To my dear second kid..

Dear second kid,

I know you don't exist. But you have always existed as a thought in my head and in the advices everyone else gave me. For your elder sister, you existed half-heartedly, always unsure if she wants to have a sibling or not. I don't know if you ever were even a thought in your father's head. He never brought up the topic unless I mentioned.

Today, let me tell you why you never came to life. 

I came to know I was pregnant with your elder sister when I was going through a tough phase in my life. We hadn't settled into the marriage at all and I wasn't doing much  in my career. It was almost non-existent. Times of broken dreams and shattered hopes...

When your sister came to our life, she gave it a new meaning, stabilised our marriage and I suddenly found a purpose in life. My life changed and it wasn't just that I was growing her up. I was growing up more. I wanted her to be proud of me. More than what I would tell her, I realised that she would learn by just looking and observing. Things automatically started taking shape as everything I did revolved around how I wanted her to be. She taught me more than I would ever teach her.

My dreams and hopes were back and I was slowly spreading my wings. Your father and I were becoming best friends slowly. And I realized that I want to live life to the fullest for me with these two precious ones. I felt complete with just three of us. I wanted to give my time to us- to your sister and father and most importantly myself. Until then, I was just living someone else's dream. It was time to focus on my dreams, aspirations, adventures, joy and fun.

In between someone will pop a question about a second kid and your thought will cross my mind. People reasoned with me that your sister need a sibling. That thought dreaded me more as I have never seen a genuine sibling relationship.

Adulthood strains siblinghood and that scar will never heal. I didn't want you and your sister to go through that. Let you both live in each other's memory as a beautiful thought.

I  tried once or twice to bring you to life. But both attempts failed miserably. May be it was never meant to be or may be because we three were half-hearted.

Now, if ever you will come to our life, you will not come through me. I will choose you, my butterfly from  that special garden which God has sent you to. I may not have seen your birth or breast fed you or may have missed a few years of your early life. But it wouldn't matter. You will be mine.. No, ours, and that's all it counts. I don't know if this would happen. But let me tell you, if life gives me such a chance, I wouldn't hesitate to open my arms and welcome you...

Review - And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini

Just finished reading And the mountains echoed by Khaled Hosseini. For the last 5 days I stayed glued to this book without caring much about the world around me. Not that it is arresting from beginning to end. The moment I decide to set aside the book concluding it as dragging and depressing, it again catches my attention. The characters in the book haunted me and stayed around me even when I was doing my daily chores. The book is all about characters and how they are bonded with each other - beyond age, culture, gender or even by their nature. Hosseini has sketched the characters brilliantly, comparing them, contrasting them but still weaving them in a tale together. His language is elite and classy, and descriptions enjoyable. But sometimes it gets too draggy and you feel like editing at a bit. Narratives happen in first person and third person and as the story goes back and forth can get a bit confusing. But you will get a grip in a page or two. When it gets a bit draggy, dont mind skipping few pages in between. Hosseeini's detailing can be a bit naggy sometimes for an impatient reader like me. As the story progresses, you get a glimpse of the political and cultural background of Afganistan and the state of affairs after being invaded by Russians to Taliban. It moves you more than the news items you must have read about the atrocities of Taliban regime. He vividly explains what is it to be born in Afganistan in a troubled era.

As the story moves to Europe, you find in characters, inner conflicts, a sense of lost identity and a pining for what is not, so characteristic of Europe where growth has shunted and people have to deal with a lost glory, but still maintain that everything is alright. But when you start feeling edgy, the author tells you that all is not lost and there is still hope. And then again the story moves to America where many Asians have seeked asylum, in a hope to run away from a life of ruins and darkness. But again as most immigrants, they refuse to let go their past. They live in their past their whole life, but what is more sad is that they hold back their children too from emerging from this distant past which they have only heard about from their parents.

The book has tried and tested formulas but with a refreshing tone. The folklore which is narrated at the beginning of the book sets a mythic tone, but the author drags us back to the harsh realities of life by narrating the agony of Abdullah who is torn apart from his sister when she was sold to a rich couple in Kabul. Finally, the book takes a close look at how the choices made by parents affect their children and leave a mark/scar in their lives.

Read it, if you are ready to go through those emotional conflicts and agony of the characters for a few days.

I Am a Mother!

Nowadays, I and my solitude are always invaded by the mother in me. Mother of a 6 year old daughter, who keeps me on my toes .Yes, the one whom I mentioned in my earlier blog has grown up to be a pretty little butterfly who flies around me and my home spreading a lot of warmth and happiness. This rosy picture may sound like a picture perfect but when I look at the other side of the story my smile evades and my solitude is filled with the worries and anxieties of a 21st century mother. And the first question I ask myself is –“How do I protect my butterfly from the jolts of the modern world?”

When I think of myself in my childhood days, the first thing that comes to my mind is myself amidst a lot of people; Uncles, aunts, cousins, a brother, grandparents and many others who groomed me and made me what I am today in one way or the other. Knowingly or unknowingly, they have influenced me and made it much easier for my parents. But today, the responsibilities of my kid remain with me and my husband who work in a metropolitan city far from our home town. She sees us and only us for most of the time and this worries me.

After a hectic day at work, all I do is to pick her up from the day care and reach home, just in time to prepare dinner and make her do her homework. Our conversations are restricted to homework and dinner related things. Week days pass by like this and weekends in a much more hustled manner, fulfilling the needs of my house and the social circle around us. Between all this I try to pull some time to play with her or read for her or tell her stories from childhood, but the time is never enough for both of us. My daughter is growing up in-between and sometimes I realize it and sometimes I don’t.

She sometimes surprises me with questions I never dared to ask my mother. But unlike my mother who would have shied away from answering those with a mock anger, I try to answer her questions as reasonably as her age demands. But still my mind worries-Did I answer her properly?

My mom and others in my family always had the right to punish me when I was wrong. But she hates it when I raise my voice or even raise my hand in anger. Even though I don’t beat, my raising hand itself makes her feel so humiliated and traumatic. I tried to think about my reaction as a kid to my mom raising her hand-it was never a humiliated feeling which I see in her eyes. Is something wrong, I start wondering?

Our visits to hometown happens only once in 3-4 months. She loves to be with her grandparents who fulfills all her wishes and takes maximum time to be with her, which I realize I don’t. She is a very bubbly little girl who loves to explore new things like any other kid. I see her blooming and bubbling under the love and care of her grandparents. But alas, it’s for a short span and again we are back to the rut and rustle of the city.

Sometimes my solitude asks me-Is she growing up rightly? Am I giving her the value system my family gave me? Am I preparing her to deal with an uncertain and shady world? Am I able to tell her the power of discrimination? If my words don’t, are my deeds telling her?

As I sit in my solitude with all such thoughts running on my mind, like high tide and low tide falling on the sea-shore, I remembered the words of my mentor, a mother herself – “Raising a kid is like flying a kite. Sometimes, you have to let it go and sometimes you have to hold the strings tight and move it to the right direction. If you allow it to go loose with no control, it might get trapped in a tree. And getting it out of the tree would hurt both the kite and the kite flier. And if you always hold it tight, you will never let it fly high in the vast blue sky. Do it with love and passion and things will fall in place.”

The thought gives me some respite, but worry never ceases me. Afterall, I am a mother!

Between You and Me

Its 7 months.That means you are 7 months old inside my tummy now.Big enough to kick me now and then, as if turning my attention toyou.Acknowledging your demand I then gently rub my hand on my stomach and you will then go back to your sound sleep as if happy andcontent.I can feel a bond quietly growing between us day by day and myeagerness to see your tiny little face increasing.I think of you, Ithink of hundred names to call you but no name satisfies me as much as to call my little princess by that name. Because you are special to me.

How would you look? I often think about that.My room is full of baby pics wherein I try to search your face. Finding no answer, I concludewith the thought that you will be my reflection.Even then the mystery remains and my mind asks me - Will you have long thick hair like me?Dark, large eyes, a sweet smile? Will you be a bubbly, lively childroaming around like a butterfly? I don't know.But you are mine and only that counts.

Is it the magic of motherhood overwhelming me? Whenever I happen tosee a pretty frock, an attractive toy or a beautiful pair of shoes, a voice inside me tells automatically-I will buy all this and more for my little princess.You will be a real princess in our lives and I amsure your father will also leave no stone unturned to grow you up like that.He tells me you will be a techie like him.He wants to teach you computers even before you are one year old.But I imagine dressing youup for your first dance performance in school.Whatever you choose to be, you will be the apple of our eyes. Our little Princess.From helping you take your first step, I have listed hundreds of things which I want to do for you and do with you..I want to be there with you always as a mother and as a friend.Wiping your tears at your difficult times, sharing your happiness at all your successes, guidingyou at turning points in life and simply be there when you are readyto take independent steps into this big world, to reassure you when you turn back.

I always wonder why should it take almost one year for you to call me"Mama".Because I am eager to hear that. 3 months more and am waitingfor you to step into this world. I am waiting for that moment when youwill be placed in my arms.I am waiting to hold you close to my heart,then look into your beautiful face and kiss you gently on yourforehead.I am waiting to see that angelic smile spread on your face.Iam sure, all my pains, all my aches and all the hardships will vanishing that ecstatic moment.Because I have got something very beautifuland precious in return.