove to mum and dad that this guy is totally unmarry-able or I find something or the other to make him seem irresistable. Anything could happen in those 5 minutes.

 
Dad utters the sacred words : Maybe we should let the two of them speak privately.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Guy (looking bewildered) :  I don't have anything to say!
Me (in my head) :  You've got to bloody kidding me! How the %$*& am I gonna fall madly and crazily in love with you if you don't let me talk to you! Should I say that I wanna talk? Would that be breaking the "decency" code? Do I really want to talk to this guy anyway? Why prolong this process? The sooner they leave, the sooner I can eat.

So I say nothing. Blah. Who cares.

I look at the food sadly. It was all almost over. :-(
I sadly look over at the little boy who came along with these people. He was kicking a ball towards my nephew. *sigh* I could kick way better than that. I wanted to go play with them. Damned bride-viewing nonsense. I look at the guy again who looks away again. Ugh.

When they all finally got up to leave, one of the women who came along with them held my hand and said goodbye. And she wouldn't let go! She was smiling and staring and smiling and not letting go! I freaked! I thought she wanted to take me home right then itself! Yeah sure like I'd go home with the guy who doesn't even wanna talk to me. I really couldnt understand it though. Why didn't he wanna talk to me? And why did he have to look so appalled at the idea of it? I hardly look intimidating. I couldn't even intimidate a lil baby! What was that guy's problem anyway?! Stupid guy missed the conversation of a lifetime. Oh well, his loss.

Before he left he once again did the whole filmy thing and turned around and glanced one last time and stuff. Very filmy. Yeah, can't speak to me but puts up all this filmy shit. Yeah. Okay.Whatever.
Anyhow, that ended and turns out nobody liked anybody very much and that was my narrow escape.
I still think that the custom sucks but its actually fun to think of now. And its given me something to write about.

 
Few more people came to see me after that. But it was all awfully dull. My sister figured I should just give in and marry some guy to put an end to these visits. Yeah, the ultimate reason to get married! I'm sure 'll figure out another way out of this. I've got time until my next bride-viewing session, don't I? Ugh!