A day well spent

How do you define a day in stay at home mommmy’s life? It’s not very difficult. She needs a breather of ANY kind. A day to her herself, a few hours at the spa, a chit chat session with her girls or even a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. 

My little one is teething. So an already tiring routine becomes even more tedious with more poopy diapers, more breastfeeding sessions, fussier eating and the list goes on… so when I had the opportunity to leave him for a few hours in care of my mum and bro (bless him), I took it gladly.  

I literally made a lunch date plan in seconds with my best friends. So naturally, this day a first for so many things after I delivered. First time I left him, first time I went to meet my friends without him, first time I drove this long a distance, first time that I wore something that needn’t be breastfeeding friendly, so on and so forth! This was was much needed, long overdue. 

With my husband away most of the times and staying with in laws, life has become 


Naani home

My absurd and crazy family with each lunatic character (don’t fret, I’m included) and complicated enough to make anyone insane! That’s my sone’s Naani home. Naani, collector of all things useless. My father estimates around 50% of the house is full of trash while my brother bets it’s about 60%. He claims he knows more spaces where she’s very cleverly packed up more trash. I think it’s definitely more than that for the same reason. Naani, however cherishes each and every trash item like her life depends on it. No wonder the cupboards are pouring and more useful stuff is just lying around as they don’t have a proper home. It’s clutter everywhere. Her collection of lipsticks dates back to when she got married and smells like shoe polish. There’s so much stuff in the refrigerator that I bet half the jars are growing various forms of fungus. They’re never used or thrown out. And the Clothes lay everywhere. Bed drawers, cupboards, lying over the tables, bed, floor… 

Nana. Always ordering Nani to do this or that. Not oraganized at all. Gets more veggies that would fit in the refreigerator. Smokes in the bathroom thinking nobody would get to know. But of course, the smoke is gaseous in form and travels everywhere. He’s a workaholic who doesn’t like to spend a penny on himself. Could send his daughter to Milan to study (well, what can I say, lucky me) but isn’t ok sleeping with the AC on because of the electricity bill. 

Mama. Throws a tantrum the moment he’s asked to do a chore (though he does it anyway). Blames everyone in the house for being brought up psychologically fucked up (some strong theory he has regarding the way he was brought up). Leaves his undies and dirty laundry on the floor but puts everything for washing if it so much as touches the wall or adjacent objects where they are laid. He washes his hands two to three times after coming from work because germs. While he’s perfectly ok with a jacket that lays on one of his study chairs since he got married. Logic?! 

Me. I’m a mix of everyone. So yes the toughest to deal with. I get agitated, irritated, intolerable and basically a massive pain in the ass. My biggest problem would be that I think I don’t have a problem. I’m a Marie Kondo who loves order and organisation without the patience and gratitude. I’m a perfectionist who likes everything to be perfect if done by other but doesn’t give a rat’s ass if it isn’t done by me. I’m nutritionist when it comes to my child (and therefore telling everyone not to give him this or that) but would feed him the same thing because no patience and ‘I need a life’ attitude. 

Psychotic at its best. Ain’t it!?

Fam jam

My mommy happens to have a gigantic family. It’s so huge that it took me fifteen years to know my mom’s cousins real name. My mum is the eldest and she’s sixty two years old. The youngest of the lot is twenty five years old. And I happen to write this blog because she was the one getting engaged. The last of her generation. In between my mum and her, there are about ten sisters and seven brothers. So yes it’s huge! All of them are married with children . And some of the children are also married giving birth to more children (one of the youngest being my baby). So it’s only a little quirk that my son technically attended one his (cousin?) grandmothers engagement (Nani or maternal aunt). 

And this family is retard to say the least. They’re loud, super fun, quirky and extremely overwhelming to an outsider. With so many kids around and crazy elders, there’s hardly any sanity when all of them get together. All of them are super sweet, loving and caring. And all of them have their eccentric sides that surfaces at its best when they’re together. 

I’m freaking proud to have a family like that actually. I’ve come to realise not many people have this big a family (in a way they probably do, but they’re pretty distant emotionally). This really me want to cherish the madness as that’s something I’ve missed terribly when I’ve stayed abroad twice! It’s euphoric. 

I’m a Star! (in my baby’s world)

Ever imagine being a star? Well, have a baby! (Just kidding! Have one if you really want it. But jokes apart, it’s amazing how much these little cutie looks up to me. I make him laugh (like rofl-ing kinda mad laughter), he becomes hysterical when I haven’t even cracked a real joke. He seems impressed with the most mundane of things that I do. I just need make a face and do something stupid. Even when I tell him to not do something in a serious tone, he would start crying and then hug ME. That’s just the most innocent and darnest thing I’ve come across. This experience of having a baby cannot be matched with anything. It’s just so unique. Sure I go mad and berserk on a daily basis too. But then you hear your child talking in that baby language (and very seriously at that) and wham all your worries go to hell (temporarily though, but they do). It’s one heck of a joy ride. 

Weather gods haven’t disappeared thankfully

My in laws house (ours too, as that’s where stay. Sigh!) has this huge ass garden in front. Almost double the size of built up area. And thanks to extreme hot weather (or extreme cold weather, take your pick) combined with a year old toddler who refuses to cooperate, I’m mostly stuck indoors. Of course, garden or no garden it doesn’t make much of a difference to my life. If anything, I have a ‘whatever’ attitude towards this garden (of course staying with your in laws adds truckloads to this ‘whatever’ fucking attitude) 

Well until this morning, when suddenly the toddler jumped off to the garden (literally of course, he’s a toddler, what did you think?) and the in laws went away for their physiotherapy session, I was still in a self loathing mood regarding my life and the garden. That’s when I ‘felt’ the weather. Oh my god the weather (No I’m not having an orgasm) was so fucking good. If anything this kind of weather makes life worth staying in delhi, it’s these hard to come by cool breezy days after months (and months) of scorching heat and buckets of sweat inducing humidity. 

The greenery is greener like you’ve suddenly been switched to the HD mode on Tata sky. There’s freshness in the air and coolness that tantalises ones skin. Birds chirp, people smile and suddenly this world becomes a better place to live in. Bless you my toddler. You’re seriously the best thing that’s happened to me. I see life again with so much more enthusiasm. Or maybe taking care of you got so exhausting, that normal life seems shit good. 

Respecting your in laws or kissing their ass

Matlab why one has to stay with their in laws after shaadi is really my first question. It’s just so fucking primitive. Add to that conservative, apni duniya mein rehene wale completely stubborn non-listener type parents in law. Yes. It’s a shit hole. One that I hadn’t realise I was getting in to when I was busy booking Ambika Pillai for makeup and doing rounds of Om Prakash for my ultra beautiful gorgeous lehenga. (Dreamy eyes). They seemed polite and humble enough for me not to fret too much.  Also because my husband is quite a catch with his progressive ideas, a go getter, sports addict, always wants to travel and explore new things kinda guy. Who would say no to that? Right? Right. Obviously, my friends love him more than I want them to. (Im a Leo so being possessive is my birth right). The only catch is that he becomes a dumb insaan jisko kisi saanp ne soong liya ho in front of his very dear parents. At first I was appalled and felt cheated because I felt he doesn’t support me and I’ve been tricked in to this sham of a shaadi. After a while I figured out that’s how his parents are. They do not apprecitate being spoken to. To quote my father in law once, ‘agar hum theek hai toh hum obviously theek hai par Agar hum galat hain toh bhi hum theek hain’. Right uncle ji. Seriously? Well, clearly any further dialogues were put to an end before they could be initiated. Frustration volcanoed inside me and threatened to come out in form of angry verbal abuse through my gritted teeth. If my feeling could do things, I would have shaken the house like how an earthquake that’s an 8 on ritcher scale would shake and destroy a city. Of course I didn’t do any of that. Instead I cried and cried like a rondu baby cursing my life. 

This nonsensical shit gets to me time and again. Their definition of a well behaved bahu is really screwed up! I’m obviously an anti thesis of an ideal bahu. 


The question lurks. How grateful am I? No really. Do I have any idea how thankful I am to God or who ever is up there? My answer is pretty erratic. Because my believes are totally erratic. There are days when I’m a total spiritual being and actually start making a list of all things I’m grateful for. And once I start this I actually go deep. I’ll thank my stars, my parents, this civilisation, the fan above, the bed below, the air conditioner, doodh waale bhaiya, bartan dhone waali aunty and… you get the drift. Which is kind of strange as the very next day I’ll acquire my bitchiness back and would hate the world from the word go. Everything fucking seems to be so ducking mediocre that I crib and can’t believe that’s it is MY life. Matlab ‘husband ki baj gayi band’ kind negativity. If I’m thankful that he spends quality time with us one day, I’d make his life pretty miserable the very next because he still hasn’t got me solitaires, Tiffany ring, Burberry bag, month long vacation to US (it’s my childhood dream) like he’s the CEO of the company he works in. 

In short it’s fairly hard to put up with a perrineal sense of gratitude. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. Non gratitude days are bound to make there way in.