A Trip Around the Sun...and Zara Turns One

Earlier this week, on 30 May, 2016, my daughter Zara (Zara Akanksha Srikrishnan) turned one year old. Friends went 'Wow! It's been a year already?!' I echoed their wonder. Can scarcely believe it myself. It was only yesterday that I could feel her playfully kicking me from the inside, and now she's doing that on the outside!

Along with the usual jhing-bang festivities and customary visit to a temple, this has also been a time for quiet contemplation and celebration unto myself. And while this celebration is personal, there is also something universal in it that I share with all mothers. Not for nothing is a baby's first birthday so special.

So what all am I celebrating? I'm celebrating the miracle of creation, which leaves me awestruck everyday. Every new thing Zara does, every new sound she utters, every new expression her face wears is fascinating. The year has been full of firsts, and will continue to be as she grows. The ones we're used to - gestures, sounds, mannerisms, expressions - are thrilling still; I don't think Srikrishnan and I will ever tire of them. It amazes me to see nature unfold right here in our living room, bit by bit, one smile at a time. I'm celebrating having brought this delightful creature into the world and seeing her bloom; of being a channel to the Universe's desire to manifest itself. I'm celebrating the divinity that has become energy and matter and spirit, in this form that we so dearly love.

I'm celebrating the many blessings that have made this happen; the ceaseless support from family, in-laws, and closest friends. The love that Zara gets everyday from people who haven't even met her yet, but just know of her, let alone from those who have. The nurturing she receives everyday from people at home. Surely there was wisdom in the tribes of Africa (India even?) that treated child-rearing as a community activity - for where would we mothers be without the unconditional love and support of our family and friends, both seen and unseen? The care that starts from when a woman is expecting, and continues when she becomes a mother and slowly inches back towards resuming normal life (the definition of 'normal', however, having been permanently altered)

I'm celebrating having grown up and into this role. Unlike what one might expect, a woman doesn't automatically feel like a 'mother' the moment the baby is placed into her arms after birth. For some it begins before, for some it takes a while. So while I was not a born mother, I gradually grew into becoming one - learning to put someone above all else and look out for a tiny being that needed all that I had to give, and then some more. In fact, the boundaries of how much of myself I am able to give to another person have been irrevocably pushed, and I'm rather proud of myself there. I think every mother ought to be. Perhaps it comes from the fact that this 'other person' was once a part of you, and looking after her meant looking after yourself ('Watch that step!' 'Don't exert yourself.' 'Eat Properly.' 'Take good rest') I'm still coming to terms with the fact that she's separate from me. BabyCentre tells me it has taken her a while too. The umbilical cord tugs both ways.

I want to take a moment here to celebrate that oft-ignored gift, the other miracle that one lives with (and in) - the human body. A woman's body, rather, since we're talking of motherhood here. While I knew I had a high threshold for pain, I surprised myself (and the doctor, it seems) by just how much I could put up with. Every labour story is different, every mother has a tough first few months (and many, tough first few years). But the real stories come out when you begin sharing your own; and you're left wondering at the amazing resilience God has given mothers - physical, mental, emotional. 'Mothers are tough nuts', said my cousin Sweta didi one day, as I was sharing some achy-tale with her. I agree. In moments of sudden realization, I've seen myself on the toughest days - some part of the body or the other affected, chronically sleep-deprived, achy, exhausted, on the verge of collapsing even - jumping to answer Zara's helpless cries in the middle of the night with the reflex of a recoiled spring. Of course, there have been times when I've just given up and nudged the husband to take over. An experience I'm certain every new mother will relate to. And while we all go through such times, we all do have different stories to share. It's almost like no matter how broken down you are, when your baby needs you, this machinery called 'body' swings into action, pulls itself together with a smart salute, 'Yes, Ma'am! How may I assist you?' and proceeds to do what's needed in the moment. So yes, I want to acknowledge all that my body has demonstrated, experienced, created, and survived, becoming stronger in the process. (While also acknowledging every new mother's own personal struggle, told and untold). May we pamper ourselves with many a spa treatment in the years to come!

Coming to the people this is about - I'm celebrating the journey Srikrishnan and I have undertaken together, and how far we have come over the years. From the starry-eyed moment we first met to this solemn time when we are celebrating our child's first birthday. At the triumph of love and commitment above all else. God has been kind. (touchwood). This shall never be taken for granted.

Lastly, and above all, I'm celebrating what Zara is about. Amongst the many meanings of her name are 'Princess' in Hebrew, 'Eastern Splendour', 'Blossoming Flower', and 'Dawn' in Arabic, and my favourite - 'Light', in French. She is all of these to us.

I'm celebrating what she is to me, and what we share. From a tiny bundle-in-my-arms sharing 3am yawns while the world slept, she's turning into my comrade-in-arms sharing mischievous grins and laughter. But there's much more. I often tell people - Zara is my prism and my magnifying glass. Through her all things acquire new light, every moment bursts into a million colours. While she expands my world, she also contracts my core - focusing my energy on what's most important and fundamental, allowing all else to just crumble and fall away - any residual negativity from the past, conflicts in the present, energy-sapping ties or decayed relationships, stresses of all kinds...one look at her and I just know all these are not worthwhile; she is, and that's where my 'Chitta', as they say in meditation, my attention and energy belong. My life has been neatly divided into BZ-AZ, before and after her arrival, much like our BC-AD. It does not mean I have no people, interests, activities, life outside of her. But with her as my Light, life is in the present moment, in the Now, and hence happier, healthier, more mindful than ever before. She makes me want to be a better person, and create a better world around.

So here's a cheerful toast to the year that was - mostly joyful and playful, often overwhelming and confusing, but altogether memorable. Here's to experiencing emotions with an intensity I have never before (Hail hormones! As if I wasn't enough of a Feeling Machine already), love of the kind I have never felt before, and an attachment that can only be explained as evolutionary on the driest of days and mystical on the poetic ones. Here's to a glorious trip around the sun, and many more to come. Here's to Zara, my light.

P.S. - The next one is a guest post, by none other than the husband himself. Daddies rejoice, you have a voice too. :P

When the Stars Met

Today is the day
The stars were arranged just so
Looking at each other, they nodded
Sagaciously
'So Be It', they said
And so she was
Born
This day, last year
The stars decided to pause
Shine on us with blinding light
And decided to give us some of our own

Starlight you are, Zara
And we orbit around you
Hoping to catch some of it

Guilt Academy

If there ever were a job description for the role of a mother, guilt would be the unmentioned occupational hazard. The Guilt Goblin creeps upon you stealthily, and with slim, cold fingers catches hold of your heart until you feel you want the Earth to swallow you; to turn time and undo whatever it is that you did, or do what you did not do, or do something better, faster, gentler. There is neither a start to this, nor a visible end, except regularly waging wars on the Goblin (and hoping you win, until it shows up again).

What is it written into this role that invites guilt by design? Almost like a gate-pass into this secret society. Is it the expectations society puts on being the perfect nurturer, the ultimate 'Mamta ki Murat'? All those Mother's Day messages that talk of the countless sacrifices the mother makes? (Wait, I'm not sacrificing enough here. I must be a bad mother. In fact, I don't feel like I'm 'sacrificing' anything at all. What does that make me?!) How she has a magic wand, she forgets herself in devotion of her children etc. etc.? We've moved to modern times, but it's hard to shake off generations of invisible conditioning of what it means to be a mother. (Title of another post - What it Means to be a Mother. Sounds deep already).

The Guilt Goblin showed up for me even before Zara was born, when I was carrying her in my tummy. Let me give you one instance. Super enthu to create the right womb environment (Wah! Let me copyright that term) for her by surrounding myself with positive influences and all that assorted jazz, I read up on how a foetus develops and what reaches it (in terms of influence) at what stage in the pregnancy. At many places, I came across the term 'Garbha Sanskar' - listening to music, often shlokas and Vedic chants, that would cultivate positive sanskar in my child, because after the second trimester she could listen to what I was listening to. This was all well, except that after a few hearings I got bored listening to it. In my childhood I have enjoyed chanting, learning shlokas. But now when the same comes from outside I can only listen to it to an extent, after which the mind craves 'Yeh Haunsla' from Dor or 'Rabta' from Agent Vinod and or even 'Pehli Baar' from Dil Dhadakne Do. There are times when I get immersed in chants, especially when I understand the essence. But those times are few and far between. The same with classical music - Indian and Western alike. It's known to be beneficial to the child, so I really tried hard to listen to it, but it would often straight put me to sleep (yes, yes, the foetus can still hear even if one is sleeping, but you get the point - I didn't always want to be lulled to sleep!) The list goes on.

I found myself wondering if I was doing enough for the baby even before she had come into the world. The Guilt Goblin reared its ugly head - you're not trying hard enough, you're ignoring age-old wisdom, what if your baby doesn't have enough sanskar (Will Alok Nath step in with a tutorial?), what if she dozes off to classical music too?(Eeek!) It took conscious effort to remind myself of the basics - happy thoughts, love, joy, and peace around, good food, sleep, exercise, yoga...that these would do. Seems like it worked to an extent. Zara is a happy child. And she has recently begun doing Namaste.

I can already hear some of you jump to say - 'Arey but who says all this is compulsory?' 'Do what you can na, what is there to feel guilty in that?' But that's not it. This guilt is internalized; the Goblin has camped deep, deep inside. It shows up at inopportune times, in unexpected quarters. And at those times, one is tempted to lash out outside when the pain really is inside. Only those hurt inside can hurt outside. I believe. Guilt tries posing outside as anger and frustration with others, dissatisfaction, sadness even. And then it sits on your shoulders in the night until you feel weighed down with a 'What am I doing? Why can't I get this right? Will I ever learn? God, I'm not good enough.'

For a new mother, there are many avenues of acquiring this famous sentiment. Am I doing enough? Does my baby have enough? What if I need to give formula feed sometimes? What if I stop breastfeeding sooner than I should? Go on for longer than I should? What if the pain is just too much to bear and I just don't want to go on despite knowing I should? What if I want to bear it even when people are saying 'Give up'? Is she getting enough variety in her food menu? Am I resuming work too soon? Am I selfish? Where is the time for 'me-time'? Why do I still miss it? Am I getting too angry with the poor infant? And - oh horror - am I actually yelling at my toddler?! How can I be so impatient? How can I feel needy when there are the baby's needs to fulfil? (In case of this doubt, please refer to the previous post). Am I forgetting to be a spouse in the pursuit of being a mother? Why is the house so unkempt, things always lying around? Why is the To-Do list always incomplete? Why haven't I got this deal figured? What's the point of being educated if I can't even change a diaper properly?! Why don't I know why my baby is crying?! What if I question conventional wisdom and want to find my own way? But then, I don't know my way at all; by the time I do, the baby will have grown up. Then I will need to figure that stage. I know nothing...nothing!!! You get the drift? It's a whooshing current if you ask me, not a drift. I'm quoting other new mothers here, not just my mental voice.

I am fairly certain this continues even once the child grows up. In one instance during those healing 40 days, my mother forgot to tell me there was dal cooked for me, amongst other things. I huffily told her at the end of the meal,'What Maa, why no dal today? I really wanted to have some!' My hormonal, dramatic expression led to her reacting just as sharply, until I realized in an instant that she was feeling bad, mildly guilty and was reacting out of that guilt. A pinprick of guilt, but guilt nonetheless. Guilt about not having given me one item on the menu for one meal out of the thousands she has provided. Imagine. Where does this begin and where does this end?

Of course, expectations from others - society, your own mother (especially your mother), father, mentors, media - don't always help. Sometimes they help you become better, at most others they add to the 'Should's. 'Should's are a donkey's burden, getting heavier with every message, every expectation. These messages are often subtle and disguised, more covert than overt. So you can't even actively fight them, because you don't realize you've internalized that expectation, that voice, and made it yours. Guilt Goblin's favourite food are your expectations of yourself - the sum total of those internalized from others, and then some more. This post will run into many pages if I get into the big things, so I've stayed with the little ones for now. Because these occur everyday, many times a day. Do we need someone to come tell us - 'Listen, just bundle all the guilt and throw it into the ocean. You don't deserve this. You're doing the best you can, so give yourself a breather'?

The Goblin is fed inside. It feeds on your insides in turn. That's the only place to battle it. Shut the damn world out and just decide what your own benchmarks for yourself are. Once in a while, relax them. And if you need someone to tell you 'It's okay, it's okay to be who you are, to feel like you do, to fail like you do, to not know what you don't', here I am, telling you in so many words. Because it is okay.

Just for today, let me not be a juggling-everything-effortlessly-holding-it-all-together-all-the-time-looking-great-feeling-fine supermom. Because I am not.

P.S - How does this guilt manifest for you? Do fathers feel frequent guilt too? Share in the comments; would love to hear your stories. Apart from your response to this one. P.P.S - Srikrishnan says, 'Guilt? What guilt??'

This Mother's Day, Find a New Mother

I am learning the art of provocative post-titles from my friends in marketing. That aside, the 'new' in the title does not assume you disown your own mother. Nay, I love mine to bits.

This Mother's Day, I propose you become your own mother. Strange? Uncomfortable? 'I am a man, how can I be a mother'? Allow me to elaborate.

This is my first Mother's Day as a 'real' mother, with an 11-month old delight-of-a-daughter, Zara. ('Real', because the loving husband already bought me a mother's day gift last year when I was carrying the baby! I didn't protest, of course. Didn't have ratti bhar ka bhi (not the least bit) clue what being a mother entailed, in practice.)

And so I am celebrating by sharing this journey with whoever is called to tune in, maybe for a glimpse into mine, perhaps for a reflection on their own. Because I have much to share. That's how this blog is born. (That I've been meaning to do this from the time I found out I was expecting is another story) This journey is as rewarding as it is challenging, and I am here having the sharpest learning curve I've ever experienced since becoming an adult. (Childhood gives many of these curves, of course)

Hospital delivery rooms should have a sign - 'As the child arrives in this world, you may kindly dissolve into the background'. But it does happen to an extent, if not fully. Not in the big things like food, health, sleep, or even love and care. (In many households, it amounts to this too. I'm blessed to be born in privilege.) But in the subtle and unexpressed. This hit me hard at first, because I wasn't prepared for it.

The first place I noticed it was with our photographs. Now I'm used to being the centre of attention in my family growing up, the lover of photographs, the born poser. Now, here I was sharing photographs of Zara and me in different settings and hearing my closest friends say - 'Awww she's so cute'. Just that. So I'd think, 'Okay...and?' And that's all. So I was invisible in the said photographs. Not a big deal, but a telling event. Naturally, the child is the centre of attention, the novelty, the cuteness incarnate (and God, she is). Even when I got a new haircut or was wearing an unusual outfit.

This got me thinking - why do I need people, especially loved ones, to notice? Because I still feel like a child inside, a child yearning for attention. But now I'm a mother. I am expected to put those needs aside, as least until the baby grows up, because her need is greater than mine. (Poor thing can't even articulate her needs fully and I am sitting here writing a blog-post on mine!) Is there an 'either-or' here really?

(I have taken a really small example; there are several such. Like the waxing-like pain one feels when a bandage is pulled off after a few days - who wants to hear about that and fuss over except a mother?!)

Now let me explain at this juncture that I belong to a very loving family - my mum stayed with me and nurtured me back to health those first 6 weeks, my husband took leave and changed diapers, did night duty on many nights so that I may sleep, my in-laws stayed with us (still do) to support us in this new phase of life. My spouse Srikrishnan, in fact, fussed over me to no end. Still does.

This is not about that. This is mostly about the infinitesimal things. The tiny ups and downs of your everyday existence. The struggles and insecurities and fears. The overwhelming love and joy and tears. A tiny triumph here, a little loss there. A new haircut. Photographs - posed and candid. Stuff that I might not even think worthy of sharing with someone else, but I want to. Stuff that makes me feel like a small child all over again. Motherhood, strangely enough, does that to you. It did to me. No wonder women often turn to their mothers first when they themselves become mothers - they want to be nurtured while they nurture. They want to continue being the child while they give of themselves to another. I did. I still do.

But here's the thing - this need belongs not just to a new mother, or even any mother. It does not even belong only to women, although women are more likely to suppress it when they become mothers. It's inside all of us. The need to be nurtured, fussed over, celebrated, especially in the small things. It's only that becoming a mother sharply brought this into my focus.

In a workshop called 'Joyous Woman' that I had attended many years ago, Sukhvinder Sircar took us through an exercise called the 'Mother's Gaze': imagine looking at yourself like your mother would. Like 'a' mother would. I found it somewhat odd back then; at first I kept seeing my mother's eyes look at me. But it left something with me - the idea that I could be my own mother. Not just because my mother is another human being with her own needs, limitations of time and space, ideas, and so on. But mostly because no one knows me as well as I do. No one is closer. And therefore, no one is in a better position to fuss over myself as I am. Once I meet this need myself, I feel nurtured within. Of course my mum is priceless; I love what she is to me and all that she does for me. My day is incomplete without a chat with her, in fact. But now I no longer feel lost like a puppy dog if she's not around during one of these vulnerable moments, nor do I feel glum if she does not respond the way I want her to when I share something. Can't claim I'm there, but the journey has begun.

When I started becoming a mother to Zara ('becoming', and not ready-made, hand-delivered. More on this later), I also started becoming a mother to myself.

The wonder was that the more I started being present to myself and my needs, giving myself unconditional love and acceptance, energy and attention, the more I was able to do that for Zara. I was no longer wanting, needy, incomplete, lost, a child-constantly-in-search-of-her-mother. Now I had two children - Zara and that baby Aku (my childhood name, still called by family and close friends) Both gurgling and happy.

Today, I invite you to do the same. Especially the mothers out there who have dissolved their identity and put their child(ren) before themselves. Go ahead, look into the mirror and give yourself the 'mother's gaze'. And encourage your mother to do the same. :)

P.S. - This one's to you, Maa. <3

P.P.S - Readers, please leave your responses as Comments to the post so that I have it all in one place!