Eventually, I was victorious, managing to quiet her down and start feeding. It was then that I became aware of a strange sound – a low, rhythmic thup-thup-thup emanating from somewhere nearby. I looked around for the source and saw that it was Vijay.
He had his eyes closed but had stretched out one arm, evidently in response to the baby’s crying, and was patting her back to sleep. Except that since she had been with me the entire time, he had actually just been patting her tiny yellow pillow to sleep, with a serene, fatherly expression on his face. I stared at him in bemusement while feeding the now silent Peanut. After a while, he seemed to notice that the crying had stopped. Clearly thinking he had, yet again, done an admirable job in his newly discovered role as SuperDad, he allowed himself a self-satisfied smile, gave the pillow a final loving stroke, slowly pulled back his hand and resumed his peaceful, dreamless sleep.
The following weekend provided a slight variation. Peanut woke up crying and I went through an elaborate routine of about an hour with her – I fed her, burped her, changed her diaper and rocked her back to sleep. By the time I finished this cycle, it was 4 a.m. I finally lay her down between Vijay and me, positioning her to face me. As I was putting her things away, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, a familiar hairy arm snaking out slowly from behind her. I turned and saw Vijay had one eye half-open and was sleepily grabbing hold of our baby and turning her over to face him, instead of me, and then patting her back to sleep in this position. I was irritated but too sleepy to bother saying anything, so I just passed out.
The next night, I went through a similar cycle of about an hour while Vijay slept peacefully. Sure enough though, as soon as I lay her down on her side, facing me, Vijay opened one eye halfway and looked straight at her. I was prepared this time and told him pointedly, ‘She hasn’t burped properly after her feed. The doctor said we should make her lie on her right side when this happens.’ Having made my point, I turned away to clear her things from the bed. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the very long, hairy arm reaching out for her again, turning her over to face him, putting her on her left side and mumbling sleepily, ‘Come on, bitiya, you have to sleep on your right side now – and the right side is always the one where you are facing Daddy. Right?’ He patted her lovingly and drifted off to sleep with his arm protectively around her. And I was left holding the dirty nappy.
As I shoved it into the dustbin and got back into bed, I thought about how the differences between us that had seemed so endearing when we first got together now had us bickering like an old married couple. And we had a helpless little creature dependent on us.
God help Peanut.
Just Married, Please Excuse
8
Enter the Kajal
‘Honey, don’t you think it’s time for you guys to move back to Mumbai to be with me?’
It was three months since we had moved into my mother’s place in Delhi. Our initial agreement had been for forty days after her birth, but I had just ensconced myself at my mother’s place and things had been chugging along just fine. I thought I was shaping up to be a pretty fine mother, if I did say so myself. Peanut seemed to be doing fine too – feeding well, growing well, starting to get active and to respond to me in various cooing, smiley and generally endearing ways.
Of course I knew that Vijay wanted to be able to spend more time with her as well and that perhaps it was just a little unfair that in order to do that, he was expected to travel a few thousand kilometres every weekend, instead of seeing her every day when he got home from work. Still, I figured attack was the best form of defence.
‘Have you ever considered,’ I suggested in response to him, over the phone, ‘that perhaps it’s time for you to move to Delhi to be with us instead? How about that?’
Vijay pointed out that he had a job in Mumbai, and that in case I had forgotten, I did too. After my maternity leave ended in a few months, I would have to restart work there. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘how long can you stay at your mum’s?’
‘I did it for over twenty years last time,’ I pointed out resolutely.
‘Dekho, Yashodhara,’ he said in his best I’m-the-Man-of-the-House voice, ‘as your husband, I command you to come back to your rightful place, by my side …’
I hung up on him.
Moodily, I busied myself in folding and unfolding some of Peanut’s clothes for a few minutes and then paused. I knew he was right, of course. Peanut was growing up fast and he was missing most of it. His weekend flights were taking a toll on him and also burning a big hole in our pockets. I was now at a stage where I was confident that I would be able to take good care of my baby. Or at least not harm her too much, given the right level of support.
The support was the only remaining issue. Till now, we had always managed with part-timers, but with Peanut, there had to be full-time help, especially since I would be at work all day. I had heard enough horror stories about evil maids to know that I wouldn’t trust just any stranger with my baby.
Still, I knew I couldn’t put off moving back for long. As I thought about it, I realized that I actually missed many things about Mumbai – including Zarreena, Vinod and of course Vivi, who had said that she was ‘literally dying to see Peanut’, which was of course a bit of hyperbole. Yes, it would be good to get back and see everyone there.
If only I could find some good full-time help to take care of Peanut.
I casually asked my mother, ‘So, Ma. When are you due to retire?’
She looked suspiciously at me. ‘Not for another couple of years.’
‘Damn,’ I whispered under my breath. Not that it would have been easy to convince my mother to live with us and take care of my baby. She was fiercely independent and for some reason, more socially active than ever, travelling with friends all over the country for mini-breaks every other weekend. I felt a pang of jealousy and comforted myself that at some point, I too would regain my freedom. Just another thirty years or so.
There seemed to be no solution in sight to our full-time help problem, although we had spread the word to all our acquaintances in both Delhi and Mumbai. I told Vijay that until we figured this out, it would be difficult for me to move back, but he wasn’t buying it any more.
‘But who’s helping you there right now?’ he asked. ‘Mama and Gitanjali go off to work in the morning and come back late in the evening. Kajal is managing the housework. So you’re doing it alone right now, aren’t you?’
This kind of logical reasoning did not sit well with me. I huffed, ‘It’s just like you not to understand. It’s about moral support also. Besides, Kajal does help sometimes – she watches the baby when I’m bathing and stuff like that.’
It was true. Kajal liked to watch the baby. In fact, she watched the baby a lot.
It had begun from the day that I had brought Peanut home. For Kajal, little Peanut brought back happy memories of the days when my little sister was a baby. I realized now that over the last couple of years, Kajal had become a rather morose and resigned person, not even bothering to moan about her myriad imagined ailments with the same enthusiasm as before. It was only in the last few months since Peanut had been around that there was some sort of brightness in her demeanour. Plus, a couple of days ago she had insisted on showing me some rather unsightly rashes on her left arm, timing it rather well to coincide exactly with my lunchtime. Clearly, the old Kajal was back.
Most weekdays, it was the three of us at home. I would be reading in bed with Peanut in the bassinet by my side. Kajal would be banging pots and pans around in the kitchen. But every few minutes, the pots and pans would fall silent and I would look up to see Kajal standing by the door, gazing down at Peanut with a fond expression, looking like a particularly sentimental gargoyle. After a few minutes of this, she would exclaim, ‘Kitna shona baby hain’ and then reluctantly tear herself away to go back to banging the pots and pans again.
She would sometimes hinder more than she helped. There were occasions when I had managed to make
Peanut nod off with a lot of difficulty and was just heaving a sigh of relief, when a sudden piercing yell would startle us both.
It would be Kajal screeching ‘Kya kar raha hain shona baby? Ohhh … sho raha hain … shorreee!’ Of course, Peanut would start crying despite Kajal’s immediate apologies and hasty retreat. I would grit my teeth and start the whole routine of putting her back to sleep, all over again.
Still, it was nice to have Kajal around, it made me feel less alone while managing Peanut. However, she was rather underconfident about taking on anything more challenging, like actually holding Peanut – she seemed to think the baby was too delicate, and that it had been too long since she had last held a baby.
I realized that mulling over the problem of good help wasn’t really helping. I asked Kajal to watch Peanut while I went for a bath, but I was only about three minutes into the long, luxurious, five-minute shower that I had planned, when she knocked on the bathroom urgently. ‘Gudia, Shonee ro raha hain.’
With shampoo in my eyes, and unwilling to cut short my shower, I called back to her to pick up the baby and rock her for a couple of minutes.
When I emerged rubbing my head with a towel, I was greeted by the sight of Kajal holding Peanut. She was indeed a little rusty. She had her eyes closed and was clutching the baby close to her chest, as if afraid she might lose her grip any minute. Her idea of rocking was unique – she was hopping on her left foot for a few seconds, before shifting her weight and hopping on her right foot. She was even singing in a low monotone, what sounded like some sort of Bengali lullaby – although it could easily have been a prayer to the heavens to help her not drop the baby. Peanut instinctively seemed to know it was best to clutch onto this strange person’s sari to avoid slipping off; she was hanging on for dear life, looking rather like a confused little frog.
When Kajal opened her eyes and saw me, she stopped the strange singing and her face broke into a bright grin of pure happiness. She informed me with a note of triumph, ‘Maine Shonee ko chup karaya!’
It was then that it first occurred to me that Kajal, who had been with the family for so many years, would be the ideal person to help with Peanut.
But I regretfully quashed the thought – it wouldn’t work for a number of reasons.
For one, Kajal was possibly too old for the job. She had been a young woman when she came first to live with us, but now was close to fifty years of age, although she looked much the same to me as before – her smooth, oiled hair in the perennial braid was still black; she was still a slim figure in her sari; her face, which when younger was already lined with the worries and hardship of her early years before her time with us, had not really aged much further. Still, she was now much slower, and rather inefficient and short-sighted. I knew we required someone much younger and more energetic for Peanut.
Besides, she had been with my mother for so long now that it seemed unfair to think about separating them. In her own bumbling way, she managed all the household work for my mother and sister, and was as attached to the two of them as they were dependent upon her. Further, she had not lived anywhere but in this same old house for the last quarter century, and getting used to living in a new place would be hard on her.
These were the thoughts that ran through my head as I changed Peanut’s diaper for what seemed like the tenth time that day. I was dejected as it occurred to me that I was still at square one as far as finding help was concerned. To add to my misery, Peanut pooped on the changing sheet and also managed to soil the onesie that she was wearing. I looked at the mess, sighed, and stoically started to change her clothes.
Kajal materialized at my elbow, saying, ‘Shonee kya kiya? Poo-poo kiya? Achha ho gaya, poo-poo achha hota hain.’ She wisely informed me that this had cleared the baby’s stomach. I nodded listlessly and asked her to watch the baby while I went to wash the dirty clothes. Kajal instead grabbed the dirty clothes from me, and said that she would wash them. I didn’t want to take advantage of her by making her do the dirty work, so I told her she really didn’t have to do it. But she waved me away and trotted off, holding the clothes proudly and called over her shoulder in a gleeful tone, ‘Baby ka poo-poo toh mujhe bahut achha lagta hain.’
Her words hung in the air behind her, and echoed in my head. She wasn’t disgusted by Peanut’s potty. She said she liked Peanut’s potty.
It had to be Kajal.
I sat with my mother, watching as she sipped her evening cup of coffee. I felt a bit guilty about what I was going to ask her. Of course, my mother was the kind of mother who would give you the shirt off her back – except she didn’t wear shirts. Despite her generosity, I felt this one favour was too much to ask – she was the one who had brought Kajal from Calcutta so many years ago and she was used to having her do everything around the house.
Then my mother suggested, ‘I’ve been thinking – why don’t you just take Kajal with you to Bombay?’
I was speechless.
She continued, ‘I know you think she’s too old and slow, but she really seems to love Peanut. And of course, anyone else you get now will be a stranger. Kajal is completely trustworthy – like a member of the family. And she can take a load off you by managing the kitchen while you take care of the baby.’
After a couple of moments, I voiced the doubt that had been bothering me the whole day. ‘But how will you manage, Mum? You and Gitanjali are so used to having her around.’
My mother simply shrugged and said, ‘Yes. But as they say, your need is greater than ours.’
I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, ‘It’s perfect, Mum. I should have thought of it myself.’
I threw my arms around my mother, almost knocking her coffee cup out of her hands, and narrowly escaped seriously scalding us both.
I asked Kajal later that evening about how she would feel about coming to Mumbai with us. Once she registered what I was asking of her, she reacted with a mixture of surprise and delight. Any qualms that she might have felt about leaving my mother and sister were apparently outweighed by the thought of guaranteed close proximity with her newest little idol. In fact, she seemed very excited by the thought of moving in with us, and resolved to help us out in any way possible, saying repeatedly, ‘Main Shonee ko itna pyaar karti hoon, oh baba goh!’
And so it was settled.We were finally moving back to Mumbai to be with Vijay. Unsure though I was about how we would reconcile our conflicting parenting styles, we couldn’t keep running away from the problem. And maybe my private fear of more proximity meaning more conflict was unfounded – it could actually mean closeness and more understanding. I doubted it though.
In any case, the days were now filled with a new sense of anticipation.
We were going home.
PART III
!
DISASTER
ZONE
1
The Homecoming
It was 4 a.m. on a cold day in Delhi. I was woken by little Peanut rooting around for milk. I thought it was just as well, since we had to be up in half an hour anyway, for our flight to Mumbai. I fed the baby, thinking about the day ahead.
Vijay had come to Delhi to take us back. As usual, I had a panic attack about the state of the packing just the day before our departure and he had patiently taken over, putting Peanut’s and my things together methodically, finishing only late in the night. He had suggested that we get a bright and early start on Sunday morning so that we would have the entire day ahead of us to set things up at home. It had sounded like a good plan then.
At 4.30 a.m., Vijay’s phone alarm started to ring. I watched his still, shadowy figure across the bed, as the alarm got louder and louder. He reached out slowly, switched off the alarm and drifted back off to sleep peacefully. I waited a full five minutes before calling his name, startling him out of his sweet slumber. I stepped out to go for a bath and noted that the light in the drawing room was switched on. Ah, good, the usually slow Kajal was actually ready, despite her panic about the ‘itna kaam, oh b
aba goh!’ that she had to finish before leaving. I went over to check on her and saw her standing in the middle of the drawing room, dressed in a new sari, with her bag packed and ready on the floor next to her, and a serene look on her face. She looked like she had everything under control. ‘Gud mawrning,’ she told me sweetly.
I gazed at her for a few moments. Then a sudden suspicion hit me, and I demanded to know if she had slept at all.
She beamed at me. ‘Bilkul nahin!’
So. I was going to take an airplane ride to Mumbai – with Peanut, Vijay and a sleep-deprived Kajal. It would be an interesting day.
We were at the airport an hour early with our luggage – three full suitcases and Peanut’s car seat, along with our hand baggage and of course, Peanut’s rocker. Peanut was asleep and I was carrying her in her rocker, covered with my shawl to protect her from the cold. Vijay loaded two trolleys with our luggage and marched on ahead with one, while Kajal struggled with the one behind me. I looked back at her, a bit worried.
I had thought since this was her first flight, she might be a bit nervous, but she had allayed my fears by saying that she had flown before with us when we were mere children, handling my infant sister. Of course, that was over twenty years ago, but she seemed confident enough, so I had relaxed.
Now, as she fought for control over her trolley which was zig-zagging this way and that, I was not so sure. I asked her to be careful not to run over anyone’s feet with it. She nodded confidently and immediately proceeded to jam the trolley into my shin. I gritted my teeth and trotted on ahead to catch up with my husband.
We got to the counter, in the shortest line for once. Things were looking up, I thought. The efficient Jet employee at the check-in counter processed our tickets quickly and handed us our three boarding passes with a smile. Her smile widened as she saw Vijay playing with the now awake Peanut, then faded as she realized something.
JUST MARRIED, PLEASE EXCUSE Page 15