The Perils of Being Moderately Famous

by Soha Ali Khan

  ‘What does this mean?’ I asked him.

  Within seconds his reply came, ‘Congratulations, ma’am.’

  ‘Besides starvation and dehydration, stray dogs are also the victims of human cruelty. We appeal to you: Rather than buying a dog from a pet store, please adopt them from animal shelters.’

  If you find this video of me online, talking about the hapless condition of strays in India, grinning crazily from ear to ear, you now know why! I couldn’t wait to pack the crew off. I took Kunal by the hand to the sofa in our study where, finally, we were all alone. It seemed disloyal that Santosh knew and Kunal did not. At first I just smiled broadly at him, fully expecting him to read the significance of my happiness in my eyes. He looked back at me quizzically at first and then a little nervously. Perhaps he thought my ‘depression’ had taken a turn for the insane. I would have to use words.

  ‘It’s positive!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘What is?’ he sounded concerned. I suppose because positive on a blood test is so often a bad thing.

  ‘You know . . . the hCG . . . I’m pregnant.’ It was so so so weird to say those words aloud and I delivered them like a stilted actor on a film set. I then sat back to take in the effect of this momentous declaration on my poor unsuspecting husband.

  I don’t know what I expected. Uncertainty. Fear. Panic even. I was mentally prepared to convince him that this was the most beautiful thing to happen to us. What I hadn’t prepared for was his complete and unadulterated joy and acceptance.

  He didn’t even ask me if I was sure, he just pulled me close to him, wrapped his arms around me and said, ‘I’m going to the best father in the whole world. I’m going to take him to roller-coaster parks, I’m going to teach him martial arts, I’ll have his first drink with him. Or her. Of course. If it’s a girl.’

  We held each other in silence for a while—a pregnant pause if you will, thinking about what the future held.

  ‘I did a home pregnancy test in the morning,’ I whispered into Kunal’s neck, ‘I didn’t tell you because I was scared, but I kept it.’

  ‘I want to see it!’ he said. I brought the item in question to him, nestled like a ruby within layers of toilet paper. We looked at it together in amazement, bewildered by the magnitude of potential behind that small second pink line.

  ‘We should probably throw it away,’ Kunal said finally. And we did but not before we took a picture of it.

  Think positive

  We agreed then that we would not tell anyone except our respective mothers, at least until the first few weeks, fraught with risk and uncertainty, had passed. I was so excited to tell Amman that I dialled her number without even thinking through what I would say. I was imagining how I would now graduate in her eyes from her baby girl to a woman, equal in stature—a mother now too. But in truth I was terrified and clueless and I needed her to soothe me, to tell me that everything would be all right. When I finally told her, she was a reflection of my feelings, mirroring my happiness, my nervousness. Like me she wanted to take things a step at a time, my health being of utmost concern. My mother-in-law was ecstatic. I think deep down she had given up hope of our having a child. She had never prodded me, keeping a discreet distance which I was so grateful for. I felt humbled we could make her so happy. Kunal told me when he gave her the news she fist-pumped as a gesture of victory!

  Since then, over six weeks have passed. My life is now divided into weeks, not days or months. I am in my eleventh of forty weeks and the fact that I have a life growing inside me is just about starting to sink in. That is why I can now write about this. We had our first ultrasound in Week 7.

  Kunal and I went together feeling giggly and nervous, unsure of what we would see on the inside because there was absolutely nothing to see on the outside.

  As I lay on the examining table, Kunal standing beside me clasping my left hand tightly (or was I clasping his?), a grainy black-and-white image popped up on the monitor. I have to confess I couldn’t make any sense of it and the doctor had to point out the little blob in the middle of my uterus—the embryo, our baby! And there it was . . . in the centre of the embryo—a heartbeat measuring 135 beats a minute. If ever there was a reality check, this was it. A single live intrauterine pregnancy of seven weeks.

  We have told a few more people since: siblings, close friends without whom this journey would feel incomplete anyway.

  In fact a spooky thing happened the other day, which prompted us to spill the beans to Bhai and Kareena. I woke up to a text message from her which said: ‘I had a dream that you’re pregnant. Please check.’

  WEIRD. I poked Kunal in the ribs to wake him up so he could read it too. ‘Maybe she has a new maternal sixth sense or something,’ he mumbled sleepily.

  I wrote back some fluff about how a dream about being pregnant actually symbolized something much deeper and that perhaps she was suddenly feeling a closer connection to me which I was very appreciative of. There was no reply.

  Only a few hours later, as we were returning home from a lunch we stopped at a traffic light under a bridge. There was a massive hoarding of Kareena holding a PregaNews home pregnancy test and saying, ‘Aaj mujhe good news mili.’ It was a sign, literally.

  And so we told them.

  We told Kunal’s father. We told my sister and Kunal’s sister. Of course, everyone is thrilled—we are married and over sixteen—but the funniest reaction was my brother’s. He looked . . . relieved.

  ‘Thank God,’ he exclaimed, slapping his hand on his forehead. ‘Now you guys can take Taimur and your child to Disneyland and play football with them and do all the things I’m too old to do! And then they can come to me for a bedtime story.’ He was so genuinely reassured it was endearing.

  As time passes, feelings of excitement and bliss abound, of course, but the prevailing emotion is anxiety. It is my responsibility to carry this miracle to a safe and healthy birth; sustaining this pregnancy is now the single most important goal of my life. Along the way there are multiple milestones, each a significant marker of the baby’s well-being—anomaly scans, genetic screenings, blood tests . . . Everyone tells me to be positive but it is hard to shake the fear that my child will be born less than perfect—I’m sure this is something all expecting mothers experience. My friend in Chicago who has had three healthy babies reminded me that worrying for your children is part and parcel of being a parent and it most certainly doesn’t end with birth. Most children are born healthy and survive a multitude of early injuries and illnesses. In fact she half-joked that the greatest threat to their existence is the very real chance we will kill them ourselves when they are teenagers! As irrational as these fears may be I will feel a huge sense of relief when the results of the tests are in and are clear.

  13 April 2017

  It’s now three weeks and four days later—Week 14, Day 3—and I am officially in my second trimester.

  As I read these last few pages I am amused by the level of minutiae I have chosen to share with all of you who are now no doubt feeling like you have strayed into a pregnancy chat room. The good news is all the tests are clear and it is finally starting to sink in that this is happening. And I’m starting to show!

  I was shooting for the National Spelling Bee which I host every year and my stylist sourced the usual petite-sized clothing for me—which included a high-waisted pair of black trousers and a red crop top. I could just about zip up the pants but I almost passed out from having to hold in my stomach all day! Definitely time to invest in some elastic waistbands.

  Baby shower, girl power

  Does the balloon make my bump look smaller?

  When Taimur met Masti

  Showered with love

  It won’t just be my size and shape that will change, hopefully only temporarily. This marks a new chapter for Kunal and me—we are going to be parents with a capital P for permanent. The truth of the matter is that I have been so focused on being pregnant—basking in the glow of impending motherhood, graciously accepting
people’s blessings and good wishes, soaking up all the attention I am owed for my crucial role in the miracle of creation, flaunting my bump in my new maternity wardrobe, planning my artistically tasteful pregnant photo shoot—that I had forgotten all about how this ends. With a baby! I am aware that life as I know it will never be the same again—people have told me so enough times—but I remain a little foggy about what exactly that means.

  Did you say you’re glowing or you’re growing?

  ‘Get as much sleep as you can now’ has been the most frequently given advice and I have taken it to heart, sleeping a minimum of ten hours a night. But you can’t bank sleep in advance, you know. You can make up for an all-nighter spent partying or working by napping through the day or sleeping in the next morning but it doesn’t work the same way when you’re trying to store sleep for future sleepless nights. The thought of not sleeping through the night or having to wake up at 6 a.m. without commensurate monetary compensation for the same is an entirely alien one.

  Anyone who has been through the experience of childbirth seems to want to share their wisdom with an expecting mother. Be it delivery: ‘You must try for a natural birth because the recovery is much quicker. I was home the same day and back in the gym two weeks later’ and ‘Opt for an elective C-section if you want to have a semblance of a happy marriage post birth. Labour is primitive and outdated’. Nursing: ‘You must breastfeed as breast milk is a perfect cocktail of vitamins, protein and fat. You will also burn extra calories and bond with your child better’ and ‘Infant formula has all the nutrients your baby needs, your husband can also feed the baby and feel involved and it’s so much more convenient so you can have a life of your own which is essential.’ Rocking: ‘Let the baby cry itself to sleep or it will be a whiny needy cling-on’ and ‘Babies need to be held and are soothed by the touch of your skin so hold them and rock them to sleep as often as you can.’ It can be overwhelming—all that well-meaning, contradictory advice.

  The best advice I have got to date is from my friend in London who has two beautiful baby girls: Listen politely, smile and nod, remember what makes sense to you and flush the rest down a mental toilet.

  If there is one thing I struggle with it’s the question of whether having a career after becoming a mother, especially through your child’s early years, is a good or bad thing. There is a lot of passive if not outspoken judgement about this, with lobbyists on both sides taking up their cause with equal passion and belief. I can only speak from experience: My mother was a working mother and I have vivid memories of watching her get ready for work in the morning. There were also long spells when she was away from us for outdoor shoots. My father on the other hand was a retired professional sportsman and was consequently home a lot. Growing up I never realized this was an unusual dynamic, especially in India. We were proud of Amman’s success and drew inspiration from it. We were witness to my father’s unflinching support and we respected him for it.

  Of course, we missed her—there were school plays, sports days and even the odd birthday that she was unable to attend, although she would have tried her best to be there, but we waited to celebrate with her when she was back. I had a happy, stable childhood and trite as it may sound my mother continues to be my role model even today. My desire to be independent comes from her as does my work ethic and my sense of commitment to my career.

  Women, be it stay-at-home mothers or working ones, face flak either way for their choices. Either they are criticized for taking it too easy by quitting their jobs to raise their children and manage the household (anyone who thinks being a full-time parent is easy clearly doesn’t know which way is up!) or they are censured for pursuing a career and therefore devoting attention that should go to the child to their own selfish ambitions. As the daughter of a working mother, and as someone who certainly intends to work after my child is born, I resent these judgements and stigmas. I believe it is possible to be good at both your job and motherhood because my own mother did just that. She may not have ‘needed’ to financially provide for her family but she wanted to contribute and she wanted to follow her passion and she didn’t need to justify her reasons to anyone.

  My father was never asked who was looking after the children when he was commentating at a cricket match or playing third umpire, so why should my mother, Kareena, or any other working mother be asked the same. Women’s empowerment may not be a reality as yet but the more we support women choosing their place—be it in the home or at work—the closer we come to that ideal.

  What will my place of choice be? I don’t want to commit myself to something right now but I imagine I will continue to want to act in films, produce content, perhaps even write another book or I may venture into a whole new area such as teaching or soap-making—as long as it’s something of my own that excites and drives me. I don’t want to be that woman who turns around at the age of fifty and resents her child or husband for usurping her identity and her dreams.

  I hope one day my child will read this book—this book that I started writing before she was even conceived, but as soon as I knew she was growing inside me, bigger and stronger with each passing day, it dawned on me that I was always writing it for her. They say that to instil a love of books you should start reading to your child while it is still in the womb. Here I am, writing to mine.

  I hope that through this book she will learn about and take pride in her family and their achievements; discover things about me and my childhood and certainly about an era of nawabs and begums, of tradition and ceremony that is all but gone; and know how exhilarated and humbled both her parents were to learn of her miraculous existence.

  Above all I hope that she will learn that it doesn’t matter if she chooses a public or private life; if she becomes an actor, athlete, activist or stay-at-home mother; if she becomes famous—moderately or outrageously—or not. What matters is that she is where she wants to be and that she is happy.

  Introducing Inaaya

  * Rinkoo is Amman’s ‘daak naam’—a Bengali always has two names: a ‘bhalo naam’ of the ‘what is your good name’ fame and a deeply embarrassing ‘daak naam’ or pet name. For instance, we all know the President of India at the time of writing as the Hon’ble Pranab Mukherjee but to his family and friends he will always be Poltu!

  Acknowledgements

  This book would not have been possible if it weren’t for my family because of whom I am who I am, and quite frankly because of whom there was some interest in my writing a book in the first place.

  This book would not have been written if it weren’t for my agents Anjali and Shvate who convinced me to write it and the good people at Penguin Random House who sought to publish it.

  This book would never have been finished if it wasn’t for my husband, Kunal, who stood beside me and watched over me (often literally) until it was done—you are quite simply my reason for being.

  I must thank the following people for taking the time and effort to read drafts of this book and for providing invaluable critical feedback, most of which I have absorbed—Kunal, my mother, my brother, Saif, my editor, Gurveen, and my friends Navraaz, Priyanka, Ninna, Sanyuktha, Shweta, Amrit and Nayan.

  Thank you, Tom, for being the hero of my chapter on travel.

  Finally, I would like to thank Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri for translating the two poems by Tagore into English.

  THE BEGINNING

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  This collection published 2017

  Copyright © Soha Ali Khan 2017

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Jacket images © Ahlawat Gunjan

  ISBN: 978-0-143-43996-7

  This digital edition published in 2017.

  e-ISBN: 978-9-387-32647-7

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.