Last week the International press was agog with the pregnancy of Kate, the Duchess of Cambridge, and an almost blow by blow account of her morning sickness was broadcast on every kind of media including the BBC! I felt quite bad for the poor girl because a very private condition all of a sudden became very, very public long before the bump was visible!
Having a baby is one of the most wonderful experiences of life – both for the father and of course the mother. Every pregnancy is different and every mother is different: the feelings, moods and the entire nine month experience is unique.
Thirty years ago I had my first experience of child birth – an experience all the more precious since I had miscarried just the year before. At that time I was not considered a young mother but by today’s standards I was definitely young.Since our family was involved in the grand wedding of the “heir apparent” with 5000 guests expected to attend over 4 grand occasions, I was scared that if I went into labour on the due date there wouldn’t be a soul to take me to hospital! So perhaps it was this tension that triggered off the labour which as it turned out was false and I went into hospital all of two days early mainly in the panic of not getting there at all!
I remember my gynac ( long since dead) with her white eyelashes and eyebrows trying out the new fetal heart monitor for the first time in the hospital to see how the labour was progressing. We were quite excited to hear the ” blog,glog” sounds and reassured that the baby was doing well, the gynac continued with her rounds and asked me to wait another day. However on the second day, when the baby showed no signs of entering the world, the labour was induced and on the 9th of December I was hooked up to a drip which let in the Petocin drop by drop. Belonging to the old school, I had no anaesthesia despite the recent fashion of going in for epidurals at the very least, wanting to experience the real thing and after many hours, after being coaxed out with a vacuum cup, my little girl came into my life. I can never forget my first look at her – all tiny and red and crumpled up, her little nose turned up and one eye opening up in undisguised disgust – perhaps angered at being pulled out or may be just upset that I was the one who brought her into the world.
She was the first baby in our family born after a long, long time and was completely spoiled rotten.Her every move was watched by a hundred eyes and recorded and greeted with “oooohs and aaahs” . There were almost a 100 people who came to her naming ceremony and she was blessed with a shower of golden flowers by a great grandmother who gifted her with special tiny, gold bangles and a little golden lamp to carry forth the light into the next generation. Four great grandparents dandled her on their knees and she was equally indulged by her adoring grandparents. My mother particularly was thrilled to bits with her arrival and is convinced that she was her lucky charm who made the tide of fortune turn for her. Much loved, adored and cherished, the joy my little girl continued to give us year after year cannot be counted or recounted and I remember that we had made three albums of her photos before she turned half a year!
While cleaning up last week, I found her little baby tooth and a wispy lock of her baby hair kept in safe custody in our strong steel safe along with the rest of the family jewels! They brought back memories of her first step, her first birthday and her first word ” Dada” , her father, whom she simple adored. The feeling was mutual and he wanted to name her Jehan meaning his whole world but settled for the Hindu name meaning “Hymn to God“. As an infant she would run a fever when her father left town on a business trip and the first time ever we brought down her fever by rubbing her down with a whole bottle of VSOP! I can never forget her as a four year old waking up at 3 a.m to ask him to get her a Pot of Rassagullas ( he got a whole dozen tins of a dozen each!!!). She loved to eat and her tastes were sophisticated for a little child – smoked cheese, smoked salmon, Belgian chocolates and French perfume. Her favourite past time was to go to the Sea Lounge with her father and watch the ships in the harbour having her fish and chips or chocolate “foofle”. She and her father were very close, he treating her like the son he never had giving her the best he could afford starting with a breakfast set from Wedgewood and silverware from Mappin & Webb !
She simply loved dressing up and spent hours wearing my saris, my high heels and dark glasses. She loved the clink of bangles and refused to take off the jewelry we bedecked her in for her first birthday.
If ever there was a fussy girl, she was the original Miss Fussy. Her face would become hot and flustered in the sun and she refused to walk any where preferring to be carried – “Cayume” she would demand and threatened to tell her father whenever I made her walk – ” I tell my Dada” she would say in her calm authoritative voice. She was the original Princess with the Pea and could find a small little pebble at the bottom of her mattress. She was a master story teller and a born entertainer.
I remember those days and precious moments every day of my life, when I see her photos framed up all over the house, when I drive past her school and the club, when I walk down the roads we walked down before . She will never know how much she meant to us – the darling of the house treasured by everyone.
We indulged her every whim, pampered her and let her know that we thought the world of her. Like every parent we let her follow her dream and encouraged her to reach her full potential. But now when I look back I realise that
I was the fool to let her go and think she’d ever come back home to me.
Twenty- five Seven 