Snippets

Now here's another "occasional" one... only the second this year, tch, tch ..... and this time it's Mini's birthday.

I've been racking my brain for ideas, but a certain lethargy seems to have come over me these past few months. I know I don't have to write anything at all, but I couldn't bring myself to just let the day go by without a mention of it here. So here I am...

And why would I talk about just Mini when this is a Bozo blog? Because, for me, they are inseparable. That's all I'll say to that question, for those who know the Deb family know what I mean.

I so wish I had more snaps of my daughter as a little girl! But, well, no point crying over spilt milk, is there? I do have scores of her as a girl and a young woman, though, and some videos as well. So, you see, I do seem to love her, after all! ;-)

I do also have lots of mental snaps, little snippets, so thought I'd "develop" them today and "print" them here for you.

Obviously, the first memory is of that night in the hospital in Madras. It was K. J. Hospital, on Poonamalee High Road. Very posh, not something we could really afford at that time, but the doctors knew us and had been taking care of my pregnancy, even though they were still building their maternity wing then and were not really ready to take on delivery cases. So ours was to be the first baby ever to be born in that hospital.

I went in just after midnight. It was one looooong labour, as this kid didn't want to come out. She had actually grabbed the cord and wound it firmly round her neck several times, so by the time Doc Vis (Jagannatha Vishveswaran, the 'J' of K J Hospital) pried her out, she was black and blue - - and - - very silent.

A few sharp slaps on her back-side, and she was protesting VERY loudly, I tell you!

But those were the first really bad moments of my (then) 24 years. I was so afraid I'd lost her. And then when I heard her, I was sobbing with relief and happiness. It's a girl, said Doc Vis.

Of course, my first question was the same as every mother's in the labour room: Is she alright?

And then, they put this tiny, squirming bundle into my arms. And it went still at once, snuggling after a moment, searching, ....

Of course, we hadn't known it was to be a girl. And of course it was what we had both secretly hoped for.

And here's my snap-shot of my first glimpse of my daughter's face (only another mother of a daughter can know what that word really means to me!):

She had a head of very black hair. She was wheatish-complexioned, still a bit bluish in patches from her earlier trauma. Her nose seemed tiny compared to her cheeks, which were round and plump and rosy - flushed! Her lips were a bright pink and perfectly shaped, a rose-bud! I looked deep into her eyes. They were large and very dark. To me, beautiful, even though rather sunken, as a new-born's tend to be!

Of course, she had lost no time nosing around and instinctively finding her source of nourishment, and sounds of her feeding filled the room. There are no words to express a woman's emotions when her baby suckles at her breast, so I shan't try....

Coming back to her eyes. She gazed up at me as she fed and suddenly, it struck me - Hey! A baby's eyes are supposed to stay shut for the first few hours. Bozo's had, all the books said so.....And here was this one, hardly 15 minutes old, and I had not seen her close her eyes! I thought then, she was special.

When she was through, satiated, she closed her eyes and fell asleep. I had to burp her, though, so put her to my shoulder. She woke up and - LIFTED HER HEAD TO LOOK AROUND THE ROOM!

Now Bozo had not neen able to lift his head on his own for a couple of weeks. And here she was, about 30 minutes old, .....I KNEW now she was special!

Well, it's late and I'm somehow inclined to sleep tonight with this first image of my own little girl in my mind. I know I'll sleep blissfully.

But I will be back with more snapshots from DE LIVES OF DE DEBS.

In the meantime, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Mini. WE love you to bits.

On the wings of poesy....

What with having been disabled for so long after my accident and still in pain after a full day's work, the pain of Aditya's anniversary seems more acute than it should be. It's been a depressing few months and heaven alone knows how long it's going to be before I walk normally again. I've tried to stay positive, but it's taking too long and my patience is wearing thin.

It sounds selfish, but I've missed him a lot more these past few months than I had begun to these past few years. I find I think of him more when I am sick and / or in pain. I took heart when Ma told me that she felt terrible when she missed my brother more when she was sick! I was able to see then and tell her that was perfectly natural and okay...

It's been fourteen years. Images of him at age 14 keep popping into my head. I can't figure out why this is happening. Yet, somewhat depravedly, some would think, I am thoroughly enjoying reliving those days in Kankroli. He had joined us there in 1985, after leaving Narendrapur (which I always think of as Narakpur, or Death's Place, for reasons I might disclose some day). He had been miserable there, mostly, I suspect, because he missed Mini so much! But there were other very valid reasons too and he was so thrilled to be back home. He bloomed into this talented, confident young lad. I could go on for ever about him and I daresay my reverie would at times seem exaggerated and I would see him in a better light than he actually deserved.

No, he was no saint either, but rarely does a mother really dwell on the darker side of her child. Do they even have one in her eyes?!! But he was my sun and Mini was my moon. They are the joy of my life, the light of my light.

Not being in much of a mood to write a lot today, no, hang on! having started, I find I actually am in the mood! But methinks me shall stick to the original plan for today. I hadn't really felt like coming here to write anything this time, but thought it somehow diminished Mini's initiative in starting this blog. I know she wouldn't have minded at all and would have understood. Still, I wanted to honour her effort. So I thought I'd just pop in and put up a few of the poems I wrote after Aditya left us. These are not exactly works of art, but they do reflect some of my feelings at different stages, and I thought it a good way to share my feelings with any of you that might be interested.

THE VIEW

We have walked down this road before,
Yet I know not what lies in store;
Our feet were swift, our eyes were blind,
Unheedful of what we’d left behind.
The only views are within my head,
The things I fear and the things I dread;
This view of fear and this view of pain
Sits like amber within my brain -
My dreams won’t let me be,
My ears can’t hear,
My eyes can’t see.

There are views outside my head, I know,
I can no longer see them though -
Yes, I know you walk, you walk by me,
What you look like I can’t see!
The wind is cold, the path is steep,
My body aches but I cannot sleep;
I move forward to empty skies,
Searching for the view to open my eyes:
A room with a view, they call it -
I call it an empty one!

We’re both together - and it’s true -
But I must walk on until I see the View.

[Written by Aditya, March, 1994, about 2 months before he died...]

MY CACTUS FLOWER

(30th November, 1994)

You are as rare as a cactus flower!
You are as fair as a cactus flower!
Who looked on you was enamoured of you,
Who knew you - knew but One of you;
In the bloom of your youth you fill my world
With such happiness and peace, I feel I’m blessed
In a way no mother has been before -
My Aditya, my son, you’re twenty one today!

Well do I remember bringing you home,
A bundle of joy in your father’s arm -
We strutted proudly as we walked along,
Our lips smiling, our hearts full of song;
The fruit of our love, the love of our lives,
We vowed to protect you - we thought us so wise!-
We dreamed of your youth, and here is this day -
My Aditya, my son, you’re twenty one today.

From baby to child, from child to boy,
I watched you grow with increasing joy;
I watched over you, I nurtured you -
So many things I taught you to do;
You learned to read, you learned to write,
People said you were so bright -
And brilliant you are, As bright as the sun -
My Aditya, my sun, you’re twenty one today.

I remember the day you came running to me,
Your first prize at six - held aloft for me to see;
A little book you showed me with such glowing pride-
“Second in his class,” it said inside.
I hugged you and returned it, and said, “Well done!
I’m proud of you, my darling, my precious son!”
“But Ma,” you said in your sweet child’s voice,
“I got it for you, it’s for you - it’s yours!”

That one little book is still cherished and dear,
As are all the prizes you brought me each year;
Be it singing or painting or a story to tell,
Whatever you do you do so well;
You composed music and on the wings of poesy
You soar to such heights, - it makes me dizzy!
What brought you into my life?
My Aditya, my son, you’re twenty one today.

Mini would say, ”Ma, your tense is all wrong,
For Dada is now ‘most six months gone;”
Cruel, but practical, for ‘tis true;
In your twenty first year we mourn for you.
Yet you are here, I know you are -
How can anyone so dear go away so far?
Your creations are here, your dreams, your songs,
So are you here - you’re not gone for long.

My Aditya, my love, you’re twenty one today;
In the bloom of your youth, like a sunflower you sway;
Does the sun ever fade? Does the moon ever wane?
Do the stars ever loose their lustrous shine?
Even so are you here in the sands of time;
The birds and the flowers tell me you’re still mine;
In the rush of the wind, in the splash of the waves,
I can hear you talking, comforting always.

Alas, poor heart! You delude yourself!
He’s gone, you’ve lost him - accept it well;
But what else can you do, a mother forlorn -
Alive in this world while your baby is gone?
Blessed is she who never Motherhood knows,
Cursed is she whose grown son goes:
Yes, cursed I am, or why else this pain,
That grows each day in a cancerous chain?

You were as rare, as fair as a cactus flower,
And you did grow fairer by the hour;
I watched over you, I nurtured you,
How precious you were, I hope you knew;
The beautiful flower that we all did love
Was also loved by the gods above;
We needed it here, but They wanted it there
And they took you from me - you’re in their care.

We walked together, yes, that’s true -
But you rushed ahead - did you find the view?

WILL I BE WHOLE AGAIN?

Well nigh three years have passed us by
It’s difficult still to say
If it happened such long ages back
Or only yesterday;
The days go by, the nights stay on
I scream into the dark ­­­­­-
When will I be whole again?
Till in death I do depart?

I care not what I look like now,
My mirror I still do shun;
The reminder shrieks at every step -
You have outlived your son!
What right have I to be alive?
Yet must I remain;
But will I never be whole again?
Will it never end, this pain?

I try my best, - God knows I try, -
To get on with my life;
I succeed a little bit by bit,
But most of the time I lie.
I fool the world, even fool myself -
Unannounced the tears do come:
When will I be whole again?
When will my grief be done?

Dear God, if I must keep going on
In life’s now meaningless toil,
Give unto me some glimmer of hope,
Not this shining foil -
This camouflage of a smiling face,
These easy ways, this strife;
Make me whole, My Lord, I beg,
Give me back my life.

My son, my sun, my Aditya,
Brighter than a thousand stars,
My wretched heart won’t let me see
You’ve gone away so far;
I look around, I miss something -
I know ‘tis there somewhere;
I will be whole once more, I will,
Once I know it’s there.

But when! - When will I be whole again?
I ask of Thee once more:
Will this broken heart mend itself?
Will my family again be four?
If four we’ll never be again,
How can I be whole?

Only death will make me whole again -
Till then this life I hold.
This life that Thou hast given me
Must I hold as dear as that
Which Thou hadst given unto my care
Till Thou hadst need of it;

Thus shall I live on on earth,
As true to Thy name as I can;
Yet the longing still does linger on,-
Make me whole, My Lord, if you can!
(17.02.97)

LONGING

These empty arms
These aching eyes
Pierce the dawn
As it bursts through the skies,
Longing. ……

The years stretch out
Into the millennium
No succour in sight
But to be with you,
Longing. ……

The darkness lingers
The puzzle unresolved
The puzzle of your life
The puzzle of your death -
Longing. ……

The dawn is here
Where is the light,
Though my lamp I tend
Burning so bright,
Longing. ……?

Aditya, you are
Brilliant as the sun
Why don’t I see you
As the new day dawns
Longing. ……..?

My hope is my death:
Nay I fear it not;
This life’s a farce
And I know it not.
Longing. ……..

(22nd March, 2004)

Feeling a bit low

My baby hasn't been well for the last four days. She caught a chill, probably on a two-day trip we took outside of Mumbai recently with the family - in any case, it's suddenly turned cold and dreary here, and she hasn't shown any visible signs of improvement for the last couple of days. She coughs and coughs, her nose drips, and she hasn't smiled for what feels like the longest time.

All this has put me in a rather contemplative mood. I might even be a little depressed - and I realise as I type this that I haven't felt this way in months - since she was born, I think.

I suppose I should feel lucky that I didn't go through Post Partum Depression - I definitely was very jumpy, tired, defensive and annoyed at people's advice and comments - but there has been this underlying euphoria since then. That euphoria is definitely overwhelmed by a grey cloud today.

I think many things are bringing it on for me just now. First and foremost, is the fact that Peanut is not well. For the first time in 5 months. Everytime she has had her shots, the doctor warns us that fever is likely, but it never happened. She was absolutely fine. A related point here is that my maternity leave is coming to an end soon, and I can't imagine leaving her behind, - and it's heightened by the fact that she is so out of sorts just now.

Of course, and this is the second thing that is bugging me, is the fact that it has been implied that 'Nazar lag gayi'. Of course, this is the very smart but uneducated maid talking, but I've also heard this from other sources in more subtle ways. This thing about superstition, knocking on wood, not saying stuff like 'she hasn't been ill before', nazar lagna - all this is very annoying. Is it my fault for not putting some lousy kala tika on her beautiful face that she has fallen ill? Am I inviting trouble again by calling her beautiful? What is all this nonsense that we believe in? Which century is this, again? Oh, and gee, thanks for making me feel guilty in addition to feeling sad about my sick baby.

But the third thing, I suppose, is this post I read today, which is really just so sad. I know I've been thinking too much about my baby's safety and am actually what my own mother calls 'totally paranoid'. But the thing is - if it's not some students shooting another classmate in Gurgaon, or a recent road accident in which someone just lost his fiancee when a truck rammed into them on Lodhi road, or countless other incidents, then it's something just as random and senseless as this - a little toddler running around, falling and hitting his head, never to get up again.

Now, the thing is - I know most people would say that I'm just looking at the negative side of things. How you can never be prepared for everything. How you need to let go. How you need to live in the moment, and live without fear ( Jo dar gaya, woh mar gaya?). Or how it's all fate. Or God's will. Or a part of life. Or repayment for past sins. Or...I don't know, it's quite endless, isn't it?

The point of my writing this today is very simple:

How does someone make their peace with something like this?

And another related point - how does one live without paranoia of this sort, regarding something bad happening to your child?

I read a quote somewhere about how motherhood is 'when you decide to let your heart walk outside of your body'. This is the only quote I've found to be even remotely adequate as a description of what it feels like to be a mother. Most other words fail, especially when I try to articulate this feeling. So I usually resort to being flippant, lighthearted and write about the funny stuff.

But not today.

So, my dear Mashi. I was thinking that while we use this blog to remember and celebrate Bozo Dada's life - maybe you could also provide some perspective to younger mothers about these questions. How do you move on? How do you make your peace with something like this? And how do you live without being fearful and paranoid about your other child (yes I know Mini isn't a child anymore, but she's your child always, right?). That'll be another useful thing to know - how motherhood evolves as your baby grows into a toddler, and then a school going child, and then a sulky college-goer, and finally, an adult. When exactly do you stop worrying? Does it stop at all? How does this thing work? But I am getting ahead of myself and asking too many questions - it's just that they're all related in some way, aren't they?

Please write about this at your own pace. And of course, only if you want to. And by the way, I've been feeling since we started this blog that I never really knew Bozo Dada at all. I would really love to know more about him, his early days, what you remember of him as a baby - everything. As you find the time to write about him. All I know is that he was such a wonderful person - who I missed out on. It would be really great to know him through your memories and thoughts.

Happy New Year. Love you.

Happy Birthday!!!

Ma's post prompted me to stop procrastinating and write again. I was going to post today anyway, because like her, I seem to feel the urge most when there's an occasion coming up. Like his birthday. Birthdays are a good time for reminiscing (and introspection) anyway, I have always found.

Here's one really really old memory: Dada and I had a bedtime routine when we were kids. I have no idea how it started, but every so often, once we were tucked into bed, we would have a Q&A session, which would go something like this... (we would talk in Bengali, but the English translation is in italics):

Mini: Dada, tui ghoomachchhish? Are you sleeping?

(Yes yes, I do realize that is a silly question to ask, but hey, we were kids.)

Bozo: Na. No

Mini: Tui kaalke aamaar shonge khelbi? Will you play with me tomorrow?

Bozo: Hain. Yes

(I am pretty sure there were a couple of other questions after this one, but I can't really remember them.)

Mini: Tui aamaake bhaalo baashish? Do you love me?

Bozo: Hain. Yes

Mini: Koto-ta? How much?

Bozo: Prithibi-ta joto boro toto-ta. As much as the earth is big.

Yes, quite corny, I know, and really the kind of conversation that sounds cute only coming from under-ten-year-olds, but it reminds me of how lucky we were to have each other for company while growing up, and also of how close we were. Of course, I think we usually had this conversation after we had had a fight, but it was a pretty good way to make up.

We would take turns asking the questions. In fact, I am pretty sure he thought them up in the first place. Oh and he would turn it into a competition as we grew older. If I'd answered, "as much as the earth is big", he would equate his love for me with the size of the universe, and no matter how much I tried, he'd always manage to find a way to top my statement. Yes yes, he was the smarter one, I know. :)


That's him with Ma at Narendrapur (the boarding school he went to for a year), and in front of our house when he was about 8, I think.

My Aditya, My Son, My Sun

Tch, tch, Lalita! This seems to have become an occasional thing!

And I don't mean 'occasional' as in once in a while, but 'occasional' as in I seem to come back to it only to commemorate an event.

And the event this time is the birth of my first-born, my son, Aditya, my sun for 20 brief years.

This is his 13th birthday since his death in 1994 and, wherever he is, he will be 34 years old tomorrow.

The Title and Label for this post may seem a trifle dramatic, but don't worry, the post is not going to be of that tone. And that's another reason why I mean to keep it short.....

A mother from The Compassionate Friends wrote,

"It was from his death that I learnt to look at Death and not be afraid, and from what I have learnt about myself, and in the light of my new philosophies, I have looked again at myself then and now.

Yes, it is true that we can never be “the same” again. If we were not to change and grow, it would be as if that death has not had meaning in our lives." ....Betty Wainer

On this the eve of his 34th birthday, I stop to ask myself if I have changed - and, if at all I have, in what way. In all outward respects, I seem to be the same. I still nag my Arup and I still react strongly (and HOW!) to things - and people! - I do not like. I still love teaching. I still speak out when I think something is wrong and / or unjust. ... The more material? I still don't like shopping or cooking and I still pamper myself with beauty creams and stuff. I've out grown my shoes and bag fetish, but that's because of age and, ahem, maturity.

So what has changed?

• I think I am actually more mature, in a real, deep way.
• I am still outspoken, but am more picky as to which issue is worth speaking out about.
• This might seem contradictory, but I am less tolerant of nonsense than ever before. I might not speak out or rave and rant about it the way I used to, but just turn away from it.
• Again paradoxically, my patience seems to have increased immensely. I might not understand why something is happening or why someone is doing what (s)he does, but I do go along with it and try to understand it.
• I am definitely more compassionate, more understanding of others' problems, especially if I see them as genuine, even if unreasonable to me.
• Also, I am more willing to help others than before, almost but not quite rivalling my darling mia-ji.
• Time is not so important to me now. Things will happen if they are to happen, when they are to happen.
• I care less than ever what people (with the sole exception of Mini and Arup) think of me or of what I do or how I look.
• I can't say I have become any more religious minded than I was before, but I do believe more than ever that there is some power that controls us and that our destiny is pre-written for us.
• I am more consiously appreciative of my Mini than ever before. I think I can say that I appreciate a mother’s love for her child more than anyone else. That does not mean that I love my children more than any other mother, but that, having experienced the full cycle of my child’s life, from the joy of his birth and life to the devastation of his death, I am more aware of that love, because of my loss. For is it not a fact that we do not appreciate anything or anybody fully until we have lost it/them?
• Indeed, I am more consciously appreciative of all our children. I see a little bit of Bozo in them all, more especially in my nieces and nephews but also in all our children of Chetla Gaach Tola - actually, in all the young people I have met and loved (thinking of you here, Craigee!). But above all, I love them most for just being there, giving us joy in their happiness and their well-being.
• I believe in the after-life. I have to, for that is the only way I can bear my loss. I will see my Bozo again.
• And no, I do not fear Death. To die is not such a terrible thing.

Randomly put, those are a few of the things I think I see. I'm sure - I know I have changed in a myriad of other tiny ways. If I were to dwell on it some more, I'm sure I'd find and be able to pinpoint many and Mini and Arup would be able to point some out too.

I have not made a conscious attempt to change and had not realized I had until I stopped to think about it just now. Furthermore, it is not for me to say if I have changed for the better or worse!

But I'll go ahead and say it - while I don't think I was a complete b**** before, I know that Bozo's going has really made me a better person. And now that I have dwelled on't, this is to be my New Year's Resolution. I shall try not to break it like I have all my other ones ......

Oops, I've said it publicly!

So Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

I carry your heart with me

It has been a while since my last post... and this time it wasn't just my innate laziness that kept me from writing. I recently came to a couple of realizations in quick succession, followed by decisions which, while ultimately sensible, left me feeling quite lost and questioning my sanity as well as my ability to be happy. This, for someone who for the most part is perfectly comfortable (without being complacent, or so one hopes!) with who she is and the way her life has turned out, was unsettling to say the least.

Yes, very cryptic and dramatic, I know. But therapy is too expensive and unreliable, so expressing myself on this blog is the preferable alternative, hence the drama. (Ma, you can relax, that was strictly tongue-in-cheek!) On the other hand, this is not the forum for discussing the details of my follies (hence the veiled remarks), so without going into boring detail, the upshot is that I am now single again after almost 2 years. In case I wasn't clear before, it was my decision to end it. The irony is that it was by far the best, most uncomplicated relationship that I have had (and I have had quite a few) and he is a genuinely good guy, one of the best, as well as my best friend (yes, lots of "best's" I know :) but they fit).

Anyway, all things considered, it turned out quite well... the break-up, that is; thanks to how close we are, and the fact that we still want to be in each others lives. It will take some getting used to, naturally, but it seems the worst is over, and the good thing is that we helped each other through it. So today, as I write this, I am still questioning my sanity, but not so much my ability to be happy. The point being, I have made my peace with my inner demons, for now anyway.

What does all/any of this have to do with my brother, you may well ask. Well nothing directly, I suppose, but as with any major event in my life, whether it is a happy or a sad one, I think of him and wonder what he would have made of all this. I know he would have liked Craig, of course, but I also like to believe he would have understood without my having to justify myself, why I did what I did. He was, after all, the most non-judgemental person I have ever known, at least as far I was concerned. I have tried, in turn, to be that person to the people I care about and hope I have succeeded to some extent.

My parents (who met him in December last year and needless to say, loved him) have also been a pillar of support through all this, by giving me my space while letting me know that they were there if I needed to talk. So Baba-Ma, here is a poem by E. E. Cummings that I came across in a movie called " In her shoes", which made me think of you, of Dada, and others I miss:

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

It's a bird ... It's a plane ... It's Supergirl!

My Mom's been telling me about 'IT' these past few months. There's going to be a baby. Her tum'd been growing and had began to look as though it would burst.

Now do I care if it'd be a boy or a girl? I don' sink so. I'm too little to know the difference and / or have a preferance. I'm only about a year and eight months, you see. All I know is Ma and Baba are SO EXCITED. And that's so infectious. I ask Ma each day, well, not each day, really, every couple of weeks.

You see, this woman doesn't seem to remember she's pregant! It's I that have to watch in horror as she climbs that rickety old step-ladder to bring that suitcase down from the loft. I can't see her face, that tummy being in the way, but watch carefully for the slightest sign of imbalance. My fingers twist nervously, but I'm ready to stretch my arms out and catch her if she topples over.

My intentions were always good, but not always so sensible. You know what I did one day? Well, she went off to the loo and took so long to come out, I began to get worried. It was about 10 o'clock, my juice and mid-morning nap time. I was getting hungry and sleepy - and anxious for her, remember! I went up to the bathroom door and tried to get her to talk to me. As we chatted, I fiddled with the little bolt on the outside. It was fun. How easily it slid to and fro...

After a bit, she began to come out. About time, I thought. But what's keeping her? Why isn't the door opening? She's calling to me. Bozo, doraja ta khule de. Open the door, beta. What? She'd closed the door from the inside, not me! What was all the fuss about? Now she's yelling out of the bathroom window! Something about somebody phoning Baba.

I don't understand it. Where's my juice? I want to sleep. I begin to whimper.

Then, quite suddenly, I hear her voice from - down below. I put my face to the floor and see her fingers, poking out from under the door, from the space there! Aaye, beta. Come. Lie down on the mat. Her voice is soft and comforting. Then, my favourite lullaby wafts through the crack. Ghoom padani mashi pishi.... and I fall asleep there, on the bathroom door mat.

I think I was still sleeping when Baba got home from work, at 4 o'clock! We're lucky he was on morning shift, for otherwise he'd not have got back before 7 or 8, as was his wont. Also, lucky there hadn't been any breakdowns of those Banbury thingies that day....

And we're lucky Ma wasn't nearer her time... or Mini could have been born in the loo!

But I digress. This is not about Ma and me, it's about The Coming of My Supergirl.

A couple of weeks later, my Chitra Mashi came to stay for the duration of some course she was taking in Madras. Now this is one cool gal, but more of her another time. Her arrival was a big relief, now that I had someone to share the Mom-watching duties with me. Sometimes, I doubted how grown-up she was - who takes a near-full-term pregnant woman on boat rides, for example? - but obviously, she'd be reliable enough in a crisis.

And, on July 23rd of that year, the crisis came at midnight, just like with Cinderalla. There was this hustle and bustle, excited voices, a few groans, I think. But I just sucked harder on my pacifier and went off, back to sleep. When I woke up again, Ma and Baba weren't there. I'm not sure what I did or said, if anything, but Mashi, can you fill in for me here?

Baba came back round 8. Very pleased with himself he looked, I can tell you. Nobody told me nothing, but from their talk, I could tell I had a baby sister.

Oh, JOY! And no, I don't mean that the way Y meant it when she saw pure vegetarian food at a party she'd been invited to.

Anyway, Mashi went off to the hospital and Baba and I followed at about 10. For some strange, unfathomable reason, K. J. Hospital would not allow kids in to visit their Moms, so we had to stand outside in the grounds, below Ma's window. Mashi brought the baby to the window and held her up for me to see.

Reminiscent of Rapunzel, Rapunzel! Throw down your hair! and Oh, Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo! And what more romantic than my very first glimpse of my Supergirl, my baby sister, the one I was to grow to love even more than I loved Ma and Baba, or even myself?

Not that I could actually see her, of course. Not very clearly, at least. It was only about three years later that Ma discovered I was short-sighted. But Baba said, Oi to! Look! There's your sister. There's Mini! And the excitement and love in his voice was enough to make me full of those very sentiments!

But. Incredible! They'd already named her! And I'd still to have a name! I wasn't named until they had to choose a name for me to enroll in Dunlop School when I was three. I was still Bozo! Well, I know, I know! They'd always been decided. They'd name their first daughter after that old friend of Ma's, through who Ma and Baba had met. Mrinalini Singh, her name was.

Anyway, I was glad they'd shortened it to Mini and not to Munni, after the original. My parents are more sensible. Well, sometimes, anyway...

Two days later, Ma and Baba came home with their bundle of joy. And what a fuss they made! Mini slept in their room. Ma told me she'd move to my room when she was 4 months old. As I remember it, Ma was with her all the time! Whenever I looked, Mini was there, ín Ma's arms, and these desperate, sucking sounds, broken by intermittant, gasping breaths, would emanate almost continuously.

But was I jealous? Of course not! I'd watch fascinated when she slept in her little white, cane crib, which I had vacated only when I was 8 months old and moved to my own baby cot in my own room. I'd be in Ma's arms as the crib was on this high stand. And together we'd admire this beautiful little baby, our princess, our Supergirl...

No, I was far from jealous! A little bit insecure, maybe. My insecurity manifested itself in two ways. I began wetting my bed again and I went back to the bottle, from which I'd been weaned when I was 10 months old. Didn't seem to bother Ma that much. She seemed to take it in her stride, and just went about it as though she had just had twins. There were two sets of nappies and two sets of - what are they called? Those padded sheets Ma used to place over the rubber sheet? Kaathaa, they call it in Bengali.

And Ma had to feed two babies - can't believe I'm calling myself a baby! - at the same time. There was Mini in one arm, sucking on one of her breasts, and me in the other arm, sucking on my bottle! Both gazing up adoringly at her face, lovingly bent towards us. And more often than not, she'd be talking to ME, telling me how wonderful I was and how lucky we all were to have that gorgeous baby sister of mine with us.
I suppose Ma thought Mini was too little to understand her, and that's why she spoke to me. But Mini and I have our own language. And how she gurgles and laughs, when we share our secrets! Little does Ma know the things we say and are up to! I happily gave her my teddy bear till she got her own and even welcomed her into my cot. When she's older, she can even get on my rocking horse. But hang on! She has been on it already, in Ma's tummy!

There are other plus points too. The maid, Anjali Amma, can now stop tying my hair in ribbons, for starters!

Sorry, if this has become too long and boring, guys. I was having so much fun remembering, I just lost track of time. - And space! But if you've read thus far, obviously you love me enough to hear all about the Supergirl, who came into my life on this day of July the 23rd...

I end with a poem me and Ma wrote the other night. It's set to the tune of 'I Feel You In My Fingers ...'

My Cell Phone Mini
I see you in the morning
And as I go to bed;
You’re always there beside me
It’s like you’re in my head!
Each night when I do kiss you
I’m sure you feel it too!
I say goodnight so softly -
And do you hear that too?

You know I love you, I always will
And when I am dead, I’ll love you still
There’s no beginning, there’ll be no end
‘Cause on my love you can depend!

I see your face before me
Each time my cell phone rings
Your smile is sweet and gentle
It makes me want to sing.
Whenever I feel broken
I simply think of you -
And all I ask of heaven
Is that you keep being you…….