Identity Crisis

I've been trying to write a blog about me for the past 2 hours. A post that does not talk about Maya, my motherhood or sleep-deprivation much less in the same sentence. All I could manage was that first line.

I've always wanted to remain Kumari. I told The Mr pregnancy doesn't take away Kumari. Motherhood is just another facet and it shall not rule my life. Or my blog.

The toothless smiles, the gurgles and the coos, soft kicks of her tiny feet, the way her little fingers hold onto my dress as I try to place her in her crib, her beautiful eyes and the way they light up when I pick her up, her cries for me....she is mine. All mine.

That is why this post makes no sense. Coz I realise, there is no longer any me left. I am all hers. I am Maya's mom and that's who I will be. Now. Always.

And you know what, it's wonderful just being her mom.

Notes on a Diaper -2

Month Two

By now the Calvins and Harry Potters on your book shelves have sold their prime real estate to pregnancy books written by condescending doctor-moms who just want to bore the living daylights out of you. Every page has an advice specifically written for the mother, so you make it a point to go to the nearest bookstore and buy the lucky husband his own copy of “So you’re going to be a Dad”. Then you spend the rest of the night reading it and laughing your head off while the husband snores till kingdom come.

As for hint #1, it still hasn’t made an appearance. But fret not, there’s always hint #2 to make life sexier than ever before.

Full length mirror - $20
Sexy Black Dress - $35
The Look in the smitten husband’s eyes – Priceless.

Sigh, just when you thought you could actually handle this pregnancy thingy, in walks Ms.Obnoxious Nausea, wearing 5 inch stilettos [the ones that you can’t manage to crawl in much less walk] and with an evil laugh that stays with you throughout the day. Your sense of smell increases exponentially that you can give the bomb squad dogs a run for their money.

And that’s when you realize that making out in the kitchen can no longer be steamy…not when you can smell the coconut oil you poured down the drain a month ago.

Notes on a diaper - 1

First Month

The second you find out there’s a little life growing inside you, you want to get up on the rooftop, do cartwheels and scream at the top of your voice, “I’m pregnant!”. But of course, since such shenanigans aren’t really appreciated by all much less by the belly-resident, you settle for a meek “Yippee!”

The next second you want the baby. I mean, if Kunti can just mumble a few words in sanskrit and have a baby, why shouldn’t you? Apparently, giving birth without blood and pain ended with Karna. So much for miracles of science, bah!

Anyway, common sense and familial pressure insist you wait a minimum of 15 weeks before you paint the neighbourhood with pictures of your growing belly, but seriously who can wait that long? So you spend the rest of the month coming up with creative ideas to break the news to people in as subtle a manner as possible.

No! Wearing a bulky sweater inside a shirt, in mid-May is not entirely a bright idea. Nor is rubbing your flat (well, almost flat) belly in a crowded subway.

P.S: As I found out, writing subtle blogposts on colour Blue also ain't really a hint :p

Who Blue my Life?

Some people claim to know the precise point when their life turned topsy-turvy; the poignant moment in time-space continuum that is the mother of all life-changing moments.

But I don't.

Was it the moment I met you? No, it can't be because the only thing I remember from that day is the colour of your shirt and my saree. Maybe I do remember the conversation, and the tears that followed but i prefer to act dumb now. I remember just Blue.

Was it the moment we celebrated my birthday? Naaah. You forgot to buy flowers and a card but managed brownie points by walking in with a chocolate cake. But all I see is turquoise blue skirt twirling in my mind's eye and a blue bowl of potato pancakes batter.

Was it the moment we celebrated our anniversary? No, it can't be. We almost weren't going to until I reminded you the date was not a week away. The blue-green shirt and the blue saree partied under a bright blue sky. Maybe I do remember the taste of oysters and lobsters. Then again, maybe I don't.

Some people claim to know the decisive moment when everything in life made perfect sense.
I don't.

Maybe it was when my world turned Blue.

And then there were more...

• Writing posts as bullet points makes for a fun timepass.
• The desire to write is inversely proportional to the time allotted to it.
• I claim I am insanely busy, but in retrospect I realise I am just insane.
  
• Sometimes I wish they would just postpone 'Sivaji' release to September when I will be in Chennai and can watch it with 'like-minded' citizens :)
• The Mr plans to disown me for that movie as I want to stand up and shout "THALAIVAA!" in my loudest voice. How else can you watch a Rajni movie, pray tell? :D
  
• Miss the 80's..wish I never grew up :(
• The bliss of buying a packet of roasted peanuts for 50 paise, sitting on the cement doorstep of your house and watching the world pass by is unparalleled with all the luxuries of a first world country. Or a progressing third world country which easily forgets its past :(
• I miss Madras, even more Tirunelveli.
• Life is beautiful. I can't agree more. But I miss home, I can't deny anymore.
• "Baleilaka' is one song that makes me smile and cry at the same time.
  
• I miss Inji morappa in Virudhunagar station, Guava at Sattur, Kovilpatti Kadalai mittai, Nellai Town Iyer hotel kuzhal puttu, Rajeswari Amman koil pujari splashing theertham on my face, Friday Santhoshimatha poojai prasadam, running barefoot chasing your cousins, wearing pavadai-thavani, one strand of jasmine flowers, sitting under the hand-pump for a bath, kootanchoru, susiyam, thoothuvalai dosai to cure your cold, Athai's Thai Segu& Sodhi, Soma Akka's Egg curry, Kumaresh Anna's bus stories, Megu Periamma's Ulunthan gali, Achi's kanji & Inji lekiyam, Jeya Periamma's cauliflower fry, Jan's beautician experiments, Raja's Chilli Chicken & Chicken Fried rice thrust through the bars of a moving train, Vasu Periamma's murukku, Karthiga's vengaya pakoda, Thalavai's Sundakkai story, Amma's Maida burfi & murungakkai theeyal,Appa's attempts at coffee, Sankari chithi's rava upma, Raji's kadi jokes, Nambi's wisecracks, Kala chithi's puli kuzhambu, Kavi's nakkal, Manicka Chithi's sambhar & avial, Ranjith's paintings, Maavadu, Neer-thanni, idli upma, thengai mittai, son-papdi, feeding cows that come to your doorstep, Sornachi's booming voice, early morning padhani in palm leaves, Nongu, Koozh Vathal batter, puli thanni & pori-kadalai thovaiyal, Garlic rasam, Ratna Talkies Murukku, Kothu parotta & Salna...
  
• I want it All. I want it Now.
• Note to Self: Grow wings but don't grow up!
  

When a paper tiger meets the real Wild Cats

It is fun being a writer. Even an amateur one at that.
It's much more fun attending Writers' Conferences and meeting up other kindred spirits.
And it's most fun being the only Afro-sporting Desi chick with the longest name one can never get a tongue around :D

Saturday morning I attended the Writers' Day organized by the New Hampshire Writers Project at Manchester, NH. It was an interesting event and I learnt quite a deal about publishing, which in a nut shell is , "ain't easy!". Picked up many business cards though am not sure how many will bear fruit, but since everyone who got the mike talked about the merits of 'networking' to make it big in Writing,I walked around like a hungry hound, devouring any scrap of paper with a name scribbled across it :)

The Keynote speaker was famous Children's Book author Jane Yolen. Ok, I shall be truthful, a blog being an online diary et al. I really didn't know who Jane Yolen was until I heard her speak on the podium that day. I am impressed, ever since. She is an awesome speaker; very witty with repartees hugging her sleeves. She hails from a family of writers and she doesn't like JKR :p [As much as I love Harry Potter, I do agree with what she had to say on JKR]. The rest you can read here.

She answered all our questions jovially and I bought one of her fantasy novels - TrollBridge and had her autograph it to the heroine of my fantasy novel - Shireen. Now if only i can somehow pull myself to finish that story :(

Runaway Train

You cycle back ferociously, unmindful of the many voices wanting to know how difficult your exam was. All that matters to you is that it is the LAST exam. You'll be home in 2 days.
You run to the wing, scream for joy like Shammi Kapoor and throw every possible item you can find into your many suitcases.

1 hour later, you are lugging your bags to the gate stopping every 5 seconds to hug someone goodbye. Miraculously you find a rickshaw to take you to the Front gates and once you approach those old buses that would take you away from the dump of a desert you called home for 5 months, you look around wistfully for an angel to haul your heavy suitcase onto the roof.

All done! You heave a sigh of relief and take your seat between your friend, her heavy bags and the girl you wish you didn't have to travel next to, with one last look at the sand storm brewing behind you.

You reach Delhi hours before the schedule and knowing your luck has never been good that semester, you offer to be the one who will sit at the station baby-sitting luggage while the rest of them try to pulverize the Delhi Bazaars.

Two Wendy chicken sandwiches later, you are all inside the dirty train, legs sticking out over piles of bags and turning a deaf ear to that silly gal screaming aloud about her AC compartment, you close your eyes and think of Chennai -- Home to a cup of steaming filter coffee!

By the end of the next day you can't bear your own stink. You wish you could walk around half-naked instead of in the cotton salwar-kameez. Damn the moralistic society! You check your watch every 10 minutes for the insipid train dinner- a sign it would all be over in the morning.

You wake up somewhere around 5 am to avoid the traffic at the bathrooms, brush your teeth, borrow face wash from your friend to clean the grime off your face and try your best to calm the hornet's nest of hair on your head. After struggling for 10 minutes you give up, knowing your parents would still recognise you. Somehow.

And just like that, your perception changes....you feel the wheels under you, chugging in slow motion as if caught on rolls of chewing gum. You look through the window and see the dirty Cooum spreading her fragrant arms towards you in welcome. You smile despite yourself, realizing how much you've missed it all - the crowd, the arguments, the sweet smell of jasmine and the brown teeth of the jasmine seller, the food, the constant complains about the humidity, the rush of waves at Marina beach, amma's coffee...you've missed it all. For too long.

You step on to the platform looking for those 2 familiar faces in a sea of people, cursing yourself for not being tall enough to look beyond it all and then you hear your name being called out. Against all din. And you know it. Nothing matters anymore. You're home!


Post Script: And that's how I felt when I walked into Duck's apt in San Diego. After years of floating in ether, it was home coming all over again. Thank you Dee! You're the best :)