I Didn't Expect to be Expecting (Ravinder Singh Presents)

by Richa S Mukherjee

  ‘Please leave the room,’ the nurse told Raool before I could respond. Seeing him leave brought on a fresh set of tears. I wanted my Abhi, my mommy, daddy, my friends. Where the hell was everyone! I stroked my tummy. ‘Just you and me, baby. Just you and me. We can do this.’

  69

  Labour Room. 3:45 p.m.

  I opened my eyes, feeling like I was standing on the floodlit grounds of Brabourne Stadium. The epidural was not supposed to have any effects other than the desired numbness. However, I felt lightheaded and had shut my eyes for a few seconds.

  I blinked a few more times and found myself staring into big dome-shaped lights in the labour room. The pain was just a deep pressure somewhere and I felt like I was floating.

  ‘Tara. Tara! Listen to my voice.’ It was Dr Peerbhoy. ‘We cannot keep the baby in there any longer. You will have to push when I say “push”. Understood?’ I nodded.

  Another assistant doctor came up to me and smiled. ‘What song would you like to listen to?’

  ‘There’s a jukebox in the labour room?’ I asked, puzzled.

  She laughed. ‘Everyone gets their own CDs and then forgets to take them back. So I must say we have a huge collection.’ She looked at someone in the corner of the room. ‘Bindu Bhaiyya, gaana lagao.’

  ‘My name is Sheila, Sheela ki jawaani’ started playing.

  ‘Next!’ she shouted.

  ‘Pyaar ki pungi baja de…’

  ‘These songs relax people?’ I asked her, stunned.

  ‘We once had a request for “Dum maro dum”!’ she tittered.

  3:50 p.m.

  ‘Almost there, Tara. Get ready,’ Dr Peerbhoy announced from somewhere between my legs. ‘By the way, did anyone see the last episode of Naagin?’

  That show seemed to be trending in all social circles.

  ‘The designer is doing such a fantastic job, isn’t he? What beautiful clothes,’ chimed in Dr Peerbhoy’s assistant. I looked down for a second and saw a few young faces. Of course they were watching and learning.

  I beckoned the junior doctor who had just spoken with me. ‘Approximately how many people would have seen my nether regions today? Throw me a ballpark figure. Anything.’

  She smiled. ‘Don’t even go there, Mrs Roy.’ Then she went to get the intercom, which was buzzing. She came back and from her crinkled eyes above the mask I could make out that she was smiling. ‘Your husband’s here.’

  3:55 p.m.

  As Abhi’s gloved hands clasped mine, tears of relief streamed down my cheeks.

  ‘I thought we wouldn’t be together to see the baby for the first time. That made me so sad!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am, baby. I should never have agreed to travel so close to your due date.’

  ‘Stop saying sorry, Abhi.’

  ‘Push, Tara. Big push,’ commanded Dr Peerbhoy.

  ‘Abhi, you have to take a video of it.’

  ‘You mean the birth?’

  ‘Yes of course! What else? The nurse doing a cabaret?’

  ‘But … but baby that’s … that’s not going to be a pretty sight. Why would you want me to do that?’

  ‘Because I’m going through it and I want to see what happens,’ I growled.

  ‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea, but alright.’

  ‘Oh, and please don’t put up any pictures online till I’ve okayed them.’

  ‘Okay, baby. Now push before Dr Peerbhoy comes up here to give you a piece of her mind.’

  4:00 p.m.

  All I remember of the next few minutes is staring into Abhi’s eyes, my body following the instructions, but my mind in the nursery that was almost ready at home. I could imagine RJ running around, making a mess everywhere and that picture filled my heart with glee. Suddenly the air was pierced with a tiny wail and I looked down. I could see tears streaming down Abhi’s eyes and his mask was wet.

  ‘It’s a baby girl!’ announced Dr Peerbhoy.

  ‘Abhi, it’s a girl! It’s a girl!’

  Abhi ran to me while RJ was being cleaned and weighed. He kept kissing me over and over again. ‘She is the cutest thing, baby. Tiny arms, tiny nails, tiny feet. Tiny…’

  ‘I get the theme, Abhi.’ I laughed as my teeth chattered and a heater was turned towards me.

  Soon, a tiny blue bundle was placed in my arms. I was waiting for a burst of tears or palpitations of dread or some extreme emotion, but all I felt was a deep warmth, and not because of the heater. A warmth from the realization that the tiny thing in my arms belonged to me for life. And that made me feel like I would never be cold again.

  70

  Healthline Hospital. 28 October. 7:00 a.m.

  I opened my eyes as the chandelier above caught a few rays straying in through the glass windows and painted multi-coloured shards on the opposite wall – a reminder that we would have to deposit a quarter of our life’s savings during checkout, thanks to the fancy suite that had been forced upon us.

  I looked sideways to see Abhi bundled up next to me. His big arms were wrapped around me. And then I saw the little baby caterpillar.

  Abhi stirred as well. He kissed me. ‘We got two whole hours of sleep. Wow!’ he said, grinning as he rubbed his puffy, sleep-deprived eyes.

  ‘Welcome to the world, baby!’ I announced. Then I suddenly sat up in bed and winced as my stitches reminded me of my current state. ‘Abhi!’

  ‘What? What!’ Abhi straightened up as well.

  ‘They’ll be expecting me at work today and here I am, parked in the hospital … I need to call Vohra.’ Just as I reached for my phone, Abhi got to it and pulled it away.

  ‘Don’t even think about it. I’ve already informed him. He sends you his best wishes and love.’

  ‘Love? Hmm. That’s strange, coming from him.’

  ‘And you can respond to the gazillion other messages and calls later. First, just call back both the mothers. They are on their way. Oh, and our lunatic friends slept over at the hospital last night.’

  ‘What! Why?’

  ‘I tried and tried, but they wouldn’t leave. They insisted on seeing you and the baby first.’

  ‘That’s so sweet.’ I smiled.

  A wail emerged from behind us.

  ‘Okay then,’ I said, tying up my hair and preparing myself for the next demand.

  ‘What is it, baby? Hungry, poopy?’

  11:00 a.m.

  ‘Do you think she will smile if I make a fart noise?’ asked Kabir.

  ‘Kabir, I doubt that at this stage she can even distinguish between a laugh and a fart,’ Sania replied.

  All eyes were fixed on the little bundle squirming around in the cot.

  ‘How is it possible for someone to be so tiny?’ Mani looked at RJ, mesmerized, and unfurled one of her tiny fingers.

  ‘Hey, no hands, Mani!’ Shoma swatted his hand away. ‘Babies have very low immunity.’

  ‘I’ve washed my hands, so stop swatting at me,’ Mani said.

  ‘Remind me to never have kids with you,’ snorted Shoma.

  ‘Hey! Relax, guys. You haven’t even had a kid and you’re fighting about it!’ Abhi said, putting his arm around Mani.

  Sania was inspecting the baby’s diaper. I had just called for the nurse after smelling something suspicious.

  ‘Baby, if you don’t back up, you’ll fall into her diaper,’ said Kabir, laughing. ‘What is that weird expression on your face?’

  Sania continued to be in her trance. ‘She’s a pooping machine! How can that much poop come out of something so tiny? That’s the third time she’s been changed since we got here.’

  The nurse walked in. She announced, ‘Feed time’ and started reaching for my gown. Everyone fled.

  4:00 p.m.

  ‘She looks so Bangaali!’ Auntie chuckled, kissing the baby’s head repeatedly.

  ‘You mean she has fishy eyes and a big paunch?’ quipped Mom, not one to miss an opportunity.

  ‘Aathleeasht we have spayshal pheechars.
Not like doodhwalas. All of us look dheefferent. No one same.’

  ‘Mom, Auntie, please! Not in front of the baby,’ I pleaded.

  ‘And can we please take off the gold chains and payals? She’s looking like baby Bappi Lahiri with that much gold on her!’ requested Abhi. Both the grandmothers had bought baby jewellery for shagun.

  ‘Have you thought of a name, beta?’ Dad asked me, his eyes still glued to RJ.

  ‘I think she should be named Paroma,’ suggested my mother-in-law happily. ‘Or Charulata,’ she added.

  ‘Why don’t we just name her Hidimba or Kaikeyi then?’ Mom shot back.

  ‘We will think of a name later,’ intervened Abhi. ‘For now, baby or RJ is fine.’

  ‘Can I just hold her for a minute?’ asked Uncle.

  ‘And can I hold her after that? Just for a minute,’ asked Dad.

  ‘Sure.’ Uncle smiled, taking RJ in his arms.

  The usually cool and collected granddads were looking like excited schoolchildren.

  The little caterpillar already had the whole roomful of adults wrapped around her finger.

  7:00 p.m.

  I was really hoping for a more strict visitation policy but the well-wishers were bribing their way through the system. We had a constant flow trickling into the room. Between the lack of sleep, fatigue and feeding, I could barely hold my head up. Sania had come back so Kabir could go home, set up things for the parents, ensure no war had broken out, then shower and return.

  ‘You were slow on the digital front, pussycat,’ said Sania, looking disappointed.

  I laughed. ‘What did I do? Wait. What did I not do?’

  ‘Not one status update! Not even a picture of the baby yet! Look at this Neha girl. She has updated her status five times between reaching the hospital and delivering her baby. And Deepa. She uploaded a picture of her getting an epidural!’

  ‘I’d rather not, thank you very much!’

  There was a knock on the door. It was Vohra and Ms Venu.

  They just hovered at the door, looking unsure. ‘Please come in,’ I invited them.

  ‘What’s this khadoos doing here?’ Sania mumbled and I squeezed her arm to shut her up.

  ‘Sorry for landing up, but we had to see you. Are you doing okay?’ asked Ms Venu, patting my shoulder.

  ‘Bit of wear and tear but I’ll live.’ I smiled.

  ‘She looks so beautiful, Tara. Just like you,’ said a beaming Mr Vohra. ‘By the way, we can never thank you enough.’ He shyly handed me a card. I opened it, filled with curiosity.

  ‘You’re getting married!? Wow! Congratulations!’ I shouted with joy. I felt like a proud parent whose kids had just aced a performance at the annual school festival.

  ‘Congratulations!’ blurted a shocked Sania.

  ‘We oldies can’t afford to waste time, you see,’ murmured Ms Venu shyly.

  ‘There’s something else I want to say, Tara,’ added Mr Vohra. I braced myself for a baby announcement.

  ‘It was really wrong of me to push you to come back earlier. I’m sorry. You take all the time you need. The agency will be waiting for its blue-eyed girl whenever she’s ready.’

  29 October. 1 a.m.

  Abhi was sleeping. The guests had gone. The nurses had left, at least for the time being. RJ was lying in my lap, cooing and gurgling, as if telling me about her first day in the world.

  ‘Will you be nice to your mommy, baby?’

  Coo-gurgle-coo.

  ‘You won’t trouble me too much?’

  Gurgle-gurgle-gurgle. Hiccup.

  ‘Do you know, an auntie asked me today which school I had decided on for you? And I was like, what? So you see, we haven’t planned too much. One step at a time. One day at a time. But I want you to know that I love you already. Do you love me?’

  Hiccup. Coo. Gurgle. Burp.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ I smiled.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I need a moment. To let it sink in that I am writing an acknowledgment for my very own book. Dreams do come true folks.

  And now comes the big wave of gratitude, from the very bottom of my heart.

  To Ravinder Singh. You have absolutely no idea what you have done for me. I took a break from my career to do a very important thing – raise my child. But this decision crushed me in many ways. Your hand found me at a time when I was lost, and made me believe that there is something called destiny, that there are angels who find you and guide you to your purpose. Thanks for being a friend, a critic, a well-wisher, a mentor and a superb human being. Thanks for helping this baby take her first steps in the literary world. You will always have my heart, my gratitude and my longest Koala bear hugs!

  To the team at HarperCollins India. Swati Daftuar, thank you so much for not embarrassing me about the tsunami of corrections during the edits. Filtering the book through your eyes and experience made it so much better than the first draft I sent to you. Thanks for selflessly pruning, nurturing and nourishing my words so that they could thrive and grow. Your drive and energy are infectious even on email!

  Thank you Percy for all the wonderful ideas, and for not letting any personal feelings about client servicing folks get in the way of your efforts! Thanks Rashi for all your enthusiasm and support as well. Thank you Bonita, for such a fantastic cover. I humbly thank everyone involved in this process, for all the hard work.

  Strong hands work silently. To my colleagues at QiCom Brand Solutions. Thank you for supporting me on this journey. A special mention for Mr T (a.k.a Nitesh Thattasery), you have and forever will remain my buddy. Seema Sood, your wisdom and warmth is always a comfort.

  Now coming to the other section of heavyweights. The ones that give immense meaning to my life and my words. My family.

  Thank you mamma and papa. For showing me how to see the extraordinary in an ordinary world, for the sacrifices I have witnessed and for the millions that I will never know, for always seeing the good in everything and everyone, for giving me a family that seems too amazing to be real but it is. Your pace has slackened, but your inner strength keeps us fighting. I am, for you are.

  My Sisters. The wind beneath my wings. It was painful as a child to have three extra mothers bossing me around but now I know what a blessing you all are. My personal cheerleaders who have my back for life. Thanks for your love and protection and helping me see the wonder in my words where I saw none. I learn from you every-day.

  My home team of supporters. Thank you Sujoy, Sheepy, Shishir, Avika, Nitika, Anaaya, Yash, Ved, Vrinda Smrita, Manish Jijajee, Raghav Hari, Arti, Dida, Dhritiman, Shelly and the loved ones from beyond the clouds. You all helped me along in your own ways.

  To my Banu. Anirban Mukherjee, my husband, who I’ve never treated like one. For he is my 4 a.m. friend, my travel buddy, my sounding board, my bashing board (literally!) and my most favourite editor. Thank you for all the nights you stayed up, silently pouring over the book, bravely challenging me and telling me when I was going wrong. I’m sorry for waking you up a million times to discuss the perfect line, for the innumerable mood swings and I thank you for letting my mind take its flights of fantasy as you kept my hands free. Your crooked smile is my beacon of light on the darkest days.

  Thank you ma, baba (Aditi Mukherjee and Subroto Mukherjee) for producing this gem of a boy and for always having encouraged me on this journey. I am truly thankful for all the love and support I receive without having to ask.

  Thank you little Anika Mukherjee. You are my pride and joy. You make me happy every minute I’m with you. You inspire me, drive me insane and fill me with love. Thanks for always being ready with a hug when I need one. I love you to bits my darling. You and I wrote this book together.

  To my readers. Thanks for taking this leap with me. This journey has started with you and I will always pray to have you by my side. Thank you for believing in me!

  About the Book

  Tara is living a blessed life in the maximum city with her husband Abhimanyu, the love of her life. A
t the pinnacle of her career, she is the apple of her parents’ eye and hasn’t spotted a wrinkle yet – so far, the 30s are looking great!

  Nothing fazes Tara – not a foul-mouthed best friend or a food-burning arch-nemesis in the form of her maid – not even a landlady who chats with ghosts.

  And then, Tara discovers that she’s pregnant, and suddenly, all that well-honed composure crumbles. It doesn’t help that she’s got an equally jittery (if supportive) husband by her side. Now, Tara must face her anxieties about parenthood as she navigates friendships, marriage and career, all the while dealing with the fact that her body and mind are steadily feeling like they belong to someone else.

  About the Author

  RICHA S. MUKHERJEE’S life has always been marked by abundance. She grew up with three elder sisters, lived in eight cities across India, and went from being a BCom graduate who wanted to pursue dance (and eradicate poverty), to a journalist, and then landed up in an advertising agency. The only constant was that she had a blast through all of it. Now, she wants to spend the rest of her life observing people, spinning yarns and writing books. Every pocket of hers is stuffed with scraps of paper scribbled with ideas and stories. She would love for you to send your thoughts to her on Twitter @richashrivas or on email at richasmukherjee@yahoo.com

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  First published in India by

  HarperCollins Publishers and Black Ink in 2018

  A-75, Sector 57, Noida, Uttar Pradesh 201301, India

  www.harpercollins.co.in

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  Copyright © Richa S. Mukherjee 2018