“I used to be a lot of things... for now, I am just a mother, trying to: watch her mouth, catch up on sleep, avoid accidentally killing baby.” I wrote these lines some four years ago, but most of it still stands true, except the last bit. Now, I try to avoid the ‘baby’ accidentally killing me.
I started my career as a writer, a few million years ago and that is what I remain till date, though, there have been many things that have changed over time. I left my much loved city - Mumbai and moved to a not-so-loved – Noida, all in the name of love. Someone older and wiser once said: Love is not just blind, it is also very dumb.
I do not like older and wiser people very much.
I cribbed and moaned about the culture difference, the lack of proper junk food, the way people spoke. I missed the mountains and the sea. I missed my friends and the ability to just be me. And then, the powers that govern all such things, thought it best to grant me a boon. Maybe they wanted me to stop the daily diatribe of vile nonsense or maybe they felt sorry for me… and our little girl arrived.
We named our daughter ‘Ankita’, primarily because it was option two, since option one, which has always been my personal favourite, was unanimously rejected by everyone in the family for being a very unladylike name.
At this point of time, I would like to take the opportunity to twiddle my thumbs and give a definitely unladylike snort … for if there is anything remotely feminine about the little tyke we call our daughter; I will eat my words without any seasoning.
People say motherhood changes a person. Well of course it does, there is no point in arguing over that fact. After all, who can remain the same after putting in 24 hour shifts a day, seven days a week, without a break in sight? Initially it was the feed – clean – burp – change - put to sleep cycle… now it is feed – bathe - send to school – finish homework – do ALL the assignments – monitor television time – accompany to various activity classes – etcetera etcetera…
In this mad rush to be a good parent, somehow, somewhere, the individual went AWOL. The person who once lived for treks has not been on one for almost five years now.
Side note: That is the real reason for all the extra weight one tugs along these days (this is my story and I am sticking to it).
The skin has gone to the dogs and the hair… its best we do not even talk about it. My hair has never been my best asset.
Actually, that is not quite true. I inherited thick, curly, relatively healthy hair from my mother. She worked really hard on it, bless her. Hair care was the highlight of Sundays. As a result, I spent the first two decades of my life with really long, shiny black plaits.
Then came the era of madness = colouring.
I put chemicals on my hair; it reacted by losing all lustre.
I cut it and treated it; it forgot it was supposed to be curly and settled for being something in between wavy and straight.
And then, I moved base to the land of hard water. The era of falling hair dawned and it was all compounded by motherhood.
Conditioning became an afterthought, saved for special occasions like anniversaries and birthdays. The usual hairstyle became an ugly bun and hair fell at an alarming rate. But there was no time for any grooming, so there was really no point in cribbing about the whole deal.
With no time for any kind of grooming, my only hope now lay on the tattoo I plan to get on my bald pate… unless of course, my latest experiment pays off. It was something a friend shared and I pray to all the keratin Gods it works …