Books roundup

Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie – My tattered copy of this book had been bought in my early working years when spanking new originals were too unaffordable. Second-hand or pirated was the mantra. Over the years, I would flip through a few pages and then give up, feeling not quite ready to tackle it.  I kept reading other works by Rushdie and also enjoying them tremendously. Finally, a question posed by hAAthi on whether the book was better than the movie, got me reading. 

The story revolves around Saleem Sinai who is born at the stroke of midnight when India is born. He grows up, his fate intertwined with major events in the subcontinent’s history. It ends with the emergency and marks the end of a generation of midnight’s children and their slightly naïve expectations from a new country.

The book was interesting but did not evoke the overwhelming response that I expected the Booker of Bookers to do. I noticed that one common theme about great fictional works that cover history is that the writing itself is so charming that it does not matter to me I don’t know much of the history and hence cannot always penetrate the layers. In this case, I expected to enjoy both the writing and the history. Sadly this was not the case. The writing was excellent in most places but also dragged a bit in the middle. I am embarrassed to say I did not quite catch all the references to Indian history.  So perhaps my slight disappointment was not so much on account of the book as it was in me?

A visit from the goon squad by Jennifer Egan. The book opens with the story of a secretary in the music industry business. The next chapter goes on to describe a segment of life of a character who had made a brief appearance in the previous chapter. And so on. Minor characters go on to play the protagonist in later chapters till some sort of coherent narrative emerges. I was quite content simply reading each chapter for itself and did not quite mind if they did not always link up. Well written and interesting

How to be a woman by Caitlin Moran. This was one of the books I carried with me to the delivery ward and was it bad timing! The first chapter on ‘getting my period’ put me off. I really did not want to be a woman at that point if it meant exhausting events like pregnancy and labour. Much later I picked it up and laughed through the book. Moran tells us quite simply what it is to be a feminist (that much maligned word) in this day and age and does so with a lot of honesty and humour. I agreed with her mostly (but not always). I was strangely also proud of the book because it was a voice that belonged to women of my generation and was reflective of a world that is far fairer to women though it still has a long way to go.

The uncommon reader by Alan Bennett.  One of the pleasures of reading is that there is always something to be read. Unlike practically everything else in life – work, sports, relationships – I am convinced that I can always find a book that can match my every mood and phase of life. This is also why I usually hold onto books I have not read (like Midnight’s Children) because it is not that the book is bad. It is just I am not quite ready to tackle it. And I will be at some point.

For a person with this point of view, reading about someone who discovers reading was charming. This someone being the Queen of England. A chance visit to a mobile library, a serendipitously interesting choice of a book sets the Queen on the path to becoming an avid reader. This rather startles her aides who have come to count on her predictability (She is after all more institution, than person, isn’t she?). She discovers books and matches them with her vast experience. She regrets not having discussed certain books with authors she had met but who were now deceased. She is definitely an uncommon reader, being able to relate to books and authors in a way the common man cannot and that makes this book a slightly uncommon point of view.

The Cannery Row by John Steinbeck. Steinbeck’s towering presence in literature had put me off from attempting this slim volume. I had started holding the view that the bright specks of literature invariably write depressing books. And I was happy to correct my view with this novella. Centred around the Cannery Row fish-processing district, the book gently weaves its way through various characters with a suitably gentle climax. Steinbeck has a way with words that makes you dumbstruck and jealous (i.e. if you are an aspiring writer of sorts) at the same time.  Describing a city stirring to life slowly at dawn, he says “Cats drip over fences..”. What an evocative phrase.

I am definitely going to try and read more literary giants now.

Sideways by Rex Pickett. I had watched the lovely movie version starring Paul Giamatti as Miles, the forty (plus or minus) wine aficionado going through a loser-phase what with his novel being rejected by practically every publication and him trying to get over his ex-wife. Miles and his friend Jack set off on a week-long wine tasting trip to Santa Barbara as a bachelor party of sorts for the to-be-married-at-the-end-of-the-week Jack. The book covers the events of the week with plot turns that make you go ‘Men. What are they thinking! Seriously”  

While the book is pretty neat, my memory of the movie seems to put the latter a notch higher. What I really cherish is the fact that I bought this book at a whopping 80% discount during the Landmark sale. If there is one thing I miss about Chennai it is the Landmark sale from where you could unearth all sorts of lovely books available for a song that most readers miss. If I could go back in time and relieve those happy afternoons, I really would. 

The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid. Another book that I recollected was in my book shelf because of the movie release. I quickly read through the story of a young Pakistani who kissed goodbye the American dream, partly driven to it by an America that does not care much about the rest of the world, and partly by the love for a woman who he cannot attain. Ok-ish book. Being from a country where the middle-class values a good job and a good education above everything else, I would have liked to see stronger justifications for the protagonist's actions.

Colors by Andy Warhol. This is the pretentious children’s book I bought for the baby. It has colourful images of various animals and does actually catch the baby’s eye. In retrospect I wonder if showing pink cows to the baby is a good foundation for reality. After all, in Singapore he is not going to be seeing any cows like in India to give him a reality check. But what the heck. If he enjoys it in the here and now, that is good enough. Meanwhile, I will preen around as the parent whose child is enjoying the works of Andy Warhol….I did say ‘pretentious’ didn’t I?

Now that I am back at work, the reading has slowed down considerably with ten minutes every night, if at all. This means I can only read books that do not involve an intense plot line like say, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Any recos that will fit this pace?

Three months

The baby is now three months old. I never thought I would say this in the first month, but the days just fly. 

In the first month, not so much.

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Newborns need to be fed every two – three hours. This means my sleep is shot for the entire period. Newborns also like to poop after every feed, sometimes even more. They need to be burped after every feed. This means D’s sleep is also shot. Between diaper changing, burping and feeding, we both roam around the first month looking like zombies.

Our little fellow decides to add to this exhausting mix by having gas pains and infant reflux. We endure several bouts of tearful and heart wrenching crying. We finally figure out the reason and take action. Life improves dramatically, albeit to mere sleep deprivation and not perpetual despair.

At the end of the first month mark, a miracle happens. The baby goes five hours between feeds. Just one night. But what a sweet, sweet night..

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Question – How to put a onesie on a newborn?

Answer – You don’t

Newborns have fragile and bendy necks that make it impossible to manoeuvre a tricky piece of clothing like a onesie. We quietly stick to shirts and follow an excellent modus operandi.

Open shirt and spread eagle it on the bed. Place baby in centre of shirt. Gently insert arms. Button up shirt.

No lifting head or neck.

Over time though we get more adventurous as the baby’s neck became stronger. We even begin to change him into a sleeping suit at night. One of those full hand, legs covered, button up affairs. Same modus operandi though.

The first time we try it, D looks at the open suit with a peculiar expression on his face.

“A penny for your thoughts” I say softly, not wanting to disturb his reverie

“Doesn’t this look like a skinned rabbit?” D remarks in wonder.

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Bathing is a torturous exercise that involves copious tears from all parties. The baby is simply terrified of this activity. And unlike his dad and mom who enjoy their massages, he does not think much of us gently rubbing him with oil and using (What we think) is the soothing touch.

We try changing his super-expensive, fragrance-free bath shampoo cum soap to the cheaper J&J ‘No more tears’

Still tears

We try holding him to our chests during the bath

Still tears. And a soaking wet shirt for the bath-provider

We try changing the bathroom

Still tears

We try to start by pouring a little bit of water on his legs instead of going straight for the eyes

Ah. Finally a break through. Winning formula – Water from bottom up, not top down. Then do the usual sequence of eyes, ears etc. Keep pouring water on baby at regular intervals without allowing him to go cold. 

The baby is still not too impressed by the massage but is willing to keep up pretences so I can feel like a good mom. 

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In the midst of these challenges, there are the nice moments too. There is the sublime smile the baby sports while passing wind. There is the comical smile that accompanies poops, followed by an utterly innocent expression that says ‘what is that smell? Of course, it is not me’. It is like watching a David Dhawan movie. Which like all David Dhawan movies can only provide so much entertainment.

By the time his second month rolls around, we are ready for a little more paisa vasool. Where is the bit when babies look like the ones in ads – all cute and chubby and laughing at their moms?

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The baby gives social smiles. Rather randomly at all moving objects in the house – mom, dad, patti, thatha, helper, red elephant in his crib mobile that goes round and round over his head.

As month two progresses, his neck is less fragile and we dress him in onesies that add an extra step of unbuttoning to diaper changes. But also look much much cuter.

He is sleeping a bit better. We get atleast four hours of continuous sleep most nights.

He flips onto his tummy accidentally a couple of times leading to much concern about SIDS and a couple of nights of watching him like a hawk.

It passes.

He has been sleeping in his crib during the nights. But daytime naps have been on the aching shoulders of adults. Then his aunt sends him a bouncer and a swing. He hates the bouncer. He loves the swing. He naps in the swing like an angel. We ignore the guidelines by the American Association of Paediatricians to restrict swing time to not more than two half-an-hour slots in a day. We join the ranks of parents who would do anything to make the baby sleep.

The baby is awake more and is beginning to enjoy the playmat that his aunt sent.

Even though we are not aware of it, a transition is happening. As the baby moves towards completing his third month, he suddenly develops a HUGE interest in the world around him.

Everything is fascinating. The tubelight above his head is the first beneficiary of smiles for non-moving objects.  

Then he gives a smile everytime he sees me. Ah, it is good to be a mom when that happens.

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The baby is enjoying his outings. The first time in his stroller, he is petrified of the view of the big bad world. Walks are always undertaken with the keen sense that he would want to be carried halfway through.

Then one fine day, he looks about him in wonder as we undertake our (mostly) daily walks in the park behind our house.

We finally take him to the Botanical Gardens or rather the restaurant in the gardens where he looks around and then falls asleep on his Patti’s aching shoulder. Miraculously he stays asleep when we transfer him to his stroller.

Then we actually go to the Botanical Gardens, walking the path from one gate to another. He loves it.

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Everyday there is something new. A couple of days, it is a furious attempt to roll from back to tummy. It is promptly forgotten the third day. Instead the baby chants ‘hunn hunn hunn’ an entire day. This is set aside for attempts to raise his head while he is seated on someone’s lap.

Yes, our boy has grown up quite a bit in the last three months. He is no longer a newborn but an infant. I already miss the tiny, curled-up creature in the crib next to me. But the active and smiling infant who has taken his place is even more adorable. I can’t have enough of his grins or the grape-black eyes with which he looks around in wonder. I sometimes look at him when he is sleeping, wanting to press him so close to my heart that he becomes a part of me again.

The wonder of it all.

Yoga Shoga

Six weeks after the baby came, I was ready to try and get back into shape. I was walking like an old and limp woman and had had enough of it. Scouring the local websites, I found a post-natal yoga course that seemed just perfect. I would start slow and steady and build up my stamina. The yoga class also allowed babies to accompany their moms. Not that I had to take the baby along. I had family babysitting and did not have to worry about him

My trial session in class was a bit of a culture shock. I have been doing yoga on and off my entire adult life (i.e. my thirties. Which is I think the same). My classmates have usually been middle aged women or older men who had long given up on the gym in favour of something less aggressive. This class was different. It naturally held post-partum women. It was also filled with babies. Clearly everyone had taken the permission to bring babies along as an invitation to do so.

I was a bit disconcerted. Surely it is not possible that not a single other woman had a reliable babysitter? Or, (this thought was worse), am I the only woman who did not want to spend every single waking moment with her baby?

Fifteen minutes into the class, I firmly decided it must be the former reason. The babies, like babies are wont to do, squealed for attention, had to be fed, had to be rocked to sleep, had to be held. Very few babies lay there sleeping quietly. All the moms broke off their exercise routine at some point or the other during class to attend to their babies. Surely, you would not be using up the 2 hours you get every week to exercise to do something you anyway do 24/7?

Though thirty minutes into class, I wondered if some women weren’t just showing off what perfect mothers they were. One of them was holding her baby while doing the tree pose. A pose where you balance yourself on one leg. Then you could do variations such as leaning forward and spreading your hands. I could barely balance myself on one leg, let alone leaning forward. I thought I would fall forward and smash my jaw. But Supermom was standing on one leg, leaning forward and holding her baby to her chest.

Pshaw.

I enjoyed the class though. Various parts of my body, still weak from the labour, were being gently pressed into service. It was exactly what I needed.

I signed up for more classes and began to attend regularly.

But one thought kept nagging me. Why did all these women have to bring their babies along? Why did they have to form a little holier-than-thou clique? Why did I have to stick out like a sore thumb?

Mostly I was feeling annoyed with myself for not working up the courage to take the baby to class by myself and manage him.

Then suddenly, I decided that I would take him. I had bought a sling and a nice diaper bag (we were using my trekking backpack till then) and I realised I would be able to manoeuvre with him by myself. I also mentally decided that I would not expect to do any yoga that day and just attend to him during class. Besides, the baby was becoming curious about the world around him and it seemed the right time to expose him to other babies and people and a whole new environment.

So last week, we were off. A determined mom and a curious baby.

I could not have picked a better day. The regular teacher usually just gave breaks where you could hold your baby. That day there was a substitute teacher who incorporated the baby into the entire workout. I did squats holding the baby in my hands. I had to touch my toes with the baby between my legs and smiling down at him. I had to place the baby on my tummy with my feet up on a chair and my head on the floor. We had to hold our babies and gently swing them to get a waist workout. It was sheer fun.

To my surprise, the baby was quite calm. He looked around with great curiosity the entire hour. He briefly made eye contact with a neighbouring baby. He did not start crying or squealing when some of the other babies did. He squealed towards the end when he started feeling hungry and after class, I fed him. His diaper change also waited till after class. In short, both mom and baby had a wonderful time. And mom managed to do the entire workout.

As it turned out, no one particularly noticed that I had brought the baby along. The one lady I had chatted with a few classes previously gave me an encouraging smile and delightedly asked “So you brought him along?” Clearly, no one had been judging me about not bringing the baby along. Except me.

It did become easier to strike up conversations though. I compared notes with a couple of moms and felt reassured that my concerns were not unique.

The baby and I made our way back home, happy and content.

Loving my smartphone

I think I had a smartphone back in Mumbai. I say ‘think’ because my Nokia E 63 was used for making calls and sending SMSes. 

Then I moved to Singapore and bought an IPhone. I have already fallen in love with it. Especially because a lot of my waking hours go in nursing the baby and the IPhone is a very handy thing to keep me busy. My top uses – 

• Skype – Sure, I had it on my comp in India too. But suddenly I find my family and friends geographically dispersed and Skype could not have been handier.   
•  Whatsapp – This is something I discovered only recently and I have been fascinated ever since. It is also the first paid app I have bought on itunes but it is so cheap, it is practically free. I have rediscovered my lost fetish for having conversations through SMSes. Even better, I have been able to chat with friends in different time zones given the odd hours I have been up at.   
• Camera – The quality is top notch. I am trying to keep a record of the baby’s growth and an Iphone is much easier to click snaps or make videos than my usual point and click camera. Especially when we go outside, I don’t have to remember to take the camera along. 
• Surfing – The top sites being baby forums. The baby not sleeping well? Baby’s poo green in colour? What are the side effects of vaccinations? Much easier than sitting down at my laptop and wasting my non-nursing hours. 
• More surfing – Mostly my favourite news sites – Guardian, Rediff, NDTV, NY times (upto the unpaid article limit). I re-discovered New Yorker and have been enjoying the great quality essays. I have also been able to keep up with business news on the economic times and business standard websites, something I thought I would never do during my maternity leave but which is probably going to be helpful when I head back to work . Also my favourite blogs (though commenting is a bit of a pain with such small letters). And occasionally recipes for the helper to add some zing to our daily bread. 
•  Email – Naturally. I even have time to read forwards 
• Directions – This is the one function which I use on-the-go. With google maps, bus and MRT timetables - New city, here I come! 
• YouTube – Especially to keep in touch with Bollywood songs. Also to know what a Harlem Shake a friend told me about is. Or to indulge in a bit of nostalgia by playing old Hindi and Tamil songs. I should ideally be playing nursery rhymes too but I still have not crossed the bridge into that stage of parenting 
•  Worldclock – this is a cheap thrill. I have entered the times of various geographies inhabited by family and friends and it is super easy to figure out who is likely to be free to talk/Skype at a particular hour.

 I was wondering whether to include Facebook given how frequently I visit it. Except that I have built in so many restrictions that I hardly see posts of more than a few people and they don’t update every two hours. So it is not much fun.

I am aware I have arrived at the smartphone party late. Which is also why I am quite eager to up the knowledge quickly. If anyone has suggestions for use or some sites which I can surf for timepass, pls share your thoughts generously!