Koi Good News?

by Zarreen Khan

  ‘How’re you doing?’ she asked, studying my face. ‘Shashi was saying you’ve been rather unwell and Ramit’s mother is here to look after you. In fact, I had wanted to come over earlier, but I had some business travel and then Shashi joined me in Italy …’

  Bloody show off!

  I made some polite noises and shrugged her off but then felt guilty and asked her in for tea. Regretted it immediately. I should have said ‘drinks’ and sounded cooler.

  Lakshmi pottered in with two cups of tea and her magical tray of goodies, as a rather happy-looking Laila Sachdev rested her stylish butt on my plastic Neelkamal chair outside. Thank God Mummy wasn’t here else she would have not approved of Laila’s floral mid-thigh skirt. How can she dress like that to work?

  ‘So what really happened to you?’ Laila Sachdev asked me as we sipped tea.

  I couldn’t say something stupid like food poisoning. You can’t call your mother-in-law from another state to help you with food poisoning. So I settled on suspected dengue.

  Laila looked confused. ‘Dengue? In February? How?’

  Oh shit.

  ‘Well, suspected. Not confirmed. Therefore it wasn’t. Then they suspected typhoid.’

  ‘Suspected? Are they not sure yet?’

  Bloody wannabe doctor!

  ‘Mild typhoid,’ I said into my cup.

  ‘Hmmm. I hope you feel better soon,’ she said, finally. ‘In fact, I haven’t been so well myself.’

  She was beaming at me.

  Ramit

  Text from Mona. Laila Sachdev is pregnant. Mona is livid that Laila can happily share her ‘good news’ while we still have to guard ours.

  Mona

  I wish I could tell Laila I am pregnant too. Maybe she will know what to do about boob pain.

  So jealous of the woman. She gets to gloat about it and I don’t. And she found out about it just this morning! I’ve kept mum for weeks!

  I’ve also become shameless now. I’m sitting with my bra open – of course underneath my T-shirt – with my mother-in-law around the house. There is nothing sexy about having large boobs. I’ve put away all my strapless, backless, underwired bras. Only cotton ones can survive this weight.

  When can I start asking real people for advice instead of Google?

  And to think of it, it’s actually in the first trimester that you really need advice, and that’s just when this whole thing is supposed to be all hush-hush.

  What a pain this Laila is.

  Week 11

  Estrogen can make your sense of smell much stronger

  Ramit

  Mona has turned into some sort of bloodhound. She can smell things from miles away.

  I’ve been made to not only brush but also floss and use mouthwash before getting into bed, because Mummy served me a raw onion salad tonight and I had it. Sue me.

  And now Mona’s punishing me by covering her nose like I’m toxic.

  Well, she’s the one who keeps farting away and then giggling before informing me that it’s the baby, not her.

  Very convenient to blame the tadpole for turning her into a hot air balloon. And I’m not allowed to let out even a tiny, innocent, odourless bubble of a fart.

  Mona

  I think it’s a tad dramatic of Ramit to take the pillow with him. He knows very well Mummy’s room has an extra pillow. Not like I really told him to leave the room. I just told him to let his digestive system work inside him for a change.

  I could smell the onions and the chicken curry. Speaking of which, I am so disappointed. I think this child is vegetarian. I’m just so done with chicken.

  Both the mothers think I should have lots of chicken because it’s protein and good for me, and Mummy even said it’s okay to have it on a Tuesday.

  It is a great dhakka to the family. Has our carnivore actually given up chicken? Is she going insane? Is it one of her mood swings? How will she ever fit into the Punjabi household again?

  If the animals are not dying, are you?

  The mood is morbid.

  Mummy is taking it even more personally. She’s questioning the Punjabi genes of the child. ‘No Punjabi refuses meat.’ I think she’s suspicious of who the father is!

  Then she turns to me in the evening and says gently, ‘You know, most Punjabi women are vegetarians. So it must be a girl.’

  She is now satisfied with her theory. I’m satisfied about not needing to see chicken again.

  Ramit

  Mummy keeps asking me about the chicken. Too much salt? Too much mirchi? Too less of something? Why isn’t Mona eating her chicken?

  Mona

  Got a hush-hush call from my mom today.

  ‘Ramit told me you haven’t been eating chicken,’ she whispered.

  Uff, this Ramit!

  ‘I don’t know. There’s this metallic taste in my mouth …’

  ‘It must be the chicken your mother-in-law is making.’ Clearly, Mom has made up her mind about what, or who, the problem is. ‘She doesn’t know our taste buds. You don’t worry! I will get there and make you some delectable dishes! Hang in there, okay?’

  I don’t get a chance to defend Mummy’s cooking before she hangs up.

  Ramit

  Poor Mona has been stuck in the bedroom. She hardly gets to leave it.

  Got her some books of the non-pregnancy variety. Also some perfume to help with her olfactory issues.

  Mona

  That was a rather sweet gesture, but the minute Ramit left for work, I had to toss the perfumes out. The smell’s too strong for me.

  I may be giving birth to some sort of sniffer dog!

  Ramit

  Woke up with a start – it sounded like Mummy was moving furniture in the middle of the night, but the sheepish grin from my dearest wife made me realize it wasn’t that type of noise.

  From now on, we will be sleeping under separate blankets.

  As it is, we haven’t done anything in over three months.

  Maybe I can unsubscribe from our LPG connection. Or get a bunch of balloons. Or open a stepney repair shop. My wife is producing so much natural gas, I could become a millionaire.

  Mona

  Today I farted in front of my mother-in-law.

  And with that, the last vestige of my pride flew out of the window.

  Week 12

  A nuchal translucency scan helps detect the risk of genetic issues with the foetus

  Ramit

  This is what nightmares are made of. Having your mother and mother-in-law under the same roof.

  Mona’s Mom arrived this morning and Mummy leaves tonight. There was a bit of a catfight about who would accompany us to the doctor, but then I managed to dissuade both of them.

  Mona

  Caught Ramit sweating it out as the two mothers came face-to-face.

  Don’t know why my Mom has decided to become the national flag of India in her saffron kurta, green salwar and unmatched white dupatta. I should get Shania to have a chat with her. Her dress sense is getting more and more atrocious by the day.

  But I’m too worried to bother right now.

  It’s an important scan today. And I’ve never been more scared.

  I can hear every piece of advice that’s been thrown at me about jaldi baccha karo, biological clock etc., etc. Apparently the older the mother, the more the chances of the child having Down’s syndrome, which is what we’re checking for today. Something called an NT scan.

  Ramit is being all don’t-you-worry but I can see that frown on his face as he drives.

  Ramit

  Can’t concentrate on driving. Panicking about the mothers. I can literally hear their voices in my head, arguing over who should look after Mona and the baby and why one’s methods are superior to the other’s. Just like they did at our wedding.

  Wonder which of the two will murder the other first.

  My money’s on Mummy.

  Mona

  We’ve changed the ultrasound clinic. I’m not going to get an internal examination
done again. I read up everywhere and you don’t need to have that thing shoved up you to see the baby. So goodbye, Shahnaz Husain and hello Dr Rama Rathore.

  Only Dr Rama Rathore turned out to be Dr Ram Rathore.

  Shit.

  Ramit

  For a minute, I thought my wife was about to pull her pants down in front of that man.

  Mona

  Dr Ram Rathore assuaged our fears by telling us that it’d definitely be an external scan, and then placed lots of goop on my stomach and moved the thing around. Colour returned to Ramit’s face.

  Ramit

  The screen lit up, but I was worried about having that man’s hairy knuckles on my wife’s stomach. He was staring at his screen but I was watching his hand.

  I tried to catch Mona’s eye but she was gaping at the screen. I turned to see it too.

  Mona

  Is this thing actually inside me?

  Ramit was shaking his head in disbelief. It was an outline of a real baby. I could actually see the baby. Our baby. A real baby. Not a blob. A baby.

  Ramit saw it too, and he was beaming down at me so I quickly forced myself to smile back at him. Didn’t want him to know how awkward it felt to have a baby, a human being, growing inside me.

  I miss the blob. Where’s the blob?

  Oh my God! Am I not supposed to be overflowing with maternal feelings, all warm and fuzzy? I know I’m pregnant, but this is like there’s something inside me. Which is what pregnancy means but … where is the blob?

  Ramit

  It’s a funny baby. Kept floating around as the doctor made notes of random numbers on the screen. Couldn’t wipe the silly smile off my face. I held Mona’s hand. It was a little shaky.

  Then Dr Rathore started measuring the nasal bone and some thigh bone while taking us through the kidney and stomach and it was all so exciting.

  He told us all was well after half an hour of pushing around. Then asked if we wanted to hear the heartbeat.

  Mona

  And then, suddenly, there was a magical drumming from within me.

  And that’s when I felt it. I felt a little ball of joy rolling in my stomach. I felt my eyes sting and I grinned at Ramit, who was grinning back at me, his ears pink with happiness.

  ‘And this is the sound of the blood …’

  Ramit

  Never thought ‘whoosh whoosh whoosh’ could sound so beautiful.

  It was a special moment for us. A defining point in our relationship. An image of Mona smiling at me in college, her saying yes when I asked her to marry me, sitting down next to me at the pheras, opening the door for me when I got home for the first time … all of it played in my head. And now, we are going to have a baby.

  I held her hand in both of mine and we gazed at the screen like two lovers. Which we are.

  Mona

  We drove home holding hands, in silence. Actually, Ramit hasn’t been able to let go of my hand since the scan. Every now and then he turns to smile at me and I know he’s as happy as I am.

  For years I’ve wondered why people had honeymoon babies. I guess I know now.

  Ramit

  When I pulled into the driveway, I saw the two mothers from the window, seated at the dining table, anxious, checking their phones, drinking their tea. Damn. Had forgotten all about them.

  They rushed to us when we entered and Mona told them everything was fine.

  The mothers clapped their hands and even hugged each other in relief.

  I suggested we could finally tell people.

  And then it began. The never-ending family drama.

  ‘Wait another week,’ Mona’s mom said pointedly, a diplomatic smile on her face. ‘What’s the point of telling extended family immediately?’

  A puff of smoke seemed to escape my mother’s nose. I braced myself for the inevitable fight.

  Mona

  My heart sank to my toes. I knew my mother was talking about the hazaar Deols.

  ‘We don’t have the concept of extended family,’ Mummy said indignantly. ‘They are all well-wishers and once I tell the Deol family, they will only pray for Mona’s good health.’ Clearly they weren’t considered well-wishers in the first three months.

  ‘I’m not asking you to deny it when someone asks, but no point going around making a loudspeaker announcement.’ Mom argued with her chin turned up, refusing to meet Mummy’s seething eyes. What did my bechari-dressed-up-like-a-national-flag mother think she was doing, taking on my ex-school-principal mother-in-law?

  ‘Besides, it’s Mona and Ramit’s big announcement,’ Mom continued, not knowing how much of her own and our lives she was putting at risk by continuing with this argument. ‘They should figure it out themselves. What do you guys think?’ Both the mothers looked at us expectantly, piercingly, but I’d decided to do a PhD on the floor tiles.

  We stood around in silence for a bit, till Ramit finally cleared his throat and announced he was going to call Dr Khan’s clinic for an appointment to discuss the NT scan.

  Both the mothers turned to Ramit in horror.

  ‘Dr Who?’ the mothers ask in unison.

  ‘Dr Mehak Khan. The gyna…

  ‘You’re going to a Mohameddan doctor?’ Mummy asked, aghast.

  ‘You didn’t tell me!’ Mom shouted.

  This was followed by a series of shocked protests. Ramit’s ears went from pink to maroon.

  Ramit

  The inevitable fight has begun, but it’s not between them, it’s between team Mothers and team Pregnant Us.

  Of all the things the mothers could be worried about, they’ve picked the faith of the doctor delivering Mona’s … I mean, our baby.

  Spent an hour arguing with them on why it doesn’t even matter.

  ‘She won’t let us swaddle the baby in Guruji’s cloth from the Gurdwara,’ Mummy argued.

  I reasoned with her that Dr Khan delivers many children of different-faith parents and won’t have an issue with it.

  ‘She won’t let us write Om on the baby’s tongue with honey,’ Mona’s Mom adds. Mona’s mother is an atheist. They don’t even have an idol in their house. On Diwali they play bhajans off Shania’s iPod. She wants to write Om on our baby’s tongue? Who is she kidding!

  ‘Mom, we shouldn’t be giving the baby honey so early on in any case,’ Mona said bravely.

  ‘See? She’s already brainwashing you!’ Mummy jumped in to defend Mona’s mother.

  ‘You’re so non-religious anyway, Mom. How does it even matter!’ Mona snapped.

  ‘Mona! How can you even say that! We have to give a newborn baby honey! What has this doctor been telling you?’

  ‘She hasn’t told me anything! I read it online! And in all the pregnancy books!’ Mona looked at her mother angrily.

  ‘Bade Papa goes to Dr Shafiq for his heart condition,’ I told my mother pointedly. ‘He’s Muslim.’

  ‘That’s different! Other Muslim doctors are fine. But this is a brand new life! We can’t have a Muslim doctor pulling out our child!’

  Mona

  I cannot believe this is happening! Ramit and I are just feeling more and more shocked at the absurdity of our mothers. It went on for an hour and five minutes.

  I got very upset and called Dad to complain about Mom.

  ‘Yaar, you know how it is with your mother. She must be worried about a Muslim doctor circumcising the baby. Just get her a glass of wine …’

  Turns out Dad was right. Both the mums had the same concern. Unleashed a speech that had them embarrassed to their toes. How dare they judge a doctor by her faith! How can they think someone so professional would do something like this? How can they be so irrational? They both looked guilty and sheepish. Then showed them some articles on the internet and a picture of her.

  ‘So young?’ my mom said, pulling the laptop towards her. ‘How will she do your delivery? In my time …’

  Sigh!

  Ramit

  Finally, some peace. At least, a bit of peace. Mummy is on her way back,
and now there are just two crazy women to deal with.

  Mona

  Now with the drama behind me, I’m wondering how to tell my friends.

  Should I be a little dramatic and send them a picture of the ultrasound on the group? Or should I text each of them individually with some personalized message? Or should I say ‘Coming soon: Baby Deol, September 7th!’ Or does that sound too much like a Bobby Deol relaunch.

  Or maybe I’ll just walk into one of the get-togethers I have been avoiding of late, and announce it right before someone is about to cut a cake or something, and steal the limelight. Or I could invite them over for lunch and announce it then.

  And to Laila Sachdev, I can simply say, oh, you’re eight weeks along? I just found out I’m three months. Or will that make me sound like a bimbo who doesn’t realize she hasn’t had her period in three months?

  I turned to Ramit and asked him how he was planning to tell his friends.

  Ramit

  I have to tell my friends? Won’t that just make them picture us having sex?

  Mona

  Composed a simple text and sent it out. Flooded with replies.

  Before I slept, saw Ramit on his phone. I’m guessing he was sending out messages to his friends.

  Ramit

  Trying to get some work done but the bheed is spamming me with congratulations.

  Mona

  Ramit’s WhatsApp has crashed, courtesy his cousins flooding his inbox. He left the house grumbling.

  And thanks to the mothers, all the relatives know. So much for being selective.

  Got several strange phone calls including:

  ‘I knew last Diwali only!’ Somesh tayiji. That was six months ago.

  ‘Mubarak ho! Ladka ho!’ Cousin Teena, the sexist!

  ‘Oh Thank God! I had been praying for so many years!’ Ramit’s dadi. Oh boy!

  ‘My Roshan finally has a playmate!’ Roshini. That child seriously needs some toys.

  ‘Beta, second trimester is most dangerous. You need to take bed rest.’ Paranoid Suhani bua from Doon. More like Paranoid Suhani bua from doom, as Shania calls her. I need to avoid all calls from her in the future.

  Speaking of Shania: ‘Oh, all’s clear? Congrats again. And di, could you transfer 20K to me? I’ll return it ASAP, I promise! And don’t tell Mom-Dad please!’