Bojjandi turns two

Wow, it's kind of unbelievable that this kid is already tw, almost ready to be a little boy and not my bab-looest baby any more.

It seems like just yesterday that A and I were struggling with the decision of whether or not to allow this darling dumpling into our lives.

I can still remember the crazy time I had when pregnant with him - working 18 hour days, with low BP and anaemia and all-day nausea. I'd turn up at work, white as a ghost, barely able to heave my heavy body up the stairs, and my colleagues would rush out to help me, pulling out a chair and getting me some water, worried that I was going to faint. I travelled like a loon when pregnant, for about a month, I'd get home only to unpack and pack a fresh set of clothes and take off again.

I remember the weekend before he was born, how much A and I partied. we were at madmomma's 30th birthday party saturday, me barely being able to climb the 3 floors up to her house. The next night we had a karaoke evening with friends that lasted until 2 am. Even at the hospital, when we checked in on Monday evening, it felt like a holiday. The older two were safely in my parents' care. And that meant a last night of chilling out sans baby for A and me, and we watched old movies on the laptop and fell asleep much before the nurse came in to wake me up with a sleeping pill. The only hard part was not drinking water all night.

And Bojjandi helped me breach the barrier of fear and go for a spinal anaesthetic, rather than the general one I'd had the past two times. I could hear the doctors as they went about their business, though I tried to block it all out. And I called A from the OT as soon as the last stitch went in, to reassure him that I was fine.

And then I went into my room and saw Bojjandi for the first time, all pink and white and soft...It was the fastest that I'd felt a surge of love for any of my kids, maybe because I knew he would be the last baby I would have. Every little thing I did for him seemed to and still has an added poignancy, whether it's teaching him 'incy-wincy spider' or giving him a bath.

I'm a little scared that I'm going to end up spoiling him, me, the strict martinet of a mother. Because I keep feeling like holding on to every moment of baby-ishness. If he asks to climb into my 'yap', I rarely say no. Or if he asks to be carried up the stairs at night, I'm the first to say 'let's'. Thankfully he seems to be a pretty independent-minded baby and wants to do everything his siblings do, so hopefully he'll manage to grow up at the usual speed.

Even if I'm clinging with one hand to him and trying to pull him back, slow him down and say, hey, let me keep you my baby as long as I can.

Ever since he's entered our lives, he has filled it with so much joy, laughter, fun and mischief it's unbelievable that we might have considered saying no to this gift of God. Watching him run round and round the house and then fling himself with careless disregard for safety of life or limb onto me or the sofa, with an intrinsic trust in the softness of the world seems to soften the edges of our own adult world. Having him grow and start speaking long sentences and communicate so clearly at barely two is just amazing. And best of all is having him hug me, folding his whole cuddly, roundd little body into me, arms around my shoulders in complete surrender - it's as if the whole world of stress and tension has disappeared for those moments and I'm in a wonderful cocoon of love and comfort. He has already given us far, far more than we expected, despite having two other kids who do the same. And he's only two!

Roohi (June 1995 – Sep 4th, 2010)

Roohi came into our lives in 1995, by accident or happenstance. Our servant had adopted her from someone, as he had always wanted a dog. She was just a little puppy when she came, about a month or two old, a small ball of fur. The name Roohi suited her, because she looked like a piece of cottonwool. It was later that we realized that the other meaning of Roohi, soulful, was also apt.

Roohi soon made friends with us, as she gambolled through the extensive lawns of our home, and we grew to love the frisky little thing, eager for everyone's affection and so playful. My sister, always an animal lover, famous for having wanted to adopt a 2 day old kitten when she was a little girl of 8, was in love with her, since she had always wanted pets. A neighbour's Spitz, Pepsi, also became a frequent visitor to our house, as his owners used to be away most of the time and the servants used to illtreat the poor guy very badly, beating him and starving him. He used to crave affection and had a lovely temperament. All too soon, the inevitable happened and we realized Roohi was going to have a litter. It was too early for her, because she was less than a year old. My sister took her to a vet recommended by a friend, all the way in Noida, and we got her whatever treatment was possible by then to ensure a healthy pregnancy. Roohi gave birth to 8 pups on Republic Day in 2006, 2 male and 6 female.

Our servant said he would gift us one of the male pups (Jackie), and the other one sadly died, the runt of the litter. The pups were full of beans and it was a tough task to keep all of the pups in one place. We found a cardboard box, lined it with cloth and made the pups comfortable inside, where they would sleep all curled up on top of one another. The minute they saw Roohi, they would clamber out of the box with shrill cries and Roohi would resignedly feed them, irritated at having to sit still for so long, because she was just a baby herself. The vet had prescribed several medicines for Roohi as the pregnancy had weakened her since she had not been given the right vitamins when she was a pup, and our servant began looking more and more doubtful about being able to care for Roohi. Finally, he told us that he had decided to give her away to someone.

Dad, while appearing hardhearted on the surface, had long ago lost his heart to Roohi, and since we already had one of her pups, he said we would keep Roohi too. "This is the only home she has ever known. It will break her heart to go away somewhere", he said. And that's how, with no planning or forethought, we ended up with two pets!

Roohi was an incredible personality. Extremely loving and affectionate, the minute anyone entered the house, she would hurl herself at the person's feet and paw at them to give her a thorough petting. It got so that for the first fifteen minutes after entering the house, no one could do anything but give her her quota of caresses. Very often, we almost tripped as soon as we entered, because of this habit of hers. We had a family joke that if anyone ever tried to burgle our house, they would be brought down by the two dogs. Roohi would make the burglar trip and fall by throwing herself at his feet for petting. Once he fell, Jackie would bite his face off!

Very active, in contrast to her snoozy son Jackie (who by a bizarre genetic accident turned out to be a Samoyed with two Spitz parents), she always wanted to play. She would often worry Jackie awake from one of his dozes and bully him into playing with her. It was a very funny sight to see her put her front paws on Jackie, who was twice her size, and make him run around the room, yipping away at him. She would leap three or four feet into the air, like those Seaworld Dolphins, to catch a biscuit. She loved mangoes and would busily lick the seed until it had become almost bleached white. She also adored oranges and one couldn't peel an orange anywhere in the house without feeling a cold nose at their knee and a gentle yet insistent paw pulling at their arm, saying, "Where's my share?" She had to have her food very soft and mushy and would approach it with great delicacy.

She was a very dainty creature who almost appeared to dance along on her elegant legs. She would never soil herself, being fastidious to a fault. She had some very funny quirks and was very, very possessive about her belongings. If you gave her any piece of cloth to play with, she would growl if you tried to take it away. Every year, come winter, the first couple of days after the winter coat was put on her, she would sit and cower in a corner as if it weighed a couple of tons and she was unable to move. But once she got used to it, she would growl when we took it off. If we hung it out to sun it, she would keep leaping up and trying to take it off the line.

When we shifted homes from Delhi to Gurgaon, we thought it would be very difficult for us to manage the two dogs while arranging the house, so we left them in the care of the servant while we organized our new home. Suddenly, on the second day, we received a distress call from the servant and rushed home. Jackie and Roohi had not eaten in the last two days, fretting away for us, even though they were in the home they had always known, in the care of the servant whom they were very familiar with and who had always looked after them. Regardless of our plans, we had to take them back with us the same night, we couldn't bear to see their sad faces.

Roohi was so fluffy and frisky and full of life, it was only when she was all wet for her bath that one would realize how tiny she was. In her last few days, we had to have her hair shaved off because of an acute tick attack and she looked like a shadow of herself, not a wag left in her formerly permanently turned-up tail. Her illness flared up suddenly, and left this lively thing too tired to even look up. But she used to feel a sense of great contentment when we sat with her and petted her. Dad and I were fortunately with her as she took her last few breaths. It was very difficult to look at her, gasping for breath, in her death throes, in contrast to the livewire we think of her as. It was and is unbearable to think that no one will ever trip us up again, asking for a petting, as we enter the house. Once she passed away, we had to switch on the AC and then put her on ice overnight, as the cremation was to be this morning. And all night, I couldn't help worrying, because Roohi always felt extremely cold, and here we were, putting her on a chilly ice block…

I think that's one of the tragedies of the final ailment – to look at the patient and contrast that with the way that person has always been, full of pep and dash and opinions…

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We were fortunate to find a pet crematorium, which had been inaugurated very recently, the day Roohi fell ill, in fact. Conceptualized by two pet owners who had faced the dilemma of how to ensure a dignified farewell to their beloved pets, this is in Chattarpur Farms area, and has the option of burial and cremation. Owners can preserve the ashes, if they wish, or have them buried in the garden, and plant a tree in memory of their pet. They can also hand over a photograph and a write-up about their pet. Charges are Rs. 3000 for the service.

A Quiet Evening at Home!

Last evening started out great. We’ve been short-handed in the domestic staff department for the last several days, as seems to be the norm this year, as our live-in help had to rush off to her village for a family emergency. And between A’s manic work schedule and mine and then coping with three lively children at home, life has been pretty hectic. So yesterday when all three of the kids seemed sleepy by 7, we were pleasantly surprised. A put them to bed and was thrilled when all three were knocked out by 8.

He came down in a triumphant mood, looking forward to us sharing a drink and getting some downtime together, maybe watching a nice movie or something. Only to be brought down with a crash when I said I had a conference call scheduled for 9 pm. Not to mention I had some pending work to finish off before then. Anyway, I wasn’t about to refuse a drink so I sipped on a tall glass of Amarula as we both laptopped away in companionable silence. Then of course came the conference call, and it was past ten by the time we went up to bed. We watched an episode of The Lucy Show which was hilarious, and during the second one began our nightly routine of dozing off by turns. Suddenly a loud shrieking sound jolted us both out of our stupor. No, it wasn’t Lucy, caterwauling away, it was Bojjandi, yelling for ‘mama, mama…’

A rushed to the kids’ bedroom, hoping to quiet him down before he woke the other two. After half an hour, he came back, defeated, saying, “He keeps asking for mama”. I wearily crawled out of bed to the kids room. First thing I did was lift the poor li’l guy out of his crib and give him a big cuddle, assuming he’d had a night terror episode. Then I sang to him sotto voce, his favourite lullaby, ‘Taarammaiyaa..’ After a good ten-fifteen minutes, he finally seemed to have quietened down to a sleepy state so I put him down in his crib and patted his back for a while. I thought he was finally asleep and decided to sneak out of the room.

I had barely put my hand on the door handle, when a sleepy yet anxious, “Mamaa?” came from the crib. Back I went again and patted away, crooning to him from time to time while my arm got numb from being draped over his crib in a funny position. I thought he was finally asleep and decided to sneak out of the room. I had barely…you know the rest! This happened a good three four times over and I decided my arms were getting punished for no fault of theirs.

I picked up Bojji and brought him back to our room, hoping he’d fall asleep on the spare mattress that’s become a perennial installation thanks to the kids. I tried lying down next to him for a while and patting him, hugging him close…No luck. Then I gave up and called A to the task. He tried…He gave up. We switched off all the lights and tried again…Finally, finally, I thought I understood Bojjandi’s problem. He had been very fussy at mealtimes, as he tends to be these days, now that he’s nearing his terrible twos, and had not eaten much. And given that this strongwilled baby has given up milk for the last month since we decided to wean him off the bottle, he was starving.

A trekked wearily down three flights of stairs to make a ‘dam sannejj’( jam sandwich) at past midnight. This, needless to say, was not what he had had in mind when dreaming of midnight feasts!He came back up and I started feeding Bojjandi a small bit at a time. He eagerly opened his mouth for each bite and I felt a little like a mama bird feeding a vociferously hungry baby bird. After four-five bites, Bojjandi had found his stride again, so he peacefully leaned his round, chubby little body into A’s, resting his head on A’s stomach. He’d slowly chew each bite and then sit back up and lean towards me for the next bite.

A and I were sprawled on the mattress, Bojjandi wedged between us and a bedside lamp illuminating the room, watching as his face went back from being screwed up full of angst to peaceful and smiley with his hunger dissipating. And suddenly, despite the flurried and frenzied hour or so we’d just spent, these moments seemed so very poignant and precious. The joy of being able to understand what your child wants and to provide it at exactly the right time. The joy of watching him go from being agitated to calm and peaceful. The exquisite happiness of feeling your child just curl up into your body with the certainty of unconditional acceptance and ownership. And the peace that steals over a parent’s soul when he or she watch their child going trustfully to sleep, the curly eyelashes fluttering shut as the small body gives in to the overwhelming demands of Morpheus.

Of course, the fact that he woke up at his usual time of 6 am this morning, while our middle-aged bodies had not even half finished their quota of sleep made all that less poignant!!