Posts

Happy Mother's Days

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I don't know when I noticed it, but at one point in my life I realised how my mother always served us first - chose the ugliest fried egg, the smallest piece of chicken, the scrappiest slice of bread. At one point in my life I tried to stop her from doing that, instead offering up my share of a chocolate or an extra bite of my chowmein, thinking, hey, I'm so grown up and mature now, being selfless and all that ! Now that I have Zain and mind you, he's just a year old, my mother has four of us (oldest being in his 40s!), I realise how I can never repay my mother for everything she gave up for us, most of which we never even noticed or acknowledged. Our happiness, our comfort, our needs. It  was, and is, always me and my siblings before her ownself. I have never doubted the strength of women and as I grow older, I see more clearly than ever that women are stronger and more amazing than the world cares to let on.  And to some extent, that's okay.  If every selfless act of

Moments of Magic

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The sky glows - pink, lavender, baby blue, gold, like a rainbow has melted and soaked into the clouds. There is a soft breeze and tiny snowflakes whirl all around us like in a dream. Music wafts from Fahad's phone in my pocket and there is that rare moment of magic, the kind you can never create, that has to be unexpected, that makes you feel alive and grateful, that reminds you of how beautiful the world is. Such moments are always fleeting. That lofty happiness has to evaporate - like a soap bubble. The beauty lies in its evanescence. What I find incredible about being a mother is how often I get to experience that gratitude and happy-hued love for life.  Despite the recent rather long streak of unruly nights, the arrival of the toddler tantrum, continued pre-dawn mornings and the scrambling in the midst of changing your pjs or sipping your tea because the baby toddler man has decided to clamber over the safety gate or is beaming at you with his chubby hand poised over your c

The Joys of Motherhood

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  How cute does your baby look when he’s kicking you with a ferocity more suited to an action hero than an 11-month-old as you sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star at an increasingly higher pitch, trying to button up his onesie before he somersaults and tries to crawl off the bed?   Nothing like an almost-toddler to test your dexterity and creativity at the same time, especially in those 10 minutes before bedtime. Z becomes a total loonytoon around 6 pm since he detests naps and is so exhausted by early evening he’s almost delirious.  The strangest things will set him laughing like a cartoon villain and the most minor error will lead to a dramatically sorrowful bow on the ground, forehead pressed to his chunky little hands and tiny bum in the air.   After spending several minutes bent double, walking His Tiny Lordship (HTL) around the living room, if I dare request a sit down (for both him and me), there will follow a comical duck pout, stiffening of said little body followed by a collaps

Few Hundred Days of Solitude

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Autumn came for a short visit this year, strolling along, lightly trailing her yellow fingertips along the tops of trees, painting them with liquid sunshine.   She didn't stay for long though. I guess she had better places to visit.  Always leaves in a huff, as if she's mad about something. Maybe it's Winter that drives her off, with his bitter cold winds that whip the pretty gold orange red leaves off branches, scattering them in crispy colourful paths along the ground where they slowly curl up and die. Winter this year strides in in-synch with the second wave of Covid, followed by what should have been an expected lock-down in England but caught me unprepared. The remains of the First Wave had yet to recede and this Second Wave has already crested and crashed upon us. I remember cheering myself up during the first lock-down on how amazing it would feel once things went back to normal...  How great it would feel to hug friends, to go sit in a cafe and have a frothy cappucc

Sparkle, twinkle, giggle

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Babies (from my extensive experience of raising just one for approximately eight months), it seems, are naturally joyous creatures. On the rare occasions when I wake up before Zain, I get to see how he wakes up... a yawn, a stretch that couldn't be cuter if it was done by a big eyed Pixar cartoon - and within fifteen seconds he is wide awake and absolutely delighted. It doesn't matter if it's dark and dreary outside, or cold, or whether he had a bad night. It is a new day and he can bring his stocky legs all the way up and taste his toes, and what could be more wonderful than that? From the misty eyed bewilderment of a newborn to the studious gazing and tentative touching of a 3 month old, Zain, at almost 8 months, is now constantly leaping and stretching for anything and everything like an overzealous acrobat or new yoga enthusiast. Everything is exciting and inviting and mesmerising, things we don't notice anymore, like the cloudy vapours escaping the kettle, or

Pandemics and Babies

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It isn't very adorable but so many things about living in times of a pandemic are like surviving the first months of becoming a parent. Like washing your hands persistently.  Like restricting shopping jaunts to the online world. Like not going to the cinema. Like realising how little is actually in your control. Like wondering if life will ever be the same. As tiny and sweet as newborns are, I must say 3 months onwards they get so, so much more fun. At almost 6 months, they are just too freaking edible (I have to say, however, when people say 'enjoy this, it's the best age', I get a bit worried because when did you ever enjoy a situation all the more because somebody reminded you of its temporariness?). I still wash my hands fairly regularly but they don't feel like chipping tree bark anymore. I can't say I enjoyed the utter fragility of newborns either. The gummy eyes, the flaky skin, the red spots, the constant "watch his head, his neck,

The Gift of Time

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Wollaton Park must be beautiful right now - trees bursting in a kaleidoscope of greens, wildflowers carpeting the track that goes around the lake, willowy branches casting dancing shadows on the walking trails and the beautiful mansion standing regal on the hill top, framing the blue summer sky. Wouldn't it be nice to go for a picnic, pack some sandwiches and crisps, pick up coffee afterwards from the cafe, lay out a blanket on the grassy slope along with scores of other people, with their dogs and babies and footballs and talking parrots (it happened once!).  But of course, the 'New Normal' has rendered the above scene pretty impossible (for now). On the other hand, I have seen my tiny backyard become more enchanting this summer than ever before. The neighbour's tree leans over the fence, it's branches casting a perfect shade on our side. It has leaves of an indescribable colour, each a rainbow in itself with shades of green and rust and maroon and brown and