Koi Good News?

by Zarreen Khan

  Week 13

  Your baby is now about the size of a peach

  Mona

  Mom is a peach. Okay, she also looks like a peach today, in that strange orange-and-red outfit, complete with a green rubberband around her ponytail. But she’s also a peach for marching straight into the kitchen to attend to her daughter’s needs.

  She’s confidently saying that the Punjabis don’t know how to make chicken and she, who has grown up with a Christian best friend from Romania, knows how to make proper chicken, and immediately makes me a massive chicken pie.

  Ramit

  The chicken was so delicious, I was waiting for Mona to pass on her share of it, as always.

  But she was wolfing it down like nobody’s business.

  It’s true: A girl needs her mother. That’s what I’ve learnt.

  If Mummy was to see how Mona is having a go at her mother’s food, she would’ve taken great offence.

  Mona

  Mom sat there, basking in pride as I asked for my third helping.

  Then she brought out a basket of fried potato wedges and I scraped them off.

  Then she brought out bread pudding, dripping with sweet mixed-fruit jam and butter and I had two helpings of that.

  Basically, my taste buds seem to be returning to normal.

  And another normal – since Mummy is gone, I am no longer under house arrest. So this afternoon, Mom asked me to walk with her to the vegetable shop right outside the complex. Apparently now that I’m three months along, I can get out of bed. I was so happy I skipped all the way. It was nice to be out in the March sun, and I forgot I was pregnant for a bit.

  Then a car pulled up next to us and Laila Sachdev flung herself out of it and flung out what she’d eaten for lunch too.

  I gave her a bottle of water and she thanked me and walked back with us.

  Apparently she’s been puking away every other day and has been feeling rather weak. I actually saw a tiny, really tiny, baby bump too. Mom glared at me for denying her the puking.

  But she also turned it into an opportunity to boast. ‘Oh, our Mona didn’t have any puking!’ she boasted. My innocent mother is quite competitive deep inside.

  Laila turned to me questioningly and I blushed.

  ‘I’m thirteen weeks now,’ I told her.

  She squealed and hugged me. She made some comments on how it would be wonderful to be on this journey together and how she wished I had told her earlier and how exciting that the kids would be around the same age and all that fake jazz.

  Laila Sachdev and I stood at the gate chatting for a bit after that … more like she chatted and I nodded. She went on about how exciting it is and how she hasn’t got a dating scan done since her doctor, at the very posh Mother L’Enfant Hospital, doesn’t think it’s necessary and how she really hopes it’s a baby girl and how she’s been working away and travelling but feels quite sick most of the time and how she gets terrible cravings and one day had wandered off to KFC at 10.30 a.m., before the store had opened, and asked for chicken popcorn.

  How completely opposite her experience has been to mine. Also, she is a terrible exaggerator. There is no such thing as craving. I’m sure it’s just her way of squeezing more attention out of the husband.

  Then Mom walked out and interrupted us.

  ‘It’s your mother-in-law on the line for you, Mona. She said you’re not answering your phone and she got worried.’

  ‘Oh that’s why you’ve had your mums over!’ Laila realized finally. ‘Lucky you.’

  Ha! She should try having two crazy mums over!

  ‘Where are your parents?’ Mom, ever inquisitive, asked.

  ‘They’re in Singapore. I’m sure they’ll visit soon.’

  I saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Don’t know what.

  ‘And Shashi’s family?’ I asked.

  Laila smiled a little … uncomfortably? ‘They stay in Mumbai.’

  Ha! She doesn’t get along with her in-laws. I knew it!

  ‘Well,’ Mom said, being all altruistic. ‘We are like your parents. Come over whenever you like. In fact, come over this weekend. I’ll cook the two pregnant women a nice nutritious meal.’ Gosh, my self-proclaimed MasterChef mother! I could see her planning the meal in her head already!

  Laila agreed and a date was set.

  Ramit

  Mona sent me a text saying she’s craving Nutties.

  I searched all of Gurgaon for them and perhaps contributed to their only sale in years. When I got home, Mona was sulking.

  She wouldn’t tell me why.

  Women!

  Pregnant women!

  Mona

  I sent him that text at three in the afternoon. I may have died of my craving but no, he still decides to wait till evening.

  Men!

  They have no understanding of pregnant women!

  What if I actually had a craving and this wasn’t just a test of his love for me?

  Ramit

  The thing about mothers is that while they’re nosy and intrusive and bully you around, they’re also almost always significantly better cooks than your wife.

  We were at the table, enjoying the lavish spread, when a lady wearing a red sari with a snake around her neck sauntered into our living room.

  Yes. A snake. Around her neck.

  Shania.

  Mona

  Mom was so horrified she shrieked, and Laila and Shashi Sachdev stood up to attack the intruder, but Ramit had the situation under control as Shania broke out into hysterical giggles, claiming she only wanted to see Mom’s reaction to the snake. I told her that simply seeing her dressed in a sari had that effect and nobody had noticed the fake snake in the first place.

  And then she blinked at me and said: ‘Di, Shantanu isn’t fake.’

  And just like that, a slimy, slithery, disgusting black snake was released into my arms.

  Ramit

  If Mona has to deal with the crazy 500-member Deol khandaan, I have one Shania. And that’s enough.

  With everyone going ballistic and the crazy sister-in-law insisting that the snake had been de-fanged and that the pet was here to stay and with the mother-in-law fluctuating between bouts of anger and self-pity, I had to figure out what to do with the slithering reptile. I went hunting for a large cardboard box, using a bowl of milk as bait – that’s what they do in the movies – and tried to lure the snake into the box.

  Then it dawned on me that no way had that snake come on a flight from Pune, to which Shania replied that she bought it from a snake farm in Mehrauli, run by a dear friend who, by the sound of it, seemed dearer than just dear. And it cost her five grand. Cost me, to be precise, as I had sent her the last instalment of extortion money.

  I would have picked a fight, but I had to run behind the snake with a box and a bowl of milk.

  Mona

  As Mom stormed off to call Dad and get him to talk some sense into his beloved daughter, and Ramit phoned people to find someone who could get this snake off our hands, I hissed at Shania.

  ‘Shantanu! How can you name the snake Shantanu! He was your first boyfriend.’

  ‘And I’m still very bitter about how he left me, so now Shantanu is mine for life. And you better tell jeej that … Oh hellooooo … I’m so rude, as is my family, to not have introduced us. I’m Shania.’

  That’s when I realized the Sachdevs were still there and that Shania had spotted Shashi Sachdev. I swear to God she adjusted her sari palla to reveal one boob and more of her cleavage.

  I hurried by her side before she went any further, and quickly said, ‘I’m so sorry. Shashi, this is my little sister, Shania. Shania, this is our neighbour Shashi and this is Laila, his wife.’ I had to physically hold Shania’s shoulders and turn her towards Laila, who was standing exactly half an inch away from Shashi but Shania had pretended she was invisible.

  And for once I saw Shania’s eyes light up at someone of the same sex. She gasped.

  ‘Gosh! I absolutely love wha
t you’re wearing,’ she said, rudely checking out Laila’s gorgeous floral floor-length cotton dress.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Laila said politely. ‘I like your sari too.’

  ‘Oh yes. There’s this quaint but absolutely beautiful sari shop in Pune. I bought a whole collection from them. I was at the Mohita Ashram, by the way – Om Shanti Peace Peace Shanti, such an enriching experience – and while I was able to give up all these worldly things, saris are my weakness!’ She batted her eyelashes at them.

  She has never worn a sari in the past twenty-eight years! Probably once she discovered how revealing and sexy all these new-age blouses could be…

  ‘So, is this ashram for meditation or yoga or...?’ It was amazing how Laila could sound so genuinely interested in someone as flaky as my sister. It takes one to know one, I guess.

  ‘It’s for this and that.’ Oh good God, Shania clearly had no idea. I wonder which boy she had followed into the camp. She gasped again and grabbed Laila’s perfectly manicured hand – changing the topic, I supposed. ‘This nailpaint! I’ve been looking for something like this forever!’

  ‘Do you like it? It’s our company’s new matt range that we’re just starting to test market.’

  ‘I love it! It’s so gorgeous!’

  Given up all worldly things, my ass!

  ‘Which company is this?’ Shania asked.

  ‘Sparq. This will be in our Touch range.’

  Shania gasped again. She could pass off as an asthma patient with all her gushing. And she was genuinely interested in Laila Sachdev. She hadn’t even glanced at Shashi Sachdev again, and that’s saying something!

  ‘Shania, I want to speak to you right now!’ my mother snapped.

  ‘Not now, Mom.’

  ‘NOW!’

  ‘Mom!’

  ‘NOW!’

  Shania sighed and followed my mother inside obediently.

  ‘And why are you dressed like you’re headed for a funeral again?’ I heard Shania ask my mother as they disappeared. I noticed my mother’s clashing ensemble of black and grey salwar-kameez for the first time this evening and reluctantly agreed with Shania.

  And then Ramit stood up, his hair plastered all over his forehead, his glasses askew, having been on all fours all this while trying to capture the snake and making ‘breathing holes’ in the box. We both turned guiltily to our guests.

  ‘So … dessert?’

  Week 14

  By now, your waistline may have begun

  to look a little thicker

  Ramit

  Without being rude, I decided to tell Mona to go shopping with her Mom before she left. Her boobs have continued to get bigger, and despite the million scarves Mummy had bought her, she definitely needed some new clothes.

  Mona

  As a part of a ‘cleansing’ exercise she learnt at the ashram, Shania has decided to ‘take’ us shopping. We will be paying, of course. But she’ll be providing us with selfless, true advice. And it will be a test of her patience, as she will not buy anything for herself. She’s dressed in a sheer blue sari. I think she simply wants to step out to show off her sari collection and her ample cleavage.

  Now, I know for a fact that someone needs to take my mother to the market and teach her how to match outfits and tell her wearing pink slippers with a neon green suit is not the brightest of ideas, but then Shania said I need to buy myself some stylish maternity pants too – the kind with waistbands that cover the belly; Laila Sachdev told her about them.

  Apparently, Laila Sachdev and Shania are now picket-fence buddies and catch up every day when she returns from work.

  Shania maintains that if she ever gets out of this I’m-one-with-the-universe phase, which I’m sure will be very soon, she will turn to diva Laila for guidance on how to re-enter the fashion world.

  Anyway, we got delayed going to the market because Mom was yelling at Shania for making fun of her polka-dotted salwar while she herself was dressed in ridiculous clothes – a low-neck peasant-sleeved blouse with a transparent chiffon sari and my only Gucci designer sunglasses on her head like some 1970s Bollywood actress.

  Ramit

  I got a panicked call from Mummy saying I can’t let Mona drive.

  So there I was, taking the first half of the day off to drive three bickering ladies to the malls.

  Mona sat in the back seat, muttering about how my mother had probably gotten CCTV cameras installed in our home, since she clearly knows everything about our lives. I think she’s right.

  We reached the mall and I left the women to shop while I found myself a café to work in. Two hours later, the ladies joined me and took over my laptop.

  Apparently they had spent three hours in the mall looking for maternity clothes, before realizing that their best option was to shop online. Which they could have done from the house as well.

  A complete waste of a day.

  Mona

  So I’ve ordered four maternity slacks and these large kurtis but Laila Sachdev is walking around in skimpy dresses showing off her bump! It’s apparently fashionable.

  My sister has invited her to tea and plans are being made to meet Tina Tej Mushran as well. How has my yogi sister gained entry into their elite world?

  Ramit was grumbling about his wasted day and how expensive all these maternity clothes are, when Laila walked in and laughed.

  ‘You think the clothes expensive? Have you any idea what will happen when the baby comes? Do you know how much a pram costs? Or a cot? Or a car seat? Or high chair? Or a breast pump?’

  And Ramit’s ears turned crimson again! My husband is such a prude!

  Ramit

  Told Mona we’re not getting a pram. My mum carried me around everywhere. That’s how mothers and babies bond.

  I should have said parents and babies. But it was too late.

  I’m being made to sleep on the couch.

  Week 15

  Pregnancy hormones improve the appearance of your skin, giving you that special pregnancy glow

  Mona

  We’re back in Amritsar for Holi. And I’m back on bed rest.

  Everyone considers this a ‘precious’ pregnancy, since it’s come around so late. All the attention is off the puking-in-the-fifth-month Mohini and turned on the miraculously-pregnant Mona.

  Multiple relatives have come into the room to compliment my ‘fair’ skin, and Dadi also nodded her approval of my looks and pronounced I’m having a baby girl.

  A Deol debate ensued.

  Nishi bua said it’s a boy, judging by the roundness of the belly. If it was a girl, apparently my belly would have been oblong.

  Daisy chachi said it’s a girl because women glow when they’re carrying girls and turn ugly if they are carrying boys. She stole a rather obvious glance at Mohini, who looked half dead from all the puking.

  Roshini, the one who is desperately looking for a playmate for her son, said it’s a boy because I haven’t puked at all – just like she hadn’t. Eyes turned to Mohini again.

  Vishi bua skyped from America and declared that it’s certainly a girl because my hair is looking thicker.

  Chiku, no-action-on-honeymoon, said I’m carrying twins, given the weight I’ve put on. There were multiple nods at that, till Mummy informed them that the ultrasound had shown only one child.

  And Suttu wanted to do the ring test over my belly to figure out for sure.

  Mummy, after she huddled out all the members of the family, asked me to lie down. And then she lifted my T-shirt – much to my horror – and said that since the line joining the navel to my pelvic area is crooked, it’s a boy.

  She then instructed me to put my feet up while she fetched me some more fruit.

  Ramit

  Was playing cricket in the driveway when I saw Mummy taking up yet another glass of orange juice for Mona. I won’t be surprised if our child comes out looking like a damn orange.

  Mona

  Mom phones me from Doon to tell me Shania’s yogi phase h
asn’t ended. But it’s more about the skimpy blouses than spirituality. She is disgusted, but Dad refuses to look beyond the tip of his paintbrush. She’s told me to do something about my sister when Shania comes for her ‘turn’ next week once we’re back.

  I told her about the gender debate I’ve sparked off. She informed me that the glow was from all the orange juice and fruits. Nothing else.

  She thinks it’s a boy because Ramit is the only child and he’s a boy, and it always goes on the boy’s side of the family, just like Mom had two girls because Dad has two elder sisters.

  Who needs foetal sex testing in India when you have relatives?

  Ramit

  Shania was FaceTiming with us when she proclaimed loudly, ‘You know why you’re glowing, right?’

  Mona exasperatedly asked about her theory. Shania helpfully explained that it was after-sex glow, since now we were in the safer phase of pregnancy and didn’t have to … er … refrain.

  I left them both at it and could hear Mona scolding her.

  So glad I’m a single child.

  Week 16

  Sometime during the second trimester, couples may feel an increased interest in sex

  Mona

  I can always rely on Shania to botch things up. But this time it’s been a welcome mess. She booked her tickets from Dehradun on the wrong date and this being the long Easter weekend, she is unable to get train tickets to Delhi. She won’t take the bus because road journeys make her sick.

  Which means, after many months, Ramit and I are alone again!

  Ramit

  American TV is full of lies. A pregnant woman’s hormones do not go on overdrive.

  Mona and I are sleeping on our king-size bed but Mona and her growing belly would rather nestle against the heap of pillows instead of me.

  Mona

  It’s just so freaking hot!

  Ramit is curled up in the Jaipuri while I’m in tiny cotton shorts and I’m still sweating away like a pig.

  Now Ramit is ranting away about the electricity bill and suggesting I move to Antarctica.