Few pointers as we reached the 6 month mark!

Frankly, it took me three days to digest the fact she is my own while her father was overjoyed holding her. I was recounting raw experience of the entire birthing process to anyone who was interested. It was like Childbirth 101. However, pain is memory of the past. Atoms have united intelligently. Happy hormones are in-charge now. The Mother in me has awakened! The first few weeks were absolutely tiring. I used to look at her and think – Why do you have to cry so much, just tell me what you want? Okay… so now that I know you are sleepy, I know that YOU know you are sleepy… WHY on earth are you awake crying!? – No doubt, I was stupid! She needed help to adjust to the world and I needed help to help her adjust. We are both adjusting with each other now.

 I still am in awe of the fact that she is mine, when she smiles.

She has grown. Observing her growth, I wonder about the years of physical and emotional investments that have gone behind making us adults. The background of the present size, shape and intellect is unique in billion ways. It took years. Here we are six months down, forever to go!

An exciting movement and show of flexibility is her ability to put big toe in her mouth. She keeps us on our toes, rolling over from one edge of the bed/mat to the other. We are on guard. She waves her hands and does well-paced sit up motions in supine position to show her excitement. She also has a naughty twinkle in her eyes when she sees us approaching to pick her up. Now that she is all grown up (read 6 months old) we have our little conversations on life and world. I speak, she cooes. We enjoy out little chit-chat. She looks deep into my eyes, keenly listening to my voice and I am hypnotized to live and love her.

Several changes have occurred in an otherwise ordinary household of ours. The primetime has been recaptured by television screens (post lockdowns) sprinkled with some baby drama.

Below are a few pointers on additions and changes in our life and style:

·         So many clothes of a ‘person’ fit into a small basket

·         Clothe line is filled with baby clothes

·         She is a Fashionista! Changes clothes quite often

·         More clothes to wash (nappies  + adult clothes on which she pees)

·         We value plastic sheet more – saves our mattress

·         Bed protector zindabad!

·         Sounds in the house: rattling, cooing, singing and CRYING

·         Colorful toys

·         Zero tolerance towards insects who seem like predators

·         Attempts to stifle other sounds in the house – pressure cooker whistle, mixer, utensils falling

·         Joint pains & back aches – we are competing with her flexibility

·         Discussions around poop consistency, color, quantity and smell

·         Dark circles and sleeplessness – someone I know said dark circles are seal of motherhood.

·         We are humming lullabies to ourselves instead of popular film songs

·          

When lockdown overlapped confinement

Mine was ordinary confinement with my ‘bundle of joy’, intended to strike out a couple of months on the calendar (provided by the local bank) hanging on that wall.  Who knew it would be etched in the history of mankind, (no) thanks to the microscopic convoy going haywire!  I was tired post-childbirth and mentally unprepared for the sleepless ‘cry-full’ nights. It was chaotic for me, and nobody told me it would be so. Days passed by in learning, recovering, and adjusting to the high pitched crying. Like any other lazy person, I have always wished for a time when I wake up in the morning without having to hustle through the routine. Now I am awake every two hours without a routine! While earlier a 30 minutes nap did not count in my sleep cycle, now I look forward to it.

In between changing nappies, I could catch up with some updates on the current developments. A couple of weeks ago when the gravity of the pandemic had not hit us Indians, daily soap operas and films dominated our television screen during primetime. Now, it is buzzing with news of the overkill from across the globe. On the global scale, countries were (are still) learning to carve their way out of the pandemic. The world was moving towards “lockdown”.  Across the world, nations have sealed borders. And we still don’t know for how many more days. I couldn’t help but think of the similarities between my personal confinement and the global restrictions on movement. Our way of life is now being altered by the restrictions imposed to ‘flatten the curve’ under the pandemic. These restrictions are subtle reminders of the fact that our ‘bare life’ is what matters the most.  

Globally, restricted movements and self-isolation are the recommended ways to slow down the spread. As a customary practice movement of the new mother-baby duo is also restricted to a great degree. I retained my connection with the world through my mobile (phone) during this time of immobility. Even there, never-ending SMS notifications have moved from ‘visit our nearest branch’ to the importance of ‘sanitizing hands’, ‘stay indoors, stay safe’, and ‘recharge and transact online’. Under the lockdown, the number and duration of phone calls have increased. Long lost acquaintances are also reconnecting.  Owing to limited mobility, traffic has shifted from busy roads to the internet. Stranded in a different state from us, my husband is one of the patrons of the World Wide Web. Confinement for us meant a few months of distance yet the option to visit was always open. Lockdown inverted our expectations and dulled our collective emotions over the uncertainty. 

Our privileges are embedded in us so much so that oftentimes we forget to notice them. I began to value the finer details of my life during this confinement. Six months of maternity leave is the latest privilege I got. It is going to be the toughest at the same time the most exciting leave of my life. Soothing the crying infant and washing soiled nappies are the two most time taking activities. Earlier ‘time’ was a privilege that I thoroughly enjoyed. Now some days just pass away trying to monitor different activities of my baby. ‘Me time’ is a thing of past at this juncture. The ability to access basic amenities, groceries, television, and the internet is another set of privileges we enjoy. Every time my father goes to the market to fetch groceries our fingers are crossed. We are also witnessing a wave of change in the way hygiene is practiced at a larger scale. Hand sanitizers are selling like hot pancakes. More people are washing their hands. Unfortunately, not everyone is endowed with these privileges. 

I have been keeping a tab on my infant’s actions and reactions; anything new soon becomes a problem in my eye. So, I tracked down several online resources to educate myself. I am learning and trying to respond accordingly. Tons of resources are available online that explain the current public health emergency. News channels and newspapers are full of Corona related updates. Science of virulence may not be a cakewalk for many but how about common sense? In spite of warnings, the news is filled with the irresponsible behavior of individuals and groups. How do we bring a collective sense there? 

As I tend to my newborn, I hope the world learns, adjusts, and recovers. 

We must take this time to reflect on our lifestyles and value the privileges we enjoy in simple things in our life. Distance will hopefully bring people closer, making us value togetherness. And hopefully, we won’t forget to wash hands after the lockdown is over.


P.S. I sent this piece to a popular daily, they did not publish it :(

Informalities in the formal field work

My daily life in the village begins with the morning call of azaan. I wait for the call to get over and go back to sleep again till the milkman knocks at my door. I have temporarily shifted to a village in the deltaic area of Cauvery river in Tamil Nadu, for fieldwork. I have rented out a house in a village near my study village. With basic kitchen amenities and fewer things to clean and maintain, life is simple. Most of my acquaintances were concerned about the facilities I might miss staying in a village. Having stayed for a couple of months now, I feel as long as I am connected through the internet and have electricity I am sane. Post-Cyclone Gaja due to power outage and intermittent to nil mobile network, I experienced the primitive for two days. 

The new house which I will be calling my home for the coming few months found me after several failed attempts to find one myself. My field support – Barath – and I were on a house search mission for a few days. During this house hunting period we met several people, called up a few and were assured by yet another set that they will find a house for me. I was hopeful and optimist about their assurance and waited. Nothing worked out. After work each day we would go check out a house or two.  A village office staff from one of my study villages was helping us out in this search for some time. None of the house we visited suited me. Either the villagers were sceptical to rent out to an outsider in particular to a woman or the location of the house was not appropriate for me.

Getting a house nearby was important for me since the drive from the guesthouse to the village was getting on my nerves. When I began driving long distances each day it felt liberating. Challenging situations on road and handling erratic drivers was adding on to my driving experience. However, with time it lost its charm. Slowly, I was bored, tired and nearly escaped crashing with those erratic drivers. So we continued the house search with much fervor. One of the field days, we visited the village office for some work. After discussions, the staff at the office asked me whether I found any house. We ranted about our house hunt story. On the bench outside, a group of people started discussing the available options for me. Following an animated discussion, one of them got up and told: “Come, I will show you a house”. Out of the blue, we fixed the house within an hour. It appears that the building took longer than expected to be constructed and the first tenant occupied one of the houses just a week before I moved in. I joke around now that it took so long to match my timeline.

I do not know whom to blame (or not) in my life in the city about my low social awareness index. I do not know many of the neighbours in my street nor do they know me. We are all too busy in our daily routine and struggles that we do not socialize enough. We are too tired and perhaps therefore disinterested to do so. In the village, to my pleasant surprise, people knew each other and even their family histories. A combination of factors supports this bond. Primarily, I believe it is because they don’t go to different offices on separate paths.

I am more involved with my neighbours in the village. I am sure I will miss them dearly once fieldwork is over. My relation with my neighbour aunty developed over conversations through the kitchen window. Similar to the movie Lunchbox in which Nimrat Kaur keeps up her relationship with her neighbour upstairs through the kitchen window.  There has been a conversation for each whistle from the pressure cooker in my kitchen and many more. The fun part of these talks is that she speaks in Tamil and I speak back in a mix of Malayalam, Kannada and eventually some Tamil. Sometimes even I get confused about the meaning of the sentences that come out of my mouth. She understands. She even cared for me when I was very ill and was misdiagnosed with malaria.

Being an outsider in the village and a woman who drives, I am always watched.   I am a mini-sensation, I assume. First, when my husband came to visit me, I was asked who that man is. After a month when my parents came to visit me my father was interviewed by the lady at the tea stall when he went to buy some idlis for breakfast. I had myself never visited the tea stall but she had been observing me. My father struggled to answer back in Tamil. Nevertheless few men sitting there helped him out, they knew all the answers. One day when Barath’s bike tyre was punctured he took a lift from a person unknown to him on the road to reach the village I stay in. The bike rider told him “Tyre of your madam’s car is punctured”. Barath was surprised and indeed the car tyre was punctured.  In another instance, there was a group discussion - over where to park my car - amongst people standing outside the shops located opposite to my building.  That day it was predicted that Cycone Gaja would make landfall in the late evening. After work that day (under the darkening sky), Barath and I stepped out of the car and were looking at the tamarind tree under which I generally park the car. Looking at us the people started discussing a potential parking place.  That night it rained heavily. I stayed awake imagining that it would flood inside the house and revised the bare minimum swimming I knew. Gusting winds and howling sound robbed me of my sleep for the most part. Thankfully both car and I are safe. I found out from others the next day that several trees had fallen and electric posts destroyed. The mighty tamarind tree didn’t fall. The roof and some parts of the tea shop just next to my building stood half broken with a tree fallen over it. Although power bank recharged my mobile, it was rendered useless without mobile network. I couldn’t cook without electricity since I don’t have the stove –gas cylinder combo. My neighbour aunty again helped me sail through this.  Amidst all this, I was still determined I will stay back and continue with the work. Barath said it was impossible, I argued. We went to the village office to know the extent of the damage. Several people poured in to brief about the damage as were sitting and speaking with the officer. We were advised to halt the work for some days otherwise villagers would assume we have come to provide cyclone relief. Power outage continued for long.  And I decided to come back to Bangalore for good. 

Being (whom) human

Born in North India to parents who migrated from South India what do I call myself - North Indian or South Indian. Living in Bangalore now, many people are perplexed by my fluency in Hindi combined with the information that I am a Malayali. *Side note: It was recently that I found what Malayali meant - mala - hill and aal - person - a person who resides in the hills; and not just one who speaks malayalam* I always identified myself as a Keralite with a tagline that I was born and brought up in Delhi. But for no reason at all I wanted this clarification with self. Since I have created a mocktail of languages I know in my head.

Living in Bangalore now I am obligated to learn Kannada to be able to participate in discussions. Early days here were tough when I had to smile incessantly to show Yes! I am with you in your conversation. Even though I wasn't and wanted to run away most of the times. Now that I understand the language it is funny & cumbersome that I have to to sit and comprehend through those conversations. Though it is fun to learn the meaning of fun talk around. And that smile on my face is still there. People around me talk to me in Hindi in the pretext that they want to improve their speaking skills, I am fine with it, and why wouldn't I be. It is a easy way out. In many gathering though this is pointed out when they are left with no more good things to discuss. My kannada speaking (and comprehension) skills are under scrutiny. People reason among themselves on how good or bad it is. I sit and smile ( with a deep frown inside, praying for it to end and looking for ways to escape). In one of such discussions a lady asked me , Jyoti, when you think to yourself which language do you use?. A very valid question. I use Hindi most of the times. What tag does it give me then?

I never thought Hindi was such a problem. It was part of my childhood and so was normal. Thankfully, my parents were thoughtful and strict enough to teach me Malayalam. And I can manage myself around malayalam speaking people and region. But I know several who cannot and do not attempt too. It seems strange for me now that I am on the other side. 

Language has many sides to it. It can build bridges and walls at the same time. Though the answer to the question is clear that I am a south Indian. Will the south Indians identify with me?

When you try to keep in touch

In the past, when mobile phone hadn't trickled seamlessly into our lives we used to go to friends/relatives house without prior notice and were always welcome. Even if not welcome we were treated well. No, I am not complaining here that people are treating me bad. My complain is that we are not connecting with people anymore the way we used to. It is great to be able to talk to my friend in another town and my parents residing in different state but what about neighbours? Unlike childhood days when people identified my parents as Jyoti's parents, the lane where I live now people don't even know my existence. I was not a very outgoing child, I preferred to sit back relax, sleep and if allowed keep watching television until scolded. Yet, people around were aware. As I grew up, shuttled between cities and finally came down here, I am unknown. I haven't myself made any attempt to go meet my neighbours so should not blame them. Not complaining, I am wondering what has become of me. Am I trapped in the circumstances or am I trapping myself. No body for sure has stopped me from going and talking. But I wait for a support. Language is a barrier, yes! I think more than that is the feeling why disturb or get disturbed. 

Those multi-colored pieces of paper

I have not traveled much to write something deep about the experiences. However, one occurrence runs common in all my trips out of the country - currency exchange. My first 'foreign' experience was flying to Bangladesh with 100 INR in wallet and a non-functional debit card. Either it was too dumb of me to not inquire about the currency issue or I was too naive to perceive that. I like to think that I was naive. Nevertheless, I was saved by colleagues. And I shopped on their credit card, without shame. I learned from the mistake and carried bulk amount ( INR) when I was visiting Sri Lanka, the second trip. Office gave me a few notes  of Sri Lankan rupees, balance from a colleague's previous visit. The bundle of INR which I carried had no value in Sri Lanka. In Bangladesh INR could be used in shops. With that in mind I carried INR to SL. However, my bundle of notes had no worth. I could not find a money exchange counter at the airport and the bank did not help me either. I remain grateful to the colleague who returned the SLRupees to the office, with which I could purchase a bottle of water. The taxi driver, in consultation with my host, took me to Tamilian jewellery shop where we got the exchange done informally. Since the INR is on higher side, I shopped here with least resistance. 

In Nepal I could get the money exchanged easily in the hotel itself. I guess, things become smoother in life. In my recent, yet again a sponsored trip, to Norway you could find me looking at the retail prices and pulling out the calculator to multiply by 8. Mental maths failed me ... 

Am I Back?

‘As I see it’(jyoti-nair.bogspot.in)  did not age along with me. Currently in 2017, I have crisscrossed cities to reach Bangalore in 2015 to pursue PhD. A friend of mine found about this blog and popped an excited sms about it to me today. I have wanted to come back to writing, improving my thoughts as well as this skill to communicate as I write, for long now. With job before and academic engagement recently I had quit on continuing this space. So today triggered by that lone SMS I came back to revisit these past post which were pieces of events from daily life I tried to tie up funnily. I sat down today to re-read these past posts. I remembered myself sitting in front of a white colored desktop computer in my room in Delhi with a mouse which caused dark circular mark on corner of my right wrist. The door was open and it was drizzling. I created an account in blogspot.in to start off my blog on one Republic day. Opening the website today, it doesn’t look the same. Looks like they have killed the website or perhaps the internet is slow here. Nevertheless, I am taking this opportunity to write more. It is by writing that I will learn new. 

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I left this post half way by afternoon when I thought the website was dead. Since you see this posted it is a confirmation all is well :)