Living with 8 children!

Within weeks of my marriage, I was a mother. Even I did not expect it.

I entered my husband's home with a head full of dreams, a heart full of hope and a minor trepidation of being saddled with a host of relatives that I hitherto did not have. Like many a newlywed, I too was more than just a little bit frightened. Oh I knew my husband and his parents well enough by then but here I was from a nuclear family, walking into a joint one. Yes, I was going to live with my husband in the ancestral house, far from the indulgent eyes of my immediate in-laws, with a assortment of relatives. I was not only frightened, I did not know what to expect.

As some of you may already know, I am not particularly fond of kids. So when I saw my niece and nephew, Ziggy and Rubic, for the first time, then all of two and three, contemplating me with those big cute-as-a-button eyes, I chose to ignore them. No, it certainly wasn't love at first sight. But their dimpled smiles and unquestioning affection won me over.. and why not? So long before my daughters were born, I was already a "mother". They say a mother is born when a child is born. I think I became a mother when, for the first time, I took those tiny hands in mine, dumped them in the dicky of the Maruti Van and took off with them.  We even had this ritual when I would say, "when Chachi says jump.." And the kids would look at me and jump! I must admit, that first time I took them out, (it was for a swim to the club) even I did not know what I was doing! And I appreciate their own parents, who trusted their children (who did not know swimming) with a relative stranger. I have often wondered. Would I have been able to trust myself, had I been in their shoes?

"Is she a safe driver? Can she look after the kids? What if she neglects the children in the pool? Suppose something happens?" I guess thoughts like that would plague me. I don't know if my brother and sister in-law ever thought that way, but they sure as hell never showed it. So I happily bonded with Rubic and Ziggy.... got drawn into their magical world. They kept me young, they made me play their games. Hopscotch, Chor-Police, Football, dancing in the rain, Cluedo, Dark room.... there's nothing we did not do. My own daughters came later, Isha and Amisha. Ziggy still teases Isha that she is my first daughter! Then came another niece, Zoya. Followed by Veer, tiny Veer, whose tiny fingers clutched at our heart-strings for a fraction and let go, leaving this dent in our hearts. Then came yet another nephew, Sarthak. And now, the greenest of my bunch, the twins Meenakshi and Satvik, all of seven months old. My brood, for now, is complete. 

Why am I saying all this? It happens all the time, you say, in joint families? Ah yes, I suppose it does. In a house with five brothers, eight kids are not such a big deal, right? 

But for me the novelty has never worn off. Rubic and Ziggy are now grown, they both live away from home. They come only on vacations, that too for Rubic, since he lives in Canada, it's just once a year.  Isha is at the threshold of her ICSE and Amisha will hopefully follow a year later. Soon, it will be time for them to leave home. I hope they do, for it will be their turn to spread their wings and find their own skies. To find themselves. I know little Zoya who loves my brownies will also grow up. And Sarthak, who still holds my hand and clings to me in the pool will also swim away from me. And I also know I will take the twins swimming to that very club, that very pool where I learnt to swim myself! And the circle will be complete....  

And you know what, time has a nasty habit of changing things, changing equations. People pass away, the house becomes emptier, corners go dead and then a little light flickers, tiny feet are heard again. The voices change, the old songs go unsung, footsteps fade away never to be heard again; all that remains are the memories, the tiny little bits of us that we leave in another person's life. Last week I had one of those rare windows when the twins had their 'annaprasan' and each of my eight children were home...together. My heart was full. 

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't know what will happen, how empty the house will be. I can't imagine who will return and who won't or where they will be, say twenty years on. But I know I will always have them, here, in my heart, meeting, coming together again and again. And I will scold them and hug them and cry with them and share my life with them.

For they have taught me to love.

Adventures of a reluctant mom.

I have a confession to make: I am not one of those people who see babies and go ga-ga...no angelic motherly feelings are roused in my breast when confronted with a snotty baby... bells do not ring, music does not play and my dreams are certainly not sprinkled with baby powder.

Let's face it: I've never been big on kids. Specially babies. More so when I have nothing to do with them. I know people who see a strange baby on a train and immediately start cuddling it or whatever and strike up conversations with the mother. I do not have the patience for it and am more likely to stick my tongue out at the baby than cuddle it and go "cho chweet!"  I especially dislike noisy restless toddlers who will not sit still, be it at the airport, on a train, in the super-market or (horrors!) on a long haul flight. I want to whack the child (and the parents too, sometimes!) and hopefully have them duct-taped for the rest of the journey.

 As a child, I was always the hero of several extra-ordinary adventures: flying motorbikes and jet skis and racing fighter planes occupied my mind. I never had time for dolls or soft toys.... I remember this one time someone gave me some dolls. My mother sighed, my father shook his head. Within a day dismembered bodies of the dolls with all their hair chopped off were found under the bed.... I never dreamed of a home or children..I dreamed of constant adventure and travel; sleeping under the stars and living off the land...The Three Musketeers, Indiana Jones and Mr. Spock all rolled into one!

But life has an uncanny knack of interfering with such dreams. Here I was, in my late twenties...married and all. I thought I was ready for it. (Don't tell Hubby, but as things stand I still think I'm not ready for quiet domesticity!) And post marriage into this semi-joint family, for the first time in my life I shared my life with two children, my niece and my nephew… who were then all of two and three. They were adorable. They were the right age for spoiling and I discovered the joys of tiny feet pattering about the house without any of the rigors of potty training and weaning, which, luckily I knew nothing about then.

A few years down the line, my daughters came along. And they are barely 13 months apart. So you can imagine, for about two and half years I was either pregnant or lactating! Thenceforth all my adventures centered on my girls.... First came The Great Breast-feeding Escapade, then The Potty-training Capers along with the Mystique of The Feeding Time (The Story of the Mush that Jumped off the Plate) and the Exploits of the Sleepless Nights! There were times when my patience wore thin, there were times I felt like throwing them out the window. Don't look at me in horror, I once mentioned this to my mother and she told me, "Everyone feels that way sometimes, it's just that you don't go around saying it!"

As my girls grew I grew with them. Yes, I guess I grew into motherhood. And I must admit it has not been an altogether unpleasant experience!

But thanks to the aforesaid handicap, I thought I was at a disadvantage. I had to do ‘the right thing’ for my kids.  For a while I listened to everyone. When they said coke was better used as a detergent, I flushed away bottles of the stuff, when they said “Chavanprash” is good for them I stuffed it in their mouths till they spit it right back at me. When my Mom said Maggie was bad for them (No nutrition, only carbohydrates) I sighed and put it away. Till I realized there is no such thing as “the right thing”. How can there be, when each child is different? My girls, despite being siblings are as alike as chalk and cheese. They have their distinct likes and dislikes; each has their own way of handing things; each their own unique way of coping! So I gave up on ‘the right thing’ business and since then my girls have been brought up on a healthy dose of coke, Maggie and neglect.

I remember this relative once told me, “Oh, I only have the necks of the chicken.” I looked at her aghast. How can anyone like those icky things? Then she explained, “You see, I always give the good pieces and the legs to my husband and my sons. I only have the necks!” She sighed as if her heart was breaking.

Yuck. I decided then and there that I would never do that. My kids would not only have chicken necks from the curry but also learn to share the legs and the nice pieces. When seeing food on the table they would certainly not just pick out whatever they like and leave the rest. (Yes, I know kids, even adults, who do just that!) They would learn to share it with everyone else, and, if necessary, also refrain from taking it if they thought someone else wanted it too.

Now the years have passed, the girls are now almost 15 and almost 16. The adventures continue tirelessly, my mother assures me that the fun never stops and I am inclined to believe her! Our current adventure is Let’s Get Decent Scores in The Board Exams!

And the one thing I’ve learned from all this is that whenever someone praises my kids or says something nice about them, I feel like I’m ten feet tall!

And yes, they do eat their chicken necks too!

The Kiss

My Dad and I had this little ritual, if you can call it that. In the morning, (provided I wasn't getting ready for school or otherwise frantically finishing homework), as he left for work I would walk him to the front door and see him off. I would give him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek as I said, "bye", and "have a great day!"

My father would be looking fresh and handsome, he'd be smelling of after-shave, (usually Old Spice), his hair would be wet, neatly combed back, his shirt would be ironed and crisp.

He'd stop and turn. He'd take hold my nose and my ear with two fingers of both hands, much like you would hold a jug by its handles, turn my cheek towards him and give me a kiss on my cheek.

Years and years have passed.
I would sell my soul to feel those cool lips on my cheek again. 

To my father on father's day...

Dearest Baba,
My hands are empty. I have not bought you anything, not even a cake or a childish painting....

My daughters, (your grand-children) plan and whisper... they are so excited Father's Day is coming! I listen to them and nod encouragingly, feeling some of their excitement rubbing off on me.

Just some. Not enough.

For I have never celebrated father's day. Hell, when I was growing up, we had never heard of father's Day!

So why am I here? Why am I writing this?

Knowing fully well that I do not have you here with me, that you probably will never read this?

Lets see, maybe it's because I know what I DO have:

I have the dawn on a sea beach where we walked looking for sea shells.
I have early morning walks with the sun barely out where you would point out flowers and trees and tell me their names and I would never remember...
I have the biscuit crumbs in my pockets for the kittens and pups by the roadside that you allowed me to pet and feed and play with.
I have the sunrise in the mountains through the mist rising from among the pines.
I have the mornings spent doing Mathematics set by you each day because you believed that if I could do basic Maths, I could do anything. You were right, I think.
I have the daytime jaunts with friends wearing your shirts when you were at work because a wardrobe full of my own stuff was never as trendy or comfy as yours.
I have lazy summer holidays with great food and family for company at the garden house where our bodies would be tanned and black from too much sun and swimming and cycling.
I have afternoons of turning lazy somersaults in the pond while you inspected the grounds and trimmed the ivy.
I have another afternoon when you taught me to cook eggs and we made a mess of the entire kitchen which we then cleared up, giggling like conspirators before mother woke up from her nap!
I have your gentle discipline to guide me, when a frown from you was enough. It still is.
I have yet another afternoon when I had lied to you and I watched you as you struggled to keep the hurt out of your face and I swore then and there never ever to do anything that I would have to lie to you about and I have kept my word.
I have long evenings spent watching the rays of the sun as they set over the horizon even as the kites we were flying could no longer be seen.
I have evenings infused with the clear scent of fresh gardenias plucked from our garden.
I have summer nights walking in the clear night and having the Pole Star and Orion's belt watch over us..
I have swimming in the rain, in the moonlight, in a pool, in a lake, in a pond, in the sea......
I have lonely days and nights sitting alone in a strange hospital in a strange city watching you battle a cancer that was eating you whole.
I have lessons of strength for never once did I see your face cringe in pain as night after night I changed the dressings with my clumsy hands.
I have your eyes, tear filled with pain, but fighting still....
I have your voice, that still soothes me when I think I hear you call my name. 

More than everything, I have your love.

And I have the memories....oodles and oodles of them...
They have served me well for the past 23 years. And I know will continue to give me solace for as long as I live...
And you know what?
I will not wish you on father's day because you cannot take a father's love and limit it to a day. It's forever.

The knave.

He has needed you from the moment he first saw you. At first the attention was light and flirtatious and you thought it gave you joy. Then he became more demanding, wanting to walk by your side and watch you while you were sleeping...till he became an indelible part of your life. He came along for movies and parties, even accompanied your family on vacations. Till you realised you are only one of his many conquests. He was hurting you and you had been fool enough not to see through it. He is eating into you, bit by bloody bit.
So you told him to leave.
But he wouldn't.
He'd sneak back into your life with false promises and placebos and you could not get rid of him. You know you have to do something about it.

***

It is evening, you are quietly sitting at the water's edge, deep in contemplation. It is time.
You rise, the water slides off your body as you shake your head and pull on a pair of shorts and a shirt over your wet swimsuit. It is completely still and the wind has dropped, nothing stirs. From behind you, where the house lies you can hear the sounds of your children as they animatedly discuss their day, bits of music come to your ears. You turn towards the house but pause and turn away following the narrow path among the overgrown grass. There is no birdsong, only an ominous silence as the stony old path twists and turns away from the house biting into your bare feet ... till you reach the ruin of the old out-house that no one ever visited. You climb the few steps, noticing how the weeds have choked the entire step and think nothing of it. Stones, bricks and broken walls greet you and you enter the cavernous dark. You know there are snakes that inhabit the ruins and you are afraid, but you know you cannot turn away. Not now.
You make your way in the semi-darkness till you reach the short stair-case. A narrow shaft of light falls from between the leaves of the Banyan tree that has made it's home on the outer wall. You climb the stairs slowly, your heart is beating wildly even as the stench of decay assaults you. You know what you will find.

***

There he is in front of you. Tall, misshapen and just as grotesque and ugly as you remember. To think that at one time you had found him attractive. He looks at you pleadingly, his eyes glimmer hope. The chains clank as he pulls forward but you know they will not give. He rattles his chains; he is, all at once, demanding and pleading and you  almost forget and give in. But something stops you. Maybe it is the recollection that he now threatens your world, your very existence?  He's always needed you, he is saying, he will never leave you.
But you finally have him locked up. You know that if he becomes strong he will once again run your life, he will once again ruin the life you have been clawing to reclaim. For, if he is strong, he will break the chains that bind him.
You look at him with loathing. Even pity.

***

So what will you do with this Knave, this killer, this terrorist who would riddle your home with bullets if he could?
Will you feed him?
Or will you let him starve to death? 

Things they do not tell you...

We women never have it easy....after we are married, barely have we settled down that well-meaning relatives and friends urge us to have babies. It's like a conspiracy, they get together and drop broad hints that  are designed to make us feel incomplete just because we have not started a family. Yet.
I was married in 1996. In 1998 my father-in-law moved to Andhra Pradesh. Obviously, we visited often, and would often meet his colleagues and their families. I clearly remember the look of disappointment in the faces of the ladies when they heard I had been married for two years but had, as yet, failed to produce any children. There was sorrow, pity even, writ large on their faces.
It's not that we did not want children, it's just that we were in no tearing hurry either.
All in good time.
So that's how it was. In good time, my daughters were born: one after the other, in fact they are just about 13 months apart.
So, do the Math, for about three years continuously, I was either pregnant or lactating. My husband forgot what it was like to drive fast, we were constantly careful and holidays, if we dared take one, were planned with great deliberation.
Besides that, once the older child was born, I realised there are a good many things that well-meaning relatives, aunts and other mothers do not tell you.

They don't tell you that for the next few months you will be running about with your hair standing on end, smelling of curdled milk and poo and wish you could just go to sleep anywhere, anytime.
They do not tell you that for the rest of your life you will forget what it was like when it was just you and your husband and you used to come home from a party and pull the curtains just as the birds began to sing outside.
They do not tell you that the mere thought of any harm coming to your child would keep you sitting bolt upright. Every night.
They do not tell you that your toddler will open your eyes with two grubby fingers when you are finally getting that nap and ask, "are you awake?"
They certainly do not tell you that hence forth your life is not your own and anything that can go wrong will do so, specially when you are in the loo.
They don't tell you that once in a while you will actually lock yourself in the loo and pray for peace and quiet!
They don't tell you that there will be a time when going out to buy Pediasure will be the high point of your week!
They don't tell you that your heart will break into a million pieces each time your child is hurt or has fever and clings to you and you are helpless to stop it.

Yes, a few years have passed. My daughters are now 14 and 15. Well on their way to becoming mature young adults, did you say?
Ha.

They don't tell you that being a mother is a full time job that does not have a retirement age.
They don't tell you that once you've gotten past the potty training, there is always a new challenge coming up.
They don't tell you that you will now lie awake, sleepless worrying about the studies that they are not doing because they have no idea of what the real world rat race is like.
They don't tell you that you will feel guilty when they do not do well in their studies because you will feel somehow responsible.
They don't tell you that if ever anyone praises your child you will feel like you just started floating on air and will start beaming like the stadium lights.
They do not tell you that you will worry about the boys they meet in tuition class and the men on the road as they go out and you will want to follow them everywhere.
They do not tell you that it will take every ounce of self restraint and courage that you have to NOT follow them everywhere.
They do not tell you how, on Mother's Day they will buy you a gift you do not need with money taken from you and then run loose in your kitchen and you will do your best to be happy about it.
They don't tell you how relieved you will be that Mother's Day only comes once a year!
They do not tell you how tears spring to your eyes each time you sense they are hurt or upset.
Most of all they do not tell you how lonely the house feels when the children are not home and you worry that all too soon they will fly the nest and your heart will fly with them.

For they never, never tell you that from the day you become a mother till the day you die your heart will belong to your children and you will forever be wearing it on your sleeve.

(This was written for a contest entry. The original post is here:  http://www.mycity4kids.com/parenting/mommy-magic/article/things-they-do-not-tell-you )