We have an eye-surgeon in the making!

My two-year old is showing great potential as an eye-surgeon. The precision with which she reaches for our cornea, with no lights to aid her (early morning 4 am is pretty dark in winter) and the dexterity of those nimble hands with which she keeps our eyelids open...is no mean feat.
Using her nails - first to repeatedly apply pressure (local anaesthesia) and then as surgical tools to make fine incisions, she is a natural!

As far as punctuality and reliability goes, she has no match. Be it summer or winter...come rain or early morning mist, she is up every day (before the sun or the birds), to dive straight into the job.

I may be "blind" with motherly love, but my two-year old is cut out to be an eye-surgeon.

10 Things No One Told Me I Could Do to Prepare Myself for a Toddler

Having shared the 15 Things No One Told Me I Could Do to Prepare for Motherhood, I thought I needed to continue the journey. So here’s my sequel…

If you have managed your pregnancy well and did a reasonable job at managing your newborns/infants, you probably think you've got it figured. 

News flash! You've just seen the trailer. And as is typical of trailers, they get you excited about the movie (with clever editing and terrific background score) but watching the movie is something else!

So here’s the thing. Toddlers are babies on steroids. If babies cry, toddlers screech. If babies wriggle like octopus, toddlers jump like red kangaroos (fastest jumpers among mammals – 56km/hr). If babies break things within their reach, toddlers rampage through the house (and sometimes the entire neighbourhood/shopping centre/friends’ houses). If babies are fussy eaters, toddlers go on hunger strike. If babies are fun, toddlers are a party!

Here’s what having a super active toddler has taught me:

1. Don’t stress about being overweight. When people ask me how I have lost so much weight lately, I usually tell them that I have joined a gym that is open 24x7, has no membership fee, and has designed the most personalised and extreme boot camps for me. Of course, I am only referring to the fact that I have a toddler at home, who is my personal gym. So all you new mums struggling to get rid of your pregnancy weight, hang in there. Your own personal gym is under construction. They’ll make you run, hop, skip, jump, squat, push up, dance, stand on your head or do full locusts. At the end of it all, even the Scorpion Handstand will feel like relaxation. 
2. Be outdoor more often. Take them for picnics, beach, BBQ, zoo, parks…anywhere. Mother Nature is far more interesting and accommodating to them, than indoors.  Avoid spending your weekends at friend’s/relatives houses. Even if they love kids (or your kid in particular). Not unless you were planning to take them off your friends list anyway. Toddlers are curious creatures. A new house full of new things to break/damage/explore is their dream! 
3. Do not take them shopping. The sight of shopping trolleys, rows of shelves neatly stacked with colourful items, announcements over the Public Address (PA) systems, other kids in prams, LED message displays, animated billboards….do strange things to their brains. Is this based on any scientific study? I hear you ask. No. But am sure of it. As sure of it as I am about the fact that my child becomes possessed in shopping centres. Of course there are those perfectly well behaved kids who hold their mummy’s hand when walking, sit quietly in their prams, never put eleven different types of chicken corn soup in mummy’s trolley and never roll on the floor wanting to buy a broom. But I don’t have one of them. My little girl is a delightful personality….but let’s say that she is not her charming best at the shops.
4. Don’t stress about their meals. People who know me, know that my toddler doesn't eat. Because I told them. Not once. Several times. I have become the kind of person people avoid at parties…because they have nothing new to talk about. Yes, I stress about my child not eating. And when I say “not eating”, I don’t mean “not eating as much as she should” or “not eating as much as I would like her to”. I mean “not eating”. Full stop. They call her a “plant” at day care, because they think she survives on photosynthesis. Her carer told me that in her 22 yrs of child care experience, she hadn't seen anyone like her i.e. someone who survives literally with no food all day, and has no lack of energy. That’s how they concluded that she must be a plant. Anyway, the point is, it’s normal to get stressed about their nutrition. But don’t let it take over your life, so much so that you miss out on all the other things that are going great. I am yet to practise what I preach (this one in particular). But I know I’m trying. And I know that nothing makes me happier than to watch her eat half a cracker on her own.
5. Accept germs. Toddlers seems to catch many. From day care…or kids at the park…or other friends’ kids. Their immunity isn’t fully developed yet, but it is getting stronger.  Babies/infants usually don’t fall sick so often, because they are not as exposed to those pesky bugs. But toddlers are germ magnets! If it’s out there, rest assured they will catch it. As mums, all we can do is to spot symptoms, see reliable doctors we can trust, be timely with medicines (if prescribed), give lots of cuddles…and be patient. This too shall pass. And before we know, we won’t have to take days off every second week.
6. Do not compare with other kids. It’s tempting to do so. But don’t. How many times have we heard the “every kid is different” theory? But it’s amazing how often we forget it! Our kids will walk, talk, interact, dance, run, smile at strangers, know their colours and numbers, be toilet trained, grow taller/bigger…all at their own pace. Do you know of any adult who wears a nappy to work or doesn't know their colours (unless they are colour-blind, of course)? So, chill. They will learn everything when it’s the right time for them. Enjoy their journey and stop comparing or rushing them!
7. Have music handy. Or at least ear plugs. Because there will be noise. Enough noise to make you jump out of your skin. Pots and pans being hit with metal spoons, toy musical instruments that have no volume control, screeches when the television is switched off or the iPad taken away, sirens on toy automobiles, TV remotes being hurled from one end of the room to another. And if there is a group of kids at play, be afraid….be very afraid.
8. Find your “me” time. Because when you become a mum, you don’t suddenly stop being a person. Of course your kids mean the world to you. But you are not scarring them for life or depriving them in any way if you go for that girls’ night out, or a pedicure or a shopping day. Provided they are in good care (husband, carer, family, friends), you should not feel guilty for pampering yourself with the much-needed (and well deserved) “me” time. When you are back, you’ll be ready to take on the world! And they will love you for it.
9. Be OK with exposure to technology. Just balance it right. I see a few eyebrows being raised! But let’s face it. Our kids will be exposed to technology, sooner than we like it.  Almost all the kids I know (and I know quite a few), were able to navigate the tablet or smart phone screen before they turned two. What’s important is what they watch…and how long they watch it for. There are some great videos/movies/TV shows out there that entertain a young mind and help it develop. As long as they are not glued to it for hours or watching age-inappropriate content, that TV or iPad is not necessarily their enemy. As long as they don’t think that a book is an iPad that does not work, all is good with the world!
10. Be a child again. Your child is your last (and perhaps only) chance to be a child again.  So “jump in muddy puddles”, read fairy tales or superhero stories (real books, not on a tablet), build that Lego castle, ride your bicycle as they ride their trikes, pat farm animals, run through the sprinklers, have a tea party under the dining table, go camping, sing out loud, kick that big blue ball, blow bubbles in air, play dress-up, dance to crazy tunes, make sand castles, watch the stars… and relive your childhood with your precious little darlings.

An ethical dilemma

Loyalty
Noun | loy-al-ty | \ˈlȯi(-ə)l-tē\
a strong feeling of support or allegiance
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There are fewer wars between countries today, than used to be. The kind of war where troops from two countries are out in the battlefield, fighting a physical battle to claim/defend things (land, natural resources, people etc.) that are important to them. True, there are still some parts of the world battered and bruised by that kind of war. But for the vast majority of countries, there are peaceful negotiations or political deals to resolve conflicts.

In such day and age, what does it mean to be loyal to a country? With concepts like “one world” and “global economy”, geographical boundaries are becoming less significant. The tribe of “born in one country, living/working in another” has multiplied in enormous proportions over the last few decades. Migrants or “economic refugees” (as some like to call it) have taken over the world. I am one of them.

In short, be it lifestyle, education/career opportunities, being close to other family members who have also migrated, being away from certain aspects of our motherland we do not like (and don’t have the mental framework to stay back and change) – whatever our reason, we all made a choice. The choice to move to a country that was not our country of origin. Some of us, have chosen to become permanent residents or citizens of our new homeland. Little wonder that most passports have two distinct fields – Nationality and Place of Birth/Origin. These two fields say a lot about who we are, where we come from, and the journey we have made (literally and spiritually).

And although we take pride in both these countries (at least most of us do, most of the time), every now and then, there is a dilemma. If I was hypnotised and someone asked me where my “home” was, I think I would rattle off the name of the Indian city I grew up in…and not the postal address of my current home in beautiful Australia. Not to say that I don’t love Australia. But I think the deep recesses of my mind haven't still processed or stored the new information – that I am now an Australian by nationality. There is a reason why psychologists go back to our childhood for those deep seated truths we cannot remember or verbalise. Our childhood doesn’t lie or hide.

 I am not sure what citizenship pledges sound like for other countries. But I know that on the day I gave up my Indian citizenship (unfortunately, dual citizenship is still a concept for us) and took up the Australian nationality, I read these lines:

And I think there is a reason why “loyalty” (meaning “true and constant support to Australia and its people”, as per the citizenship website), is the first thing I was asked to pledge. Because no one can take it from me, unless I pledge/want to give it. Loyalty can’t be enforced.

So, on this important day, as India and Australia prepare for the semi-finals of the Cricket World Cup 2015, I am in a strange dilemma. I have received strange looks and have been laughed at when I shared this dilemma with other Australians of Indian origin. Of the responses I have got, some are:

 -  Once an Indian, always an Indian at heart. Go India!
 -  It’s a sport; we can choose any team to support. Doesn't have to do with loyalty to country. It is loyalty to team!
 - May the best team win.

 - We’ll be a winner either way, no matter who wins.

And while I love the last answer, it doesn't help me with my dilemma. Who would I cheer for when the match is on? I can’t jump in joy when an Australian wicket falls….and then celebrate again when an Indian batsman leaves the field. It is, unfortunately, an “either/or” situation. A dual citizenship, (although no more than a piece of paper to some), would make it easier for me. I would scream my lungs out in public, with no guilt, no shame in cheering for any one team (as both would then, equally and officially define me). But until that happens, an India-Australia match is never going to be just a game for me.

The divine creamy crust

The baingan bharta-inspired walk down memory lane was so enjoyable that I set out for a new one today. This time, I tried to replicate that sweet, creamy dessert that's become synonymous with birthdays in Bengal. Long before cakes and candles were in vogue, a bowl full of "payesh" (rice pudding) was considered to be a warm hug from Mum/Grandmum on our birthdays. It wasn't a dessert one cooked everyday. It was reserved for special occasions...and did have strange powers to bring in the festive cheer.

Perhaps the only time my sister and I volunteered to help Ma clean the dishes, was when payesh was made. Not the dishes really...the pot in which it was cooked, to be more precise! Fondly called a "chaachi", the creamy crust that was left behind in the pot was the highlight of the whole payesh-eating experience. It caused many a fights with my sister, who was also more interested in the "chaachi" than the payesh itself.  So we meticulously took turns to lick the pot clean, until we could taste nothing but our hands.
So every time I hear someone say "The proof is in the pudding.", I secretly smile in disagreement. The proof has always been in the "chaachi"...always. And while my little girl may never "get it", I will continue my love affair with "chaachi", and lick the large pot clean...much to her amazement (embarrassment?).

Eggplant roast and lizards made of dough...

In a rare cooking spree, I made baingan bharta, tomato chutney and veggie-chapati today. The thunderstorms and rain in the background, and the smell of roasted eggplant rising up in the air, took me back to my childhood, where, in a similar setting, Ma instructs our "rannar mashi" (cook):  "Shoni Mongol  baar e begun porano bhalo. Aji begun ta redhe felo, Mashi". (Tranlates to: It's considered good omen to roast eggplants on Tuesdays and Saturdays. So let's roast that eggplant today.)

In a strange coincidence, today is Tuesday too...and although I have no idea which of the gods I have pleased with a roasted eggplant on Tuesday, I feel so grown up! I made chapatis for the first time...and a special mini one for the little girl in the house, just like our "rannar mashi" used to make for me.

We don't realise how we're creating memories everyday. Even an ordinary day can come back to us, years later...to make us feel extraordinary! Here's hoping that I am able to create a childhood for my little girl, which will continue to make her smile...decades later...

Superheros don’t always wear masks

Sitting next to my semi-conscious baby inside an ambulance is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Just like you cannot describe the joy you feel when you hold your baby for the first time, the horror of seeing your baby lie on an ambulance bed cannot be described. You feel your heart throbbing in your mouth, and your very life force being sucked away. Gathering the thin shreds of strength that’s still left in you, you try to focus…on her, on her eyes, on her breathing. “My precious little bundle, this can’t be happening to you”. But it did. And it does.

She had a febrile seizure, which is “a convulsion associated with a significant rise in body temperature. Turns out, both A and I had this when we were babies. They most commonly occur in children between the ages of 6 months and 5 years of age.” Approximately one in every 25 children will have at least one febrile seizure, I was told. But if you are one in that 25, statistics does not really help. What helps is being trained in first-aid and promptly calling triple zero.

All medical emergencies are scary to watch and sometimes there’s nothing you can do to help. Standing in the middle of nowhere, we were shocked to the core and panic stricken. Even common sense had deserted us. We were lucky that we were with friends who dialled triple zero. We were lucky because a stranger opened their home to us, held our baby the way she should have been held and rocked her to comfort until the ambulance arrived.

Thankfully, she is okay now. The good news is, although these seizures can be frightening to parents, the vast majority of febrile seizures are short and harmless. The bad news is, if you have been in an ambulance with your little bub, you never quite recover from that shock.
This was my second time in an ambulance. And it didn’t get any easier. The first time, I was in it with my father, after he had two massive heart attacks. We lost him shortly after we reached the hospital. It was too late. The night before, he kept insisting that his chest pain was due to a gastric problem (a chronic condition that he suffered from for years). We shouldn’t have listened to him. We should have rushed him to the hospital much earlier.

If you have ever been in an ambulance with a loved one either sick or hurt, you would know this. Your life changes forever. You split it in half - life before the incident, and life after (whatever be the outcome of the incident, good or bad). The feelings and thoughts that flood your body during that helpless journey to the hospital, haunt you often.  You replay the chain of events over and over in your head, think of a million things you could have done differently to save the situation. But sometimes, it’s too late. And most of the times, it’s not your fault.

I always thought ambulances were for other people. Triple zero was just a number, until I needed to dial it one day. After that fateful day with my father, every time I saw an ambulance speed through the roads with its red lights flashing, my heart said a secret prayer….for those on the ambulance bed, and those by their side. I forget to breathe for a second, as I remember the cold touch of the metallic rails on the ambulance bed. On the other side of the cold rails was someone I loved. Someone who is no more. But after this recent episode with my little one, every time I see an ambulance, I say a secret prayer and a silent “thank you” for all the kindness there is in this world, which often comes from the most unexpected corners.

Donating blood, helping a stranger in a roadside emergency, saying a kind word to someone in crisis, opening your heart or home to someone in need, donating money/clothes/food for a natural disaster appeal, sponsoring a child’s education, funding a water pump in a remote village, spreading awareness for a noble cause, volunteering your time at an old age home or an animal rescue shelter…whatever be our cause, whatever be our limitations…we can all be a blessing to someone, just like those strangers were to me that day. Superheros don’t always wear masks. Sometimes, they just rock your baby to comfort, when you can’t.
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Dedicated to the kind family in Hammond Park, Western Australia, who helped us out that day.

For ideas on how you can help, visit:

https://www.worldvision.in/

http://www.unicef.org.au/

https://www.donateblood.com.au/contact-us

http://www.rspca.org.au/

http://telethonkids.org.au/
 

For more details on first-aid training in Perth, visit:

http://www.stjohnambulance.com.au/st-john/first-aid-training/first-aid-courses

Finally, remember that calling triple zero promptly can save lives. Don’t take a chance.

15 Things No One Told Me I Could Do To Prepare for Motherhood

 

When people told me there was nothing I could do to prepare myself for motherhood, I believed them. Biggest mistake! I continued reading pregnancy books and mommy blogs, religiously went to the antenatal classes, googled almost a hundred questions everyday related to pregnancy or motherhood… all while naively believing that nothing could prepare me for the real thing. One year into motherhood, I think I have a pretty good understanding of what I could do as preparation. So here’s a list I put together for pregnant women or any woman who plans to have babies at some point in their lives.

Things you will need:

• A box of nappies
• A feeding bottle
• Some baby clothing
• A human volunteer who has the capacity to be annoying on demand. Husbands are a good choice as it comes to them naturally. If not, a friend will do. In this list, am assuming that the husband will oblige.
• A lifelike doll
• A friend's baby on loan (if not, a live octopus will do just fine)
• An audio recording of a baby crying. Ask your mommy friends to record one. They can do it at really short notice.
• Patience

Preparation time 

9 months (if you do at least 5 things on this list every day for the 9 months)

1. Make yourself a cup of coffee at least an hour before you plan to have it. Get used to the flat, cold, taste.
2. Play the audio of the baby crying every evening for a couple of hours. Try getting some important work done (like making an important phone call) while the audio plays.
3. Take the live octopus and place it on a flat surface. Put a nappy around its body (whichever part you can access while it wriggles). Play the audio of the baby crying while you do this. Ask the husband to hold a bag of organic fertiliser very close to your nose during this exercise.
4. Dress the octopus up in layers of clothing. Make sure you include a beanie and a pair of socks. Play the audio of the baby crying while you do this. Spill some milk on the fully-dressed octopus two minutes after you have dressed it up. Repeat this step.
5. Place the doll on your lap in the middle of the night. Put a bottle of milk in its mouth. Sit still for 45 minutes watching how the level of milk in the bottle remains the same. Do not move during this exercise as it might upset the doll. (Optional) - Play the audio of the baby crying while you do this.
6. Identify one valuable and irreplaceable item in your house that you are emotionally attached to, for whatever reason (family treasure, special gift, travel memento bringing back lovely memories…whatever). Break it.
7. Strip your house of all accessories and decor items…and a few utility items like the coffee table and theatre speakers. Get used to the blank, sterile look. You will later learn that this is called “child proofing”.
8. Spend 30 minutes researching a recipe that you think a child may enjoy eating. Spend the next 30 minutes cooking it. Now, take the wok and throw all that you have cooked straight into the bin.  (Optional) – Ask the husband to take a spoonful and spit it out straight away. Make sure he spills most of the food on the chair so that you can spend the next 30 minutes cleaning it.
9. Let the husband bathe in pasta sauce. Spend the next 30 minutes cleaning him, while he screams. Make sure you both have zero fun while doing this.
10.  Dress up for a special work or social event. Just before stepping out of the door, spill a tiny amount of milk on your shoulder, taking care that it trickles down slightly towards your chest. DO NOT change into fresh clothes, as you don’t have the time for it. Try enjoying the event while trying not to get irritated by the white smudge on your black dress or when people (involuntarily) stare at your chest.
11. On a day that you are extremely tired and sleepy, pour some cold water on your bed just when you thought you were ready to retire. Spend the next 30 minutes changing the sheets. Play the audio of the baby crying while you do this. For best results, try this on a winter night.
12. Walk into a restaurant with the live octopus and the audio of the baby crying. Put the octopus on a high chair and give him small pieces of food from your plate. Watch the look on the waiter’s face when the octopus spits the food out and throws most of it on the floor. Next, play the audio of the baby crying and watch the look on the faces of the other people in the restaurant. Now, leave your food unfinished, pay the bill and a big tip for the inconvenience you have caused, and rush out of the restaurant apologising to every person you meet on your way out. Do not go to any restaurant for the next hundred years.
13. Rock your doll and sing lullabies to it for 30 minutes. When it falls asleep, put it in the cot and quietly close the door. Walk to the living room feeling happy that you can now enjoy a much-needed glass of wine after a tiring day. Just when you have poured yourself a glass, ask the husband to play the audio of the baby crying. Leave the wine on the bench top and run back to the cot and repeat this step 5 times. The last time, fall asleep with the doll (forgetting all about the wine or dinner).
14. Identify the most popular kid’s show at the time. (These days it’s Peppa Pig). Watch it every day at least 60 times. Make sure you watch the exact same episode on a loop. Remember, there is no such thing as too many times...
15. Send at least one email to your boss with the word (and just this word) "fffccckkkkuuuuuu". Apologise a hundred times, explaining that your baby dived onto your keyboard when you were trying to write an email to him. Pray that he believes you.

While I do agree that every baby is different and therefore every mum’s experience is different, I strongly feel that this is a pretty generic list that every woman will find useful. If any of your mommy friends tell you that this list is rubbish and it’s not this bad….shoot them. They are lying and secretly waiting to watch the fun when you dive into the motherhood experience totally clueless.

I am also fully aware that despite the shocking nature of this list, motherhood is the best thing that happened to me (and many like me).  And no list in the world can prepare you for what you feel when you cuddle your little bundle of joy at the end of a very tiring day.

Valentine's Day 2014

Valentine’s Day this year started off on a really high note. He got me a single-stem rose…and served me coffee in bed. I put on our favourite playlist on my phone and brought out an old photo album. And then we cuddled up in bed, looking at some old photographs...of our most romantic days.

One was taken at my home in Kolkata, when we were planning the wedding guest list. I was in familiar surroundings...sitting on my bed in my PJs, looking happy….and smiling at the camera. He was on a chair, in his favourite brown jacket, poring over a sheet of paper (the guest list), unaware of the camera. It was a simple, candid snap …but there was something magical about it. It almost took us back to that moment…the excitement, the nervousness, the joy and the promise of a future together.

Another one was taken at a temple (in Dakshineswar) where we had gone with our families, just days before the wedding. I was in a white salwar-kameez, looking coy and innocent. He was in a faded kurta, squinting at the sunlight that fell on his face. We stood at a distance from each other (although there was no one else in the photograph), mindful of the presence of the elders. But we had never felt so close.

Then there was one taken at our first home together, in Bangalore. I think it was taken on the New Year’s eve of 2008 (by a dear friend who had just moved to Bangalore too). He rested his head on my shoulders and we both looked slightly drunk….and VERY happy (was probably just the drink).

As I was about to turn over the page in the photo album, I felt a kick. First a light one….and then a strong, purposeful one.

And there ended my dream.

There was no rose…or coffee…or music…or photographs.  But there SHE was….our little bundle of joy, kicking us away for her morning feed. No photograph could capture that moment, where two individuals, longing for a few more minutes of sleep, force their eyes open….only to see a wide-eyed ball of cuteness looking at them from under her sheets. And that’s how Valentine’s Day started off this year….and I hope that’s how it starts for us every day of our lives (minus the kicking perhaps).

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And now for the part that the censor board cut out so that the romance in this story wasn't tainted:

The first light kick that I felt was from the above-mentioned bundle of joy. The second one…stronger and more purposeful, was from the bundle’s dad, who was trying to wake me up so that I could feed the bundle and let him sleep in peace.

When I grow up...

Much has been said about the latest Clooney-Bullock space-drama, Gravity. Mostly good things.  No one doubts that it will be a big name at the 86^th Academy Awards, in almost every category. I have nothing more to say than what has already been said. Except that it left me feeling inadequate and like a total loser.

Don’t get me wrong. I LOVED the movie. Loved it so much that I wanted to be “in” it.  And although no one asks a 30-something old “What do you want to become when you grow up?” (assuming that all the “growing up” would have been done by then….or in some cases,  there is no more “growing up” possible or advisable after you reach a certain kilogram in weight), I think I finally have the answer. I would love to be an astronaut. 

I mean, hey, if your profession is not worth making a movie about, or at least a documentary, what’s it worth? Whoever made (or even thought of making) a movie on a technical writer (like me)? Actually, there is a movie called “The Technical Writer”, but one of its reviews say “The Technical Writer is a numbingly bad movie and a glorious inspiration to every wannabe filmmaker with a 'deeply personal' script wasting away in the bottom drawer of his or her desk.”. So am not vouching for it.

Astronaut, on the other hand, …..smells of glory. These people are so smart that even the whole earth couldn’t hold their interest! They had to venture out….for bigger, better, brighter things. Things that don’t walk or crawl or swim or fly….but revolve and rotate. Things that don’t breathe….but spit fire. Things that glow and sparkle in the night sky…stuff that dreams are made of. 

And so, the more I watched the movie…the more I couldn’t focus on it. My mind kept drifting to my numbingly ordinary life. While I sit at my desk writing about software (scintillating, isn’t it?), somebody from NASA makes a round trip from the Earth to Mars! While I research the latest authoring tool, somebody has found traces of life in some other planet! While I struggle to assemble Ikea furniture, somebody has built an entire spaceship! 

Bottom line….if the answer to the question “Honey, how was your day at work today”, is anything less than the plot of a movie or a book, you could do better. If you think you need at least two coffees to survive a day at work, you could do better. Because there are professions out there where there is no time/need for coffee…the adrenaline is enough to keep one going (apart from the fact that there is no office- kitchen in space where you could make yourself a cuppa).

At least I know what I want to be in my next life. Mars, here I come….

The weed with the yellow flowers....

Our first rental home in Perth was a small blue cottage on a busy road. While most people here would find the noise from the street annoying, I quite enjoyed it. It reminded me of India. Of course there was no pile of foul-smelling garbage, rickshaws in all their bright-coloured glory, cows crossing the road in snail pace, the all-too-familiar cycle honk, roadside vendors selling tea and deep fried pakodas, kids (who should be in school) running around shirt-less to sell flower garlands, street dogs happily mating in the middle of the street and finally, grey smoke from the cars to cast its spell over all the hustle bustle. None of that. So, I settled for the noise and decided that I loved it.

At home for a month without internet or a phone connection was like solitary confinement. Worse, actually....because at least they serve food in the prisons. Here, I had to cook it myself. At one point, I decided to send back all the hired furniture.....because buying them would cost us less. But we could only go out and buy new furniture over a weekend, as A would be away at work on week days. Unfortunately, the hire-furniture company picked everything up on a Thursday. So, I spent two days at home with no furniture. I had one pillow, one bed sheet set (probably a wedding gift), some basic utensils and plastic cutlery, my clothes and The Namesake. I sat on the floor, resting against the wall  for hours, gazing out of the window at the busy road. When the backache was too much to bear, I walked up to the street and sat on a bench at the bus stop. At least these benches had back rests and I could sit there undisturbed for hours. But the bus drivers would pull over, thinking I had somewhere to go. I smiled and waved, to indicate that I wasn't going anywhere. I had had no human interaction for days, except with A when he got back from work or the phone calls I made to India, every alternate day. So waving at bus drivers was turning out to be quite exciting! But when the same bus drivers came back on their next trip, they looked at me with suspicion (thinking I was up to no good). So I decided to stay at home, on the floor with my pillow and read The Namesake for the third time.

I never enjoyed cooking. I still don’t. So I lived on Maggie, or dal/rice or ghee/rice or sandwiches. When A came back from work, we would cook dinner together and eat on our plastic plates, sitting on the floor. He would tell me about work, his colleagues, his trips to the city at lunch time, the food court and the car showrooms he had stopped at. I’d tell him about the bus drivers and how my backache was getting worse. Then, we would sleep on our bed sheet and share the pillow.

I realised I could make myself a little more useful until we got internet connection at home (and I started looking for jobs). So, I focused on our backyard. It had plants …some in pots and others in the garden beds. They were nothing like the ones we have in India, except that they were green too. Some had bright yellow flowers, and these were my favourites. I watered them and trimmed them occasionally. Our landlady would be delighted to see how well I had maintained them, I thought.

But when the landlady did come for an inspection, she nodded her head in disapproval. “You have to keep the garden weed free. Look at all this mess!” I was confused. Mess? I thought it was beautiful. Apparently, my favourite plant with the yellow flowers was a weed. I had been nurturing a weed with such care….for so long! Clearly, I had a lot to learn. So I decided to go back to The Namesake for the fourth time.

It’s been five years since then. We no longer live on a busy road. I don’t have to leave home for a comfortable seat. I have a job and 10 pillows. I don’t rely on bus drivers for human interaction. I have a few friends and acquaintances, and more stories to share than that of my backache. I still don’t enjoy cooking….but I can tell the difference between a weed and a plant.

On completing my fifth year in this country, I realise that Australia has been no less than a university to me…and it taught me the most important lesson in life..."One person's weed is another person's flower".

The weed with the yellow flowers....