33 & 34: Remembering to Feel Great

It's 2015!! We're having a baby NEXT MONTH.

Surreal.

I've just been putting off writing these updates forever. It's literally been on my to-do list for the last twelve days, and I keep putting other stuff on top of it until it gets buried. Not even sure why, because I have plenty to talk about, and it's all exciting. Must just be pregnancy inertia. Isn't it great? I'm still freelancing for a couple of clients, but I've started to say no to stuff that'll start in March. Meanwhile, I can't seem to sleep before 12:30am - but I sleep promptly at that time daily, and then I get up at either 7:30, 8, or 9:30 depending on how much I have to get through the next day. Apart from waking up 3-4 times each night to change positions or visit the loo. I've learned to stop drinking glasses of water at about 8pm; instead fitting in 3 to 4 liters between 10am and 8pm. 

Anyway, coming down to weeks 33 & 34. I've mentioned this before, multiple times, but Indians, especially from an older generation, are as weird about pregnancy as about everything else. You get married, and literally the next day, they perform a ritual asking for fertility for you. Then, you're badgered about when you're having a baby. Constantly. Then you get pregnant, and you expect them to be excited - but no, they'd like you to hide it for as long as possible, not take any scans ("They just make you worry!"), and not do anything that would jinx it, ie: shop for a crib or do up a nursery or buy diapers.

Uhm. Right.

My response to this ranges from being amused, to being outraged, to being, actually, quite hurt. It sucks when you show the first 4D picture of your child to their to-be grandparents... and their response is to caution you not to show it to anyone else. 

All of which is to say that I calendared week 33 as the week when I'd indulge myself and show off my pregnancy. We had a Christmas maternity shoot done at the hospital on Xmas Eve... cheesy poses galore; more posing, in fact, than we did at our wedding. And it was a bit awks posing with other couples watching and waiting their turn. But oh well. At least we'll have pregnancy photos now. And, I think it's the only time I've worn clothes that emphasized my bump in the last eight months. That felt ridiculously empowering, compared to the long, loose, flowy stuff I wear otherwise.

Later that week, I participated in - don't laugh - a pregnancy fashion show. I thought this was a great idea, especially in India. A bunch of co-sponsors, including a cord blood banking place, a hospital, a maternity clothing store, and a child magazine came together to sponsor a walk celebrating pregnant women. We each got styled in three lovely outfits, and walked the ramp, answering general questions about pregnancy. It was so great meeting other pregnant women (most of my friends aren't even married yet), and being fussed over by the team. 

Oh, and I won Miss Fit & Active, as well as... the overall title. Meet Miss Supermom :D

That's hilarious to me, because I generally trip over my own feet at least five times daily. Yet, at eight months pregnant, I can walk in heels! On a ramp! And win a fashion show! Too funny. I won us a newborn photo shoot, my pick of maternity clothes, a whole bunch of baby goods, and, my favourite - a suite upgrade at the hospital worth a lakh! I'm going to go pick out the clothes today. I'm still debating on maternity jeans. They look so great on me... but I'll only use them for ahout two months (I still fit in my regular jeans, but it's getting slightly harder), so should I even bother? We'll see.

This was also the week when I got over my gas stove fears and started cooking for real, instead of relying on the microwave + rice cooker just because I'm used to cooking with electricity. The stove & I aren't yet best friends - but I'll admit it makes better, faster rotis than any induction stove ever could.

Week 34. Inertia set in with a vengeance. My to-do list has had the same items on it for a week now. They involve fun stuff like some DIY projects for the nursery, so I'm not sure why I don't get around to them - especially considering I still have the energy to cook and clean the house every day. It's been a struggle finding the motivation to power walk, and my stomach's been hardening when I walk too fast. Not to mention lightning crotch - yowza.

But I powered through, and this week, we finally got down to talking through the birth plan too. Well, my husband and I did. The doctor and I will talk about it today, since A can't make it to the appointment. But the good thing is, there were no shockers - we're generally agreed on all the essentials - we don't want mirrors, we don't want to touch the baby's head as it comes out, we don't want to look at the placenta - we're crunchy, not crazy. We'd rather not push our luck on the squeamish front. 

More importantly, we agree that the best policy is to see what happens and then listen to our doctor, who isn't usually dramatic or interventionary. I did list my ideal-world hierarchy for pain relief options just in case I'm too hysterical during labour to be coherent. But overall, I trust my husband and I trust my doctor. We should be okay.

We've also started consciously spending more date time together, evaluating places where we could potentially run off to for a quick hour or two after the baby comes (my mum will stay with us for at least a month, and his mum's offered to come around too. We'd like to learn to trust them to watch the baby for an hour or two between feedings - we'd like to share, and not over coddle or be selfish with the baby. We'll see how that goes). We checked out a coffee shop on New Year's Eve, and I've been going to different places with my girl friends, or in a group with his friends. Fun times.

I don't know if it's New Year's or what, but I just want to eat cake all the time. I don't, obviously. But I'd so like to. Being disciplined about food sucks. Then again, that's what gets you crowned Miss Fit & Active, I suppose. Not to mention a hopefully healthy baby. I also got some great news... I get to keep our family heirloom crib!! Everyone on my mom's side of the family has slept in that crib for over two generations. I've had the hardest time imagining our baby sleeping anywhere else. My cousin's having a baby at the same time, albeit in the US, but since she's older, I wanted her to have dibs. I was going to ask a carpenter to design a new one from scratch because the plastic ones seem so.. not right.. to me. So getting to just keep that one is an amazing, amazing gift. Now to figure out how to transport it over.

Next week: perineal massages, hospital bag prep, and nursery prep (provided I don't keep pushing it down the to-do list again)!

Week 29: Pre-Launch Party for Baby A

A launched his website this week! The response has been overwhelming, especially considering it's still a pre-launch at this stage, that'll be fully ready in a fortnight. We also had a pre-launch party for Baby #2, as I refer to ours, since A's company's clearly the first born. My family threw us the South Indian version of the baby shower. This doesn't resemble any other shower, so here are some highlights of the valaikappu & seemantham function:

- Since we were combining some religious rituals (seemantham, homam) with the social shower (valaikappu), it had to be held in month six or eight. The social function alone is held in months five or seven. We held mine at the start of the eighth month, and I blessed my doctor for all the exercise she's been making me do, because all the sitting cross-legged on the floor & jumping up would have done me in otherwise. It's a workout like you wouldn't believe.

- The 'auspicious' time for the ritual was deemed to be before 6am. That is, we had to get started at around 5.15am. And, with breaks, we'd end at around 11.30am. Also, there were to be 4 outfit changes in that time; 3 of which I didn't know how to get on. In my defense, very few people do. These are special, long, nine-yards sarees that married women get to wear for religious functions in their own households, so the opportunities to wear them are somewhat limited. 

Since I had to rely on someone else to get my sari on, I had to wake up at... wait for it... 3am, and bathe. Then, apart from the sari, someone had to do my hair up the way it was at our wedding - a long plait down my back, with jewels and flowers all woven in. 

- The valaikappu, or social function, is a women's thing, where my mum kicked off the proceedings. She put three bangles, or kappus, on each hand - one made of a neem stick, one made of gold, and one made of silver. The gold & silver ones will be melted and made into jewellery for the baby once it's born. After this, several relatives took turns putting multicoloured glass bangles on my hands, until there were 43 glass bangles in all. These are technically not supposed to come off till the delivery, but there's no way I can manage that. I do have a nice DIY project planned for the nursery with them though, so it's not like they'll go to waste. 

- After breakfast and an outfit change, we had a homam, a ceremonial ritual where A & I had to do whatever the priest told us to - chiefly repeat a lot of prayers. A actually did most of what was required. After a while, I was even told to go sit on a chair leaving him alone in front of the prayer space. Interesting to note that even in pregnancy, patriarchy doesn't waver, and it's still the male who's responsible for the baby's wellbeing. The most memorable part of the homam was being led to a chair, and having A dunk a bucket full of water over my head. The Ice Bucket Challenge, Iyer style. Bangalore's about 16 degrees, so even with a bit of warm water mixed in, this is probably the reason I've been sniffling and sore-throaty since. A was super apologetic, poor thing.

- I had about ten minutes to change out of the wet sari and everything else, into yet another nine yards sari. About ten people worked on me, while I tried not to get my drippy hair on the silk sari. I assume this is a way to stave off any modesty you may have about showing your body to strangers pre-labour. Oddly enough, I didn't really care, as any strange bulges can happily be attributed to the baby. More chanting and so on followed, again mostly led by A. Then we had everyone shower akshatham and blessings on us - that's over fifty people throwing rice our way. And in yet another weird tradition unique to Tams, A was asked to squeeze milk into my nostril. The priest kept checking, "Did it go in? No, really?" We both quickly assured him it had.

- Everyone who came gifted us money, sweets, and fruits. The sweets trigger my diabetes alarm, though the fruits are much appreciated; especially as I'm going through three a day in an attempt to keep up my fiber (did I mention I had a hemorrhoid erupt when I woke up at 3am? I'm surprised I made it through the day). And arr, I have even more gold now. I did ask my parents to invest in bond certificates or something else instead, but they refused to listen and bought me a bracelet as well. Plus my maternal uncle gifted me a beautiful set of long gold earrings that look exactly like the fake jewellery I wear more frequently. 

- Although everything wrapped up by noon, there was another outfit change, some rituals from A's side of the family, a couple more hours of socializing, photo taking, and at least trying to help my parents as they took care of all the work that had to be done. And then it took an hour to undo my hair and pack all the clothes and jewellery up. Suffice to say everyone was in bed by 4pm in an attempt to recover!! 

I should have been more shattered, but was riding on adrenaline. And, honestly, though over fifty people showed up, I really did know and like everyone there - unlike at the wedding where faces started to blur into each other as over seven hundred people came. Knowing everyone and getting to talk to each of them made the whole day feel quite personal and relevant. A & I were in our best 'we're-a-team' mode and kept pulling faces to make each other laugh, apart from trading jokes and running interference if the other person looked like they needed rescuing. At the end of it all, seated in front of the priest and all, we shared a fist bump. I'm glad the videographer recorded that bit :D

Week 21: Growing An Indian Baby

It's festival time in India! Though we're not celebrating this year as A's grandmother passed away recently, it still means holidays from work, and time to visit with the (extended) family. It's a sad time to have to watch my sugar intake, there are so many delicious sweets and fried things on offer. And... sigh, the festival of lights is coming up, not to mention my birthday. A birthday without cake? I suppose I'll just have to console myself with a slice of cheese. It's a good thing I'm easily pleased.

It's been a rollercoaster week, with the Hyderabad vs. Bangalore debate rearing its head again (it takes a lot of zen-like calmness to start up a company - or to be married to someone who is!). We had the debate, resolved it after much talk, went house hunting, found one, and even signed the lease. In. A. Week. The nice thing is, in between all this uncertainty, that we went right back to the lane where we used to live three years ago... and while there were no empty houses in our old building, there was a beautiful 1,650sft 3-bedroom apartment in the flat right next to it. Our old maid offered to come around, our old neighbours are still exactly where they were before, even the auto drivers on the street recognize us! (As I was telling A, this is quite an achievement given he was meant to be using corporate transport, rather than autos).

We had a very happy run on that road, even though we only lived there for a year, right after we were married. So I'm looking forward to some sort of stability as we move back there over the next couple of weeks. It doesn't look like we'll be there any sooner, because our parents need to pick a 'good date to move in', by which time the house needs to have a stove so I can boil some milk first thing, again, for good luck.

Quite honestly, I find all the start-up and pregnancy related changes come more naturally than the changes involved with being back in India. We've gotten used to being an individual unit, unbound by traditions, and familiarity with a ritual is a different ball game from actually following it, with an audience of our families.

For instance, there was a lunar eclipse on the last day of my 21st week. This brought on superstitions galore. From 2:30 till 8pm, I was to stay at home, and, preferably, lie still, as looking at the eclipse (not that that's even humanly possible with the naked eye) could result in a baby with a deformity. I was also not to touch my face, belly etc, since this could result in birthmarks, cleft lips, and the like. At 7:30pm, I was to have a bath before eating/drinking anything.

For those who aren't familiar with Indian mythology - all these precautions are in place because eclipses are believed to be caused by the evil influence of Rahu-Ketu. Rahu was a demon who stole the nectar of immortality from the Gods. However, as he started drinking it, Surya & Chandra (the sun and the moon) noticed him, and informed one of the super-Gods, Vishnu, who quickly flung a weapon at Rahu, severing his head from his body before the nectar could go past his throat. The severed head, now immortal, angrily swallowed the sun. The decapitated body, called Ketu, swallowed the moon. They continue to do so at regular intervals, causing eclipses. The sun & moon always manage to escape through the holes in Rahu's head & Ketu's body, but in the brief intervals of darkness, Rahu & Ketu's inauspicious forces are at large. Cue ominous music.

There's more to the story, and it's all fascinating, but, more importantly, how do I feel about all this? It's complicated. On the one hand, it's easy for me to indulge people who believe this stuff on one afternoon. On the other hand, I can't help thinking how insensitive beliefs like these are. An eclipse is in no way responsible for forming your baby, and to suggest that a woman born with a so-called less than perfect infant could have taken precautions to avoid 'defects' is ridiculously rude, apart from being credulous. 

Not drinking or eating for 5 hours, on the other hand, could very well lead to dizziness, at the very least. That is how lunar eclipses can harm pregnant women in India. And Rahu & Ketu aren't the ones responsible, either.

...But I'm a chicken, and I stayed in, although I used the time to write, rather than sleep. However, this was just another reminder that I need to figure out boundaries before our baby's born. It's all very well giving in myself when I don't have to be anyone's role model, but I don't want to raise another generation that pleases everyone else just because it's easier to do so.

Is this real life?

If I were writing a novel based on my pregnancy so far, any sane editor would tell me not to have quite so much going on - it just isn't realistic.

First, I quit my job, and travelled around for four months - I was pregnant for three of them. Then, my husband quit his job because he wanted to start his own company. His grandmother died before we could tell her we were having a baby. We moved back to India, and are trying to get used to it all. My mother fell sick and had to be operated on. And lately, it seems like my in-laws are determined to have us stay with them until the baby's born - an idea that really doesn't fit in with our plans.

Yesterday, A discovered why they were pushing so hard. It turns out my mum's surgery had been more serious than they'd let on. My family and my in-laws had decided it was best not to worry us with the news - they had to remove a couple of her toes. 

They only told A yesterday, after she was well out of any danger. He tells me she's okay now. But how is losing two toes okay, really? Objectively, I know it's better than losing her entire foot. She can still walk, and she assures me that she's not in any pain. In fact, she's characteristically cheerful about it all. 

But she turned sixty this month. She still has a good thirty to forty years of healthy living in her. It's heartbreaking to think that she won't be able to run around as I'm used to seeing her doing. It's such an integral part of her personality.

For the most part, I'm okay. She is, so how could I not be? But I think of her playing 'ten little fingers' with my niece. I think of a wedding photo where my dad slid on her toe ring. I think of morning walks on the beach, and treks through bazaars doing ardent shopping. And I mourn those toes, despite never having spared them too much thought before this. 

On another note, much as I disagree with the families' decision to keep the surgery's outcome from me, I'm touched by how protective everyone is, and how eager to see that I'm taken care of. Despite it all, because of it, I'm reminded again how lucky I am.

Weeks 11 & 12: He, she, it

This isn't really a pregnancy update, because we're travelling at the moment - it's just a scheduled post about things we're thinking about.

After years of telling me how he wanted to be surprised post-delivery, R's first question when we found out I was pregnant was, "How soon can they tell if it's a boy or a girl?" So much for waiting to be surprised.

I've always wanted a daughter - blame it on Gilmore Girls, and the fact that I know R will absolutely be on tenterhooks for the rest of his life if we had a daughter. But throughout this pregnancy, I've had a feeling I'm carrying a boy, and ever since, I've really wanted one. I've been doodling little monsters and dinosaurs, and re-reading Tom Sawyer. Of course, now R wants a girl just as much. 

Let's be clear - even if this is a girl, she's going to be given an equal dose of Mark Twain and mythical creatures. I'm all for gender neutrality. I counted out the male & female characters in our nursery prints (I plan ahead, clearly) to make sure they were evenly balanced. Boy or girl, he or she will be wearing/looking at all the colours of the rainbow, not endless variations of pink or blue.

And yet, I've been pouring over the forums that say you can predict a baby's sex based on the angle of the dangle/skull shape and so on. Why is it suddenly important? Well, a couple of reasons. One, we're moving back to India, where it's illegal to find out, and that makes this a classic case of wanting what you can't have the minute you find out you can't have it. Two, gender neutrality can only be taken so far. What am I supposed to do, read 'She rocked *it* back & forth' instead of 'She rocked him back & forth' when I'm reading out Robert Munsch's Love You Forever? Obviously, it's a moot question, because we're leaving Canada at the end of week 15, which is still too soon to tell conclusively, but that doesn't stop me from wondering. 

I'm also considering Bump's first lullabies and books. R accuses me of trying to sneak in 'all that Tamil culture,' in vitro. Won't deny it, heh. We've discussed theism a fair bit - neither of us is particularly religious, but I think it's idyllic to imagine we can bring the baby up in a bubble. For one, we're not really in bubbles ourselves, being from fairly orthodox families. We always have a puja room in our house, and invariably head over there before we do anything important or leave on a journey. We know all the rituals and mythology, and I think it'd be a shame not to at least talk about all of that, particularly for the 'story' value of it all. We are not bringing our child up on Aesop's Fables & Mother Goose alone. And finally, Carnatic music! There's no way I'm not occasionally playing M.S., and I can't help it if she's invariably singing about God. 

I suspect we'll be having lovely hypothetical discussions like this while we're travelling. When we get back, it'll be time for the Nuchal Scan at 13 weeks, to check for Down's and a few other genetic deviations. That'll be our official go-ahead to tell the world - except that we still won't, because we want to do it in person when we go to India next month! Ah, the wait. Too much.

Buckle Up

R,

I've to give our parents/families/friends some serious props. In the last year or so, whenever we've said, "We've some news!" they've been expecting to hear what an average married couple may consider news. And instead, we've told them that.... I've quit my job.  I'm going to try writing a book. We've announced that I'm travelling for two months... solo.

And as of last week, we told them that we're moving back to India; that you're quitting your cushy day job (that makes two of us now!) to start your own business. You could audibly hear the sputters, and I understand why people may be confused, but I believe, from the bottom of my heart, that this is the best thing for you.

I've told you this before, but I'll say it again. You believe in me to the extent where I've no choice but to believe in myself. I hope you realize I'm similarly confident about your abilities. I'm excited to watch this leg play out. It's going to be a fun ride!

And in a couple of months, after we've finished travelling around Canada (because we can't just start a new job without a vacation!), we'll call them, and say, again, "We've some news."

They'll probably think we've decided to move to Nepal or something, at the rate at which we've been going. Little do they know... being predictable is the new being unpredictable :)

- A.

Angrez chale gaye...

R,

Pro travel tip - fly on a Tuesday night and you'll have a near-empty flight. I'd three free seats to my right (with an aisle), and one free to my left. Oho. So great. I sat down comfortably and watched ten movies back to back, only occasionally interrupted by a screaming baby. Every flight has at least one, even the ones that leave on a Tuesday night.

Here's the weird thing - I didn't hear a single Indian parent on the flight talk to their kid in any language other than English. How did that happen? I get that the kid lives in Canada/Britain since it was a Toronto-London flight, but can English really be the language you talk to them and your spouse in ALL the time? It's kind of depressing, and all kinds of limiting. English doesn't have plum descriptions like 'tu baingain hai ki anda hai re' or 'podaaaanga' or 'plum,' for that matter. How can you ever fully express yourself?

It just feels like you'd instinctively respond in your mother tongue when surprised/angry... like in that Birbal story where the priest who speaks 14 languages with the fluency of a native screams out in Telugu when woken suddenly in the night with thorns (it may have been a Tenali Raman story, and it may have been some other language, but the point's the same)... but nope, even when a kid threw his spoon of food at his mum, she just said, "We don't do that, sweetie." 

!!!

Whaaaaat?

She didn't say it with the distinctive twang of someone who'd grown up abroad either. Is it just more socially acceptable to talk English in public, especially when you're outside India? Should that even matter one way or the other? 

I worry that could be us - not because we don't speak our mother tongues without caring who's listening, but because we have different native languages. Maybe I'll talk to our kid in Tamil, and you can talk to him in Kannada, and we'll both toss in some Hindi and some Telugu and a bucketload of English. It may confuse the poor thing (especially given my Telugu sucks), but I think it'd be preferable to only speaking English.

A.

Outside the Box

R,

Well, this is it. I leave tonight. We were laughing over our friends’ reactions to the news about my solo Europe trip, and you said, “To be fair, we were equally thrown when we first heard about P & S getting married but living in different cities.”

I sputtered an indignant, “Bu-wuh-nu-no! That’s completely different! This is for four weeks,” but, of course, you're right.

We say we’ve moved past the racial and religious prejudices of our parents’ generation, but we’re just as judgmental about things that don’t fit cookie-cutter molds of expected behavior. 

Over the last couple of years, there’ve been more instances of people pushing the boundaries and daring to do what they felt was right from them. P & S deciding their careers were in a great place and neither should compromise and move until they’d an equivalent offer in the city where the other person was.  J & D deciding to immigrate to Oz after a vacation there because they fell in love with the place – and willing to go there without a job to make it work. O saying she wanted to quit her job of seven years and do nothing for a while. 

 These, and others, are accounts which we hear and are tempted to raise a skeptical eyebrow at. We mouth the p.c. lines about how liberating it sounds, and how we’re so happy they’re happy, all the while thinking, “Wow, better you than me.”

We’re a patronizing lot. What does anyone standing outside know about where people are coming from, or what will happen in their lives? Yes, T & K were in a ‘long distance marriage,’ and she cheated on him; and E had to come back from the US penniless after four years looking for a job to no avail. But not all lives follow the same patterns, and everyone has a right to take the path that they think is right for them at the time. 

With not a little shame, I’ve resolved to try harder not to accept unconventional choices condescendingly, and to respect the fact that the people making these choices deserve the same respect that I’m due when I make my decisions.

-A.

Me Time

R,

Our generation prides itself on being super-duper progressive and open minded. Commenting about caste is enough to set off most Indian Elders’ gaskets, but we’re a lot harder to shock (I always anticipated our kids having to work really hard at it). Apparently, we’ve found the one thing that’ll do the trick.

When we talk about my plans for the summer, there’s dead silence from our friends, followed by hearty well wishes, interspersed with some bafflement. Why would I want to be away from you for so many weeks? They know my plan is to travel through Europe, but really, is everything okay with the two of us? 

Of course, last year when you went on a ‘boys’ trip’ to Africa, we didn’t hear any objections. If I had to paraphrase common wisdom, it’d probably go something like this: Boys will be boys, but as for girls… well, shouldn’t they just be girls? If I’d been single, I imagine this trip would have been perceived as free spirited and adventurous. Given I’m married, however, it becomes *ominous tones* Free-Spirited, not to mention Adventurous. 

There’s no doubt in my mind that I’d rather do this trip with you than alone. However, I saved up money for the last few years so I could eventually take time off and do my own thing. Not everyone has that luxury – you still have your 9 to 5 job and you can’t drop it to come traipsing through Europe with me. Should that mean I don’t go, or wait till you can come along, or settle for an eight day trip instead of the month long itinerary I had in mind? 

Honestly, we’re both givers in this relationship. It takes us a ridiculous amount of time to settle on anything because we’re busy trying to please the other person. I’d figure out a compromise on this trip if I had any hint at all that you wanted me to. You, on the other hand, don’t want me to compromise on anything; which is a feeling I fully reciprocate. I love how this barely needed a discussion, because it’s just not a big deal. I especially love how our parents see it the same way. They’re a lot cooler than we give them credit for, sometimes.

Putting this in perspective, it’s a month away when we’ve a lifetime together. It’s the same reason I don’t take you to my book club meetings and you go and play squash on your own. Yes, we’re one unit, and we choose to be together - but that doesn’t mean we stop being individuals. 

Happily,

A.

World Go 'Round

R,

I’m constantly amazed – and more than a little jealous – at how quickly you & your friends plan trips together. Each of you will be in a different city, or even country, and yet, you decide on a destination and a time frame, and it all comes together! 

I’m not suggesting that it happens magically. I see the effort you put into phone calls every weekend – and that’s when you’re not even planning a trip. When you are, it’s daily phone calls, flurries of emails, endless Whatsapp threads… I get that the trip doesn't materialize out of thin air.

If I were to plan a trip with my friends, it’d be impossible. They’d have to check with husbands, in-laws. They just had babies, or joined new jobs, or are pleasing demanding bosses and are unsure if they can take the time off. Their parents aren’t sure if it’s safe. They’re still paying off loans, and/or studying. They’re saving up vacation days for a wedding.

All of those are legitimate reasons of course, and there are plenty of Indian husbands who’d cite wives or babies or jobs as good reasons not to go on trips either. For some reason, you have the friends who don’t have those reasons in their lives. More likely, you consistently invest enough in the relationship for those reasons to be overcome.

I don’t think it’s realistic to hope for anything to change with my friends. Those living with parents or studying will go on to get married. They’ll have family obligations. It isn’t easy to ask for, or even necessarily want, ‘me time’ in an Indian marriage. The fact that I can want it, or that you willingly give it, doesn't mean that’s the case across the board. Objectively, I get it. Subjectively, it’s a whole other story.

-A.

Parents Know Best?

R,

P posted pictures of her baby girl on our family’s mailing list, she’s so cute!  She looks just like P, except for her eyes, which are her father’s. P’s parents will probably remember the fit they threw about the marriage every time they look into those baby blues. I wonder if it would have been easier for them to accept it if she’d married an Indian. Somehow, I doubt it. He’d have had to be a Brahmin too. A Tamil Brahmin at that. With the right gothram. Further…

Sometimes, parents want to control everything. I understand that it comes from the best possible place – they want to do everything in their power to give you what they consider the best possible chance of happiness. No option is comparable to the one they envisioned. It’s no different from their wanting a certain career for you, which they think will ensure a steady, good life. It has to be confusing for our parents, who find themselves in times that are very different from the ones they grew up in.

I’m not saying I’d be this mature and understanding if I actually had to argue with them. Luckily, both our parents are usually open to discussion, and willing to laugh at themselves – I can only hope that flexibility and patience is something they've passed on to us. It makes it very easy to respect them and give them a fair hearing in return.

I've noticed that Indian parents in India are usually more adaptable than those living abroad. The latter seem to feel the responsibility for Indian civilization as a whole lies on their shoulders. Maybe they think they’ll be judged more harshly because they’re no longer Indian residents. 

Look at L - Indian society meetings every weekend, strict curfews, tight restriction of pocket money, she’s never lived away from home. In spite of this (because of it?) she managed to sneak out, experiment, and have at least four serious boyfriends, any of whom would have horrified her parents. I don’t think they will ever hear about these boys, she’d be too terrified to bring it up, even if one were Tam Brahm and she wanted to marry him. 

When push comes to shove, I wonder if she’ll marry whoever they tell her to? Time will tell.

-A.

Where the heart is

R,

After one and a half years of living in Canada, we went back to India. It was an exhilarating, terrifying feeling. Neither of us had wanted to live outside India anyway. Canada was a one-off, a chance to stay in a place that let us explore the world more easily than India would, before eventually heading home.

I want our kids to have a childhood like ours had been – filled with relatives, friends, good food, and plenty of outdoor play time. They’d hear myths and wonder how they’d originated, and learn to be respectful, adaptable people with their own opinions.

Of course, when I looked at India with fresh eyes, I realized our childhood can’t be recreated. There’s far more traffic, safety is an issue, and while it may be a third world country, a middle class lifestyle is no longer cheap by any stretch of imagination.

Don’t get me wrong, I still find Canada a tad too complacent for my liking, and would prefer that my child grow up in a more ambitious, level-headed setting where not everything falls plumly in their laps. As sadistic as that sounds, all I’m saying is that I’d like them to strive to be the best version of themselves, not merely okay. I had parents who are faaaar from pushy and I feel that growing up unpressurized in a society full of pressures was the best of both worlds.

That said, as I fought with auto drivers and bargained over everything, the obvious question arose, “Why does everything need to be such a fight?” I love the way I can rely on constants in Canada – the predictability of public transport, the safety of the roads even at night, the marked prices on everything. Yes, a kid could be lulled into a false sense of security by it, and they may never learn to value any of it, but it would be so easy.

We’re going to keep going back and forth on this until I’m actually pregnant, and even then we may not know if we made the right choice. As I head back to India in April, I’m keen to see if any new insights come up.

-A.

Oh, Baby.

R,

Indian society is most amusing. As you know, we frown down on people interacting with strangers of the opposite sex before marriage - all that only happens in movies! However, we've no qualms demanding babies from virtual strangers the day after their wedding, and every day thereafter, till they've coughed up the requisite dual offspring. At this point, we start asking when they’re marrying their children off.

What perverse kicks do sundry neighbors get at being able to convey the news, “They’re trying!”? I suspect they feel it’s their dharmic duty to be able to advise the young couple misguided enough to admit, “Well, we can’t really afford kids right now,” or “We’re focusing on our careers.” It goes without saying that no Indian couple has ever dared to even dream the words, “We just don’t want kids.”

I seem to recall one of my relatives telling me the Gita or one of those other holy grails states you can only be reborn if you choose your offspring’s spouse, and expand the race caste-appropriately. And people wonder why India’s over populated.

I understand there’s probably comfort in predictability. When couples don’t produce said children magically, three, four, even five years into a marriage, random shopkeepers start to take note and enquire. I’m equally curious – haven’t these ‘helpful’ people ever come across the all too common reasons couples sometimes haven’t had kids, even (gasp) five long years into their marriage?

“I've had miscarriages.” “I’m infertile.” “He’s impotent.”How do they plan to help then?

As evidenced by our social media feeds (thanks a lot, Zuckerberg), our friends are having babies, and I’m thrilled for them. The downside is that other friends are trying to have babies, and that doesn't always make for happy conversations. I've heard heartbreaking stories (without asking!), and I can’t imagine the salt-in-the-wound it must be when they’re asked why they haven’t produced a baby yet. It makes me want to punch sensitivity into some people.

Remember when heartbreak used to be your favorite boy band breaking up? Life was so simple before babies – and our babies haven’t even been conceived yet.

=A.

Ever After

R,

Nothing makes me feel older than having divorced friends. It always strikes me how it seems to just creep up on you. Here are two people, getting into a marriage with the best of intentions, and all the optimism in the world. They’re affectionate and respect each other, both of which tend to be qualities which last a fair bit longer than romantic love or lust alone would. There are months of happy updates on travels and domestic harmony. Then, all of a sudden, there’s a radio silence, before the announcement.

Disagreements about money, babies, cities, professions, families, whether they really found the right person after all. It’s impossible to tell from the outside whether those are good reasons, or issues they could have resolved. Hearing about a divorce always makes me sad (and, I’ll admit, a tiny bit worried, because many of these couples seemed like great ones), but in a way, I’m so proud of our generation for having the courage to say they value themselves enough to get themselves out of an unhealthy situation. 

It seems far more mature than the alternative that Indians before this generation chose. My parents make such a great couple, but it occurred to me that that could have been a matter of chance. After all, when K was talking to my mum the other day, she asked, “What if the in-laws are terrible people who say I shouldn't work, and criticize my cooking, and my husband doesn't stand up for me at all?”, and my mother said, “Well, that’s unfortunate, but you’d try to discuss it and work it out.” 

Which certainly makes sense, but K persisted. “What if it still didn't work and I was worried for my physical safety?” 

“You’d still try to find a way to make it work,” said mum.

I’d like to think she was saying that because it’s theoretical, but we both know family friends who’ve stuck out tough situations without complaint for decades. It could just as easily have been my mum who ended up with someone who wasn't as perfect for her as my dad is. I’m not saying all these tough situations involved guerrilla in-laws or physical abuse. But who defines what an unhealthy living situation is? A simple thing like having a husband who took me for granted could drive me up the wall. I like the fact that our generation has the guts for both husbands and wives to discuss what they feel they’re due. I like the fact that we’re no longer silent. In 99 cases out of a 100, the marriage is happier for the discussion than it would've been without it.

Maybe a few generations down, we’ll have more live-in relationships and fewer marriages, or easy-come-easy-go attitudes towards marriage and divorce. Right now, though, despite the fact that I’ve more divorced friends at 26 than my parents have in their sixties, I think the state of marriage in India is getting to the best place it’ll ever be.

A.

Money Matters

R,

Fact: you’ve always made more money than me (you risked a pricey business degree, so you deserve the extra $$’s you retain after paying off the hefty loan).

Fact: It doesn’t bother me – it isn’t even something I think about.

Of course, that’s easy for me to say. We’re not getting a divorce, so the ugly battles of rights over money doesn’t come up. We don’t have joint assets, since we use up our money on travel rather than houses or cars. You’re older than me, you’ve more work experience, you’ve the fancy degree. I’d have something to think about if you weren’t earning more than me. 

What if the situation was reversed? You’ve always talked about starting something of your own. If you did, I’d be the primary breadwinner for a bit. I can’t imagine it changing the equation between us, but you never know. I’m inherently frugal, would I become a shrew? You’re ambitious, impatient, and believe in living life to the fullest – would you resent me? 

Money comes up in Indian marriages in so many ways, even assuming dowry is actually illegal and doesn’t enter the picture. From the suitor looking for working women (progressive!) with salaries less than his, to the parents who are suddenly reluctant to ask their daughter for anything despite having to take out loans for her wedding, and despite her giving them a portion of her salary in the past. The housewife who gets a monthly allowance, the question of joint bank accounts and who contributes what percentage of money to it. The possibilities for miscommunication are endless, especially given no one likes to talk about money.

I read somewhere that it’s the leading cause of marital disputes. It’s easy to imagine. 

-A.

Love or Arranged?

R,

One of the first questions the people here ask when they hear I’m married is, “Was it arranged?” They’re fascinated by stories of betrothals made by parents rather than the parties involved. When I tell them ours wasn’t what you’d call arranged because we knew each other from work, they find it far more romantic than if we’d been a Western couple who were expected to find their mates by falling in love.

Both observations are valid, but as with everything else related to India, neither is the entire truth.

Every arranged marriage is a love story. No spouse was picked out as objectively as an aborigine in a market. There’s always the “we first talked when…,” the “I knew he was the one when…”. There’s the poignancy of lives conjured and then abandoned, when matches didn’t materialize as anticipated. Nothing makes that heartbreak any less real than if the couple had been dating. There’s nothing pragmatic about people telling you they’ve found their match after years of searching.

Before B married P, she told me, “He’s not ready for a relationship. There’s still a lot he needs to work through. But I’ll wait, and maybe he’ll be ready someday. Even if he never is, he’ll be a good partner.” That’s still one of the best love stories I’ve ever heard.

As for love marriages, there are elopements and stories of forbidden love and honor killings. Often though, there are families who are informed of a potential match and asked for their inputs and permission respectfully. Though we introduced each other to our parents, they were the ones who arranged the marriage, interviewing each other and us to see if we were a cultural fit, matching horoscopes, and so on.

It feels good having families sign off on a marriage. Some well-worn prejudices aside, I believe they’ve the inherent wisdom to know when something is predisposed to fail, and they’re not shy about sharing their opinions. In a culture where marriages are a family affair rather than something between two people, it makes sense to have everyone involved weigh in.

Firangs say, “Indian marriages are so beautiful.” I have to agree.

-A.

The Descendants

R,

Saying we’re married feels very grown up, but the reality is, we lie in bed till 10am on weekends, eat lazily, bathe when we want, and act more like convivial  roommates than responsible adults. There are days when I feel like a student; but if your dad’s retiring, then that makes us pretty old ourselves.

It’s very easy to be in love when it’s just the two of us, and we’re fairly low-maintenance people to begin with. Add elements like a child and parents who need our support, and it all becomes very complicated very fast. I’m jumping ten steps ahead of myself over here, given that we’re not expecting a baby; two out of four parents are working; and all four are in good health with a reasonable amount of savings, touch wood.

Just because they don’t need us right now doesn't mean they never will. Even if they never need us, we may want to be closer just so they can watch their grandkids grow up. It’s a Hallmark-y idea, I love the idea of three generations getting to know each other. I enjoyed living with my dad’s father, and spending summers with my mum’s parents. It definitely made me a different person than I would have been with a nuclear family. It seems unfair to deny our parents & kids a similar experience just because it’s not required of us.

Two adjoining houses, or one big one? Which city will be have to live in for both sets of parents to be comfortable, and for us to have decent job prospects/local schools? Those are just the big questions. Much as we like each other’s families, it will be a radical change in our lifestyle. I think we may have to do some actual growing up at some point in the next three to five years.

-A.

Gold Standards

R,

Single TamBrahm girls are meant to always wear a gold chain, with a matching pair of bangles and earrings. Once they get married, the chain is replaced with a thali/mangalsutra and toe rings are added to the ‘must-wear’ list. Oddly enough, though a finger ring is presented at the marriage, this isn’t mandated daily wear… most practical when you consider the amount of food consumed by hand.

I’m sure these traditions are well-intentioned, and probably originated in a desire to give a girl a financial security net in the days before women had out-of-home careers (cue weepy movie sequences where women are seen selling away every last bit of gold).

Maybe there was a moral code of decency in the olden days, where stealing a woman’s marriage gold was equivalent to raping her in a temple. I doubt such qualms are felt any more. Which begs the questions - Aren’t you just asking to be robbed, going about in real gold? Is it feasible to be trotting about your body weight in gold in India’s blazing heat?

There’s nothing practical about our society’s attachment to the metal, especially to the sacred mangalsutra. Yes, it can hold safety pins very efficiently, but it’s a clunky huge chain that matches very few outfits worn in 2014. I started looking for it in pictures shared on social media and realized no one I know is photographed wearing one, other than at the wedding.

What are the new definitions of morality then? Is the decent thing  to wear it to religious and social functions, or to any occasion where you may run into a conservative relative, so that they can keep up their illusions about what married women should and should not wear? Or should you have the guts to disown it completely, and say so to those who enquire?

I don’t really have an answer, but I suspect we may be one of the last few Indian generations who’ll struggle with this. I can’t see us being too fussed if our children swear off gold altogether, and use the money saved on other things.

-A.

To settle or not to settle?

R,

Indian girls grow up hearing about the princely groom who’ll ride up on a white horse and whisk them away to live happily ever after. While the horse will always be white, the groom could be any one of a thousand people whom she meets while her parents help her find the perfect groom. I think it’s only fair that she at least expect him to be a prince and not some random stable boy masquerading with a crown on his head.

Do you remember my friend, T? Her parents first started ‘looking’ for a groom when she was 21. I can barely remember what I was like at 21, but I’m confident I would’ve been too immature to know for sure what I wanted in a marriage. It’s always easier to find a reason to say ‘no’ to a match, than to feel confident about saying ‘yes.’ So T said, “No,” “No,” “No,” and then “No,” again, to sundry bumpkins and hopefuls.

It would’ve been hard to find a good match for her any way, she’s so smart, and ruthlessly funny. I’m not saying she’s egoistic to the point of no compromise (although I certainly was at 21), but she’s far from being the demure doormat that’s ‘perfect marriage material’ for most Indian grooms. They’d likely still have put up with it anyway, she’s gorgeous! She, on the other hand, didn’t see what she’d get out of marrying someone who was significantly less sharp than she was.

Glossing over several painful years of futile matchmaking, she’s 28 now. Cue gasps of horror from the Indian aunties and uncles, neighbors and passers-by. Is it just me, or does India have a collective biological clock that acts like a bomb counter ticking down as females remain unmarried past 25? 

I lost touch with T, but every now and then, we chat about the latest prospects thrown her way. She told me about a blatantly gay groom, whom her mother introduced, with the sage advice, “Marriage cures everything.” While T isn’t ready to compromise on that variable yet, she confessed that the longer she held off on marriage, the less rigid her expectations became. As she grew older, she no longer got the ‘cream of the crop,’ such as it was. This means a motley set of widowers, unemployed men, and outrageous dowry demands are thrust her way. 

“At this point, if I meet someone whom I turned down at 21, I’ll probably be mellow enough to think they’re perfect marriage material!”

It was funny, but also sad – what’s the point of wanting because you didn’t want to settle, if you’re eventually browbeaten into settling? It’s impossible for me to judge, because we got engaged at 23 (cradle snatcher!) – how am I supposed to know what they’re going through, and whether it’ll be worth it? Sure, we all have these grand notions of romance, but marriage is essentially about saying, “Ok, I’ve seen all there is to see and I’ll take this one.” 

So for those of my friends who are more pragmatic than romantic, maybe it makes sense after all. As for the rest, I hope they hold out until they get the fairy tale ending they want.

A.

Irrationality at Daybreak

R,

This morning, I woke up at 5am to see you off at the airport. (It must be love.) Then I realized it was -9 degrees out, and decided filmy expressions of love were overrated.

Ever since then, of course, I've obsessed over whether I jinxed your trip by not seeing you off. It’s a long flight, as all company-expensed flights tend to be, which means I've a long time to sit and stew. I realize it sounds slightly macabre, so let me put this in perspective.

All our parents’ friends are hale and hearty; their parents are only now calmly, peacefully, passing on. Meanwhile, in the last couple of years alone, we've heard of so many road accidents causing fatalities among our peer group.

The newly married groom knocked off his bike.

The father taking the bus home to celebrate his daughter’s second birthday.

People with their whole lives in front of them, wiped out without warning.

Errant drivers pay nominal bribes to any enthusiastic policemen who bother following up (who decides how much a life is worth?). Both parties get on with their lives. Meanwhile, the young widows left behind are looked at suspiciously by relatives who dub them unlucky. They get stuck in no man’s land.

Which unlucky parents would want to support their daughter beyond the lump-sum payment they dished out at the wedding? What devil-may-care Indian groom wants ‘used’ goods? She could live alone and support herself with her job, but let’s not delude ourselves into thinking that won’t invite pointed fingers and constant vigilance from her erstwhile in-laws, sundry relatives, and even the rare landlord who agrees to let out a place to a single woman. We may not expect widows to shave their heads and wear white saris anymore, but they’re often no less conspicuous in Indian society than they were fifty years ago.

I do realize we live in Canada where the roads are a hundred times safer – I joke all the time about crossing roads more slowly here because no one would dare deal with the lawsuits if they ran over someone, accidentally or otherwise. I’m not that great with math, but the likelihood of a road accident is probably one in ten thousand. All of which is to say that I’m not really worried.

You & I are blessed with parents who, I think, love us unconditionally for ourselves, as well as because I’m your wife/you’re my husband. When I hear about road accidents, I worry about the idea of my life without you. Even then, I’m aware of how lucky I am to know that that’s all I have to worry about. If only all Indian women were allowed that luxury.

Stay safe and call me soon.

A.