How does baby get into mommy's tummy?

“Mama, how did I get in your tummy?” my li’l one questions me showing me the video clip of my pregnancy days I’ve in my phone. “Let me see,” is all I can mutter feeling my cheeks burning under the gaze of my in-laws sitting beside me. Had it been just me and my kids I would have explained in detail, wait a second! How does one explain to three years old about babies and how they end up in their mommy’s tummy?
I know my li’l one has reached the WHY STAGE and she is bound to have a lot of queries but I wasn’t prepared for this particular question; especially not at dinner time when everybody in the family is gathered together.
“God plants seed in mommy’s tummy,” my all-knowing ten years old Niece comes to my rescue. She always has answer for every query and all her responses revolve around God, saints and ghosts. I scold her for bringing in Gods and ghosts in our conversation most of the times. But I was happy that she at least had that ready answer to fill the awkward silence I offered to my li’l one.
“Akhai, it’s not God!” an angry retort from my elder daughter leaves me dumb founded. I turn my attention to the bukhari as if hoping the crackling fire to help me provide me a reasonable response. I truly wish they would forget the talk or at least go to another movie clip. I have a lot of other interesting movie clips they can watch rather than the one they are stuck on.
“Mama eats a lot of food and her tummy gets bloated, “my elder daughter gives her reasoning. She looks at me to seek my approval and not finding any hint of it in my abashed face, she meekly adds,”…and out comes baby!”
But my li’l one doesn’t buy her elder sisters wise cracks. She further probes,” mam…ma…” I pull her closer and snatch the phone and show her the movie clip of her sister singing hindi songs. “Ana gi chuma yekcha gothcho na,” I add a forced laughter to get my li’l one’s attention.” ong ni ong ni,” she adds and quickly gets engrossed in it.
Baby and how they get into the tummy is forgotten. Thank God for giving kids short attention span.

The Magic Hug

Shrill screams, creaks of tables and chairs being pushed almost blasts my ears. “Is this what I wanted in life?” I question myself with my nose and eyes playing a race in who gets to shed most water out of each. The dusts from the floor boards send another round of sniffling snot down my nose. I quickly reach out for a tissue to wipe it before the screaming kids stop their monkey business to laugh at me.
It’s back to school time yet again. But this time with the change in the school, I start doubting my own interest in being a teacher. Walking in a classroom filled with mature students is a totally different experience from being in a class filled with li’l kids screaming all over; some with complaints and some just screaming for the sake of their age.
With His Majesty’s B’day celebration just round the corner, all of us are busy with preparations. My li’l group jumped with full alacrity when they heard that we have to perform a dance from our class. Seeing their interest I was relieved that my old limbs are going to be free. But their interest and ability ended with the choosing of song. “Ngesem, Ngesem, madam!” and before I could even provide another option I found them lining up for the dance. But when the music actually started, there were only coy giggles.
All eyes on me, they pleaded for steps. Ensuring that the classroom door was latched, I stood up and started the one-two-one-two according to the beat. After two hours we had the steps ready for the entire song. “Madam, kho gi lab shey mee tubay la!” I hear a li’l girl complaining. Never knew boys had apprehension in holding hands with girls. Well, maybe they get ready for that only with age (kidding!).
Agitated after repeated order to hold hands, I scold the li’l boy. Tears flood his cheeks and his snot follows suit. The mother in me stirs. I pull him in my arms and say sorry. His snot wets my tego but I don’t wipe it. I let him go only after his tears stop. The others look at me as I let him go. I see love in those tiny pairs of eyes looking at me.
After that he holds the girl readily (Magic hug has done the trick).
I repeat my previous apprehension about my career in my heart. Looking at the innocent faces dancing to my steps I shove that thought away instantly. No! This career choice shall never be wrong.
“Ngesem, ngesem,….” I dance with my twenty tiny tots.

Walking back in time

“Can you believe, we are still friends, I mean after all these years…” Dechen pauses, as if trying to thread our eighteen years of friendship in one single neckpiece. “I told my office friends that I’m meeting the three of you today and they were surprised, I mean, people hardly remain in touch after High School.” She added with her bass voice. I giggled remembering how the boys in our class gave her the nickname, ‘soundbox’, back in the year 1994.
“What, you mean we shouldn’t be in touch after school days?” Rinchen spoke clearing her nose. I let off another giggle with another anecdote hitting my memory. Dechen ( not the same one mentioned above) always had a problem eating with Rinchen and her stuffy nose.
“But this whole length of time proves that we have always been true friends,” Dendup smiled and spoke at the same time. Dendup always have been all smiles. It was always her easy smiles that made her an easy secret box among all others. I giggled, yes! Another reminder from the good old days! Rinchen and I would always fight for our right over Dendup during our three years of stay in hostel.
“…And look who is doing the ‘mute’ role today!” all three of them snapped at me.
I giggled. Back in the High school days I was the most talkative and had that confidence of carrying myself high and among the achievers. But eighteen years, and how different life had molded us all!
We laughed. We shared stories from past. We filled in the present. But most of the time was spent in going back to past.
“If I am given an opportunity to go back in time, you know what?” Dechen laughed before she could even present her hilarious wish. “I would definitely want to go back in time but…” she eyed us with a naughty smile playing around her almost visible fine lines under her eyes, “…with a Hair straightener. I wouldn’t share it with anyone of you. I would enjoy my sleek straight hair while you guys go back with your copi hair.” She roared with laughter.
We shared another roar of laughter remembering our hairstyles back then. It was those 90’s punk bulk of hair cropped at the ears and amassed on the top. We loved our hair back then.
Rinchen wanted to go back to those days with the present day salary. “We can live the present lifestyles in those moments!” she reasoned out. Fair enough.
“I just want to take all three of you back to those ICSE days,” she smiled again, perhaps thinking of some of the naughty things we learnt for the first time during that time.
“Cooked! Let’s eat,” I emerged out of the kitchen.
All of them looked at me with their questioning glare. I knew they were waiting for me to add what I wanted to take back in time.
“Well, “I heaved heavily. “ I don’t want to go back to past, I want to take your time machine and go to the future and would love to seek revenge for all these years you guys made me cook for you all.”
“Teach us,” they grinned.
I laughed back at them. They know that they can never master my culinary talent no matter how successful they might be in life.
All four of us roared with laughter!

Nights and Nursery rhymes

It’s night time. The Doreamon lamp lends its faint light while we prepare for our ‘honing the singer in me’ session, I call it. My li’l one starts, “mama, what does the sun say?” I wonder why she doesn’t like the beginning part of this nursery rhyme. So I’ve to begin from “when the blazing sun is gone…” and then only come to ‘Twinkle Twinkle li’l star.”
As soon as I finish that, my li’l one looks at me with her eyes squinting in the dark. That’s my cue to begin the next one which is always “hush li’l baby, please go to sleep…” But before I can continue further, I am interrupted, “tatu ban na,” or if she is in the Shizu ka mood, she would say,”shizuka ban na.” So I have to repeat from the beginning to alter the address from ’baby’ to either ‘tatu’ or ‘shikuza’. So I go, “hush li’l tatu/ shizuka please go to bed…”
“Arko,” she nudges at my chest. Its “On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese, I lost my poor meatball when somebody sneezed,” I have to wait for my li’l one to actually sneeze, Achooo. Then she giggles in the dark. I complete that with the meatballs growing on the trees. Some children songs can be really silly, I tell you.
“Row, row row your boat…” Both of them wait for the new addition part at the end. “If you see an alligator, don’t forget to scream.” Both of them join me with a shrill “a..aa…aaa” and the three of us giggle like three teenagers. So much for an aged mother and two tiny girls trying to lull themselves to sleep.
“Doctor Foster went to Gloster in a shower of rain,” I sing. Before I can end that line, my elder daughter adds, ‘splash!splash! splash!’ There is another bout of giggling in the dark.
More rain songs motivate me and the next in line is, “It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring. Went to bed and bumped his head and couldn’t get up in the morning.” “Mama, why does he bump his head?” my lil one asks with concern in her voice. I drag her closer to my bosom and kiss her lips and continue,’ rain rain go away, come again some other day…”
“The ennsy weensy spider went up the water spout…” I know sleep is still a faraway dream so I walk my fingers shaped like a spider on their arms and make it slide with,”..down came the rain and washed the spider out. Out came the sun and dried up all the rain and the eensy weensy spider went up the spout again.” Again my fingers travel up their arms while they wriggle in glee.
“Oh when the saints go marching in…” My li’l one loves the second line better so I quickly finish off the first line and jump to, ”oh when the band begins to play….”
“arko,arko,arko,” she pouts like a spoilt brat. I pretend to be fast asleep ‘cause all these singing makes me drowsy. “owww mama,” both of them nags at the same time, pulling my arms from each side and tickling me. Well, what option do you have when you are outnumbered?
“Jack and Jill went up the hill… and don’t you dare ask me why jack fell down,” I warn my li’l one before she can open her mouth to ask me the same. Mothers need to have patience like the most elastic rubber, for the kids can stretch you off limits at times.
“Sing that song about the bird taking the nose,” it’s more of an order than a request. I start grudgingly, “sing a song of six pence, a pocket full of rye…” I almost look at them with angry glare for making me a singer for so long into the night. Sometimes I wonder, “What would somebody listening outside our window think of all these crazy singings?” Not that anybody would be there outside the window, listening, but suppose there is somebody listening?
“Wee willie winke, runs through the town,” is next. The song should end with,” …are the children all in bed its past 11 O’ clock, instead of 8 O’ clock.” I look at the wall clock ticking with a vengeance against the wrong timing I’m singing about.
Knowing they simply adore my singing (that’s a lie!) I clutch one tightly in my arms and pull the other with my other hand and sing the last song,” Hush a bye baby, on the tree top, when the wind blows…” I add if you don’t sleep you are gonna fall off the bed just like this baby. That silences them. I repeat the refrain,”…and down will come baby, cradle and all.” Softly, softly , repeating it in whispers until Their eyes close. I see them closing their eyes like a magic with this refrain. I am left with my eyes wide open watching the two princesses already lost in the dream world while I lay awake feeling a faint flicker of admiration at my own mirror images lying on the either sides.

Where's the party tonite?

TGIF!TGIF! ah! So happy for the weekened! Alright where are we gonna go for this weekened? What plans do we have for the weekend? Maybe, hmmmmm, lemme think, a secret rendezvous at some pub? Or maybe shake a leg at some club? Or maybe dine at some exotic hideout?

Well, maybe one can do any one of the above in one weekend but I get this rare opportunity of doing all the above in one evening. My elder daughter drags me out of my book, “mama please come with me, please… please… please.” There is some kinda excitement in the way she says those three pleases. So I play along and walk with a feigned reluctance. She puts her tiny hands over my eyes while leading me away from the bukhari.
“Tah-dah!” and when my eyes are let free I have to set my mouth open to show surprise at the location of our weekend eatery. There are three plastic chairs neatly placed around the coffee table and their toy plates and cups adorn the table. My li’l one is mixing a wide range of toys in assortment of shapes. “what’s cooking?” I ask jovially. “Cakes, yummy chocolate cakes,strawberry cakes,” my li’l chef answers with her mouth almost watering with the thought of real chocolate cakes.
The elder one puts on the TV, Norling channel, my li’l one’s favorite.Ata Youngba’s trailer is on. Then some students of Choden school are seen dancing to the song,”dhari gawai nima.” My li’l one immediately leaves her chef’s role and starts dancing. I simply love the way she tries to copy the dance steps from the TV. The song ends but her love for dancing doesn’t. She continues dancing even when there is advertisement for Kezang driving training school. So I switch the channel and stop at Mtunes channel, Danush is singing why this kolaveri kolaveri di. I simply love this song.So I let the song play. I stand up too and move with my li’l one. My elder one loves the fact that I am dancing too. She comes up with a plan. “Mama, this is going to be a dance competition between you and Tatu, I’ll be the judge,” and she starts preparing her judge sheet with my name on one column and Tatu’s name on the other.
Endless dancing frevour starts with Tatu and me grooving to different music, from Singlem singlem to Ma da ladla to ek main aur ekk tu back to ngesem ngesem. Our judge stands when there is a song of her liking. She forgets her role and dances with us. Three of us laugh like hyenas on the roll and dance with so much of mismatch of steps that had some choreographer chanced to see us would have named a new dance form out of it.
After almost one hour of dance we decide the coffee, juice and the cakes are getting stale. So we sit and share the tasty morsel out of eachothers plate. The plate that was named as pizza turns into spaghetti suddenly and none of the three mind the change. We talk about the food like it’s really a yummilicious treat!
It way past ten PM and I coax them to get into our nightly ritual of brushing and washing which doesn’t come with easy grace. Actually even I am so much charged with energy after that dance that I feel we should continue for another hour or so. But the mother in me has to draw the line when it comes to the schedule for the kids so I reluctantly pull them into bed and then begins another session, of nursery rhymes of lullabies.

Names and Roles

“Jarim du sa ,jarim dusa , who is that girl?” I sing teasing my almost three years old daughter. “A..aa…aa..” she snaps at me, “ I am Aunty!” Her toys lie sprawling all over the rug.
Well, what role she is playing at what time is an interesting guessing game I have picked these days. If she is seen with the kitchen stuff toys, she is either playing ‘mommy’ or ‘aunty’ and is miffed if we call her by any other names.
But on many occasion it’s very difficult to guess what she is playing. “Ta..tu,” I call out lovingly but there is no guarantee that she would respond with the same love in her tone, I have to be ready to hear lines such as, “ I’m not Tatu, I am Shizu ka or I’m chutki.” It depends on her mood and none else gets to choose who she is.
But she definitely won’t ever take terms such as ‘madam’ or “girl”,even when it has the prefix ‘beautiful’. When she asks me things I say,”lasla madamji,” and that sets her into a foul mood. “Mama, I am not a madam.”
Sometimes, she goes out of bound to get a role to play. I mean just two days ago we were sitting in the sun when she decided she is Jigsel, a boy from her elder sister’s class and her sister is Patuli, another boy in the class. I wonder what makes her play those roles. I can understand the characters from the television but real life characters, such as these boys leaves me spell bound.
While she plays these various roles, even the others in the house have to be ready to play the roles she confers upon us. When she is Shizu ka, her sister has to be Doreamon and I have to play Nobita’s Mom. When she is Chutki, her sister has to be Chota Bheem and I have to play Dholu while their papa gets to be Dholu’s partner Bholu. When she is mommy, her sister has to be either aunty or papa, while I always get to play her baby.
But when we put off the light and after she turns on the Dorea mon night lamp, I have to play mommy, always. “What does the sun say mommy?” she asks me. That’s my cue to start our nightly lullaby session which I always begin with,
“When the blazing sun is gone
When he nothing shines upon
Then you shine your little light
Twinkle twinkle all the night.”
And there are endless rhymes I sing in my hoarse sleepy voice, smiling at the two angels all set to step into their dream world with my tunes. Life is beautiful! Truly remarkable!

Ball games and Birthdays

It’s 9PM but my two busy beavers seem far away from sleepy mood. Doma and ema have never been good combination for our tummy. My poor tummy is growling and grumbling about this odd combination that I have made a continuous supply of in the last few days, I sit beside the bukhari hoping the heat to do me a big favor by pleasing my upset tummy.
The restless duo, who have been playing cricket (the bat never touching the ball and the ball bouncing off all over the place save the rims of the bat) pops in and out of the kitchen to fetch their runaway ball. On one such ordeal, my little one comes singing, ’Happy B’day to you,’ joyously. I am all ears all though I pretend to be deeply engrossed in my book fearing they might drag me in that silly ballgame.
My elder one asks, whose B’day it is and before the li’l one can answer she quickly realizes that her li’l sister’s birthday is just two months away. “What do you want for you B’day?” My elder one asks religiously.
“Cake!” pat comes the reply.
“Arrgh! Cake is always there on Birthdays! That’s for all to eat,” my grumpy elder screams with her nose crinkled.
“Everyone gonna eat my cake? I don’t get my cake?” The li’l one is almost ready to shed her tears.
“No,Tatu, mama will get the cake, what do you want ana to get for you?” she asks exasperated but adds,” A gift?” with a practiced patience.
Their conversation has made me swerve my attention fully out of my book where a 34 years old man is back to his old hometown and reclaiming his life. I see my two kids, one dressed in black and the other in red, standing near the kitchen door, their task of retrieving their ball all forgotten and now deep into serious Bday conversation.
“Tell ana, what do you want?” she coos to her li’l sister. I see the change in the tone and as expected I see her patting her li’l sister’s head which reaches her waist. My elder daughter has this peculiar style of patting her sister’s head, which translates into her role of a big sister.
“Momo,” my li’l one replies with no time lost. Knowing full well that her almost three years old sister can never conjure up a perfect wish list for her B’day, she comes with her own suggestion,” Do you want a teddy bear?”
“ong,ong,” the little one replies with no attachment whatsoever and is seen bending near the bukhari to pick up the ball. And the next instance they are back to their ball game. Birthdays all forgotten!