The make-believe bag

Place – The casino at Monaco

Scene – A young couple, standing in front of the slot machines, mindful about how rich the interiors are and how suddenly their clothes seem a tad shabby. Everyone seems to be flaunting atleast one designer piece. 

Ten minutes later, the couple emerges from the casino, heady with their winnings at the slot machines. 

‘Get yourself a nice, designer bag’ the guy grins. 

‘I will’ the girl grins.

Five minutes later, they walk out of the first shop realising that 240 euros is a pittance to shop in a place of this kind. Nevertheless, she manages to find a small but lovely, blush-coloured, calf skin Longchamp bag. 

Over the years, she uses it sparingly, bring it out for special occasions. 

When the baby comes, she stops using the bag. A big and roomy mommy bag that can be guarded against spit-ups seems a better choice. 

The baby becomes a toddler and get his own bag and wants to tot it around everywhere. Including to the birthday party of the 4-year old that he has been invited for that morning.

She notices the lovely, blush-coloured, calf-skin Longchamp bag in her cupboard and decides the time has come to use it again. 

She carries the bag to the enormous indoor play area that has been hired for the morning and greets everyone and watches her toddler disappear into the crowd. He loves the make-believe sections containing a mini-super market, a dress-up corner with all sorts of costumes and so on. He plunges into this fantasy world and grabs the child-sized versions of all the things he is forbidden to touch in the adult world. 

She keeps her bag with the other bags and starts mingling with the guests.

The time goes by. 

She turns around to do her usual check on her toddler and notices him sitting at the cash counter of the mini-supermarket and grins and turns away before something catches her eye. Standing at the cash counter with a mini-trolley with fake groceries is a four-year old girl carrying a familiar-looking bag.

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My eyes widened ‘That can’t be my lovely, blush-coloured, calf-skin, Longchamp bag surely’

But it was!!

I cut the swiftest path through the crowd and told the girl that she had my bag and it was not a toy and could she please return it. 

If you have tried to explain logic to a toddler, you would know that it is next to impossible. Not to mention, an agitated Indian accent (mine) does not work very well for communicating with a British kid. 

Nevertheless, I decided that this was not a time to negotiate and explain. I repeated my story politely and before she could protest, took the bag away from her. She look a bit startled but then moved on. 

I checked my bag, saw there was no damage, heaved a sigh of relief and worked my way back into the crowd and got back to my conversation.

My mind was wandering though. 

I could not really blame the poor kid. I had after all left the bag unattended and she obviously was too young to know that lovely, blush-coloured, calf-skin Longchamp bags don’t come in make-believe children’s play areas. 

Then suddenly, the girl was back. In the arms of her enraged looking mother. 

‘Excuse me’, the mother began ‘but my daughter was playing with the bag and you took the bag away from her’

I was flabbergasted. 

This lady actually thought that I had taken a toy bag away from her four-year old so that I could hold it in my hands and chat with other adults. Was she serious! Was she crazy?

To my credit, I kept an even temper and dangled the bag in front of her face. 

Surely she would be smart enough to recognize a lovely, blush-coloured, calf-skin..oh you know. 

But no! She insisted that I give the bag to her girl. 

I then explained to her that the bag was not a toy and it actually belonged to me and if she could see inside (helpfully opening the bag for her), she would be able to spot my wallet, iphone and keys – all real, I assured her. 

Luckily the lady backed off. Just as well since I would have probably brought the bag hard on her otherwise. 

‘Honey’ she told her snotty-faced, teary-eyed kid ‘that is actually the lady’s bag. It is not a toy’

And then with nary an apology, she walked away. Instead I was the one muttering away about how kids can sometimes be mistaken etc etc. 

I am probably poor at dealing with four year olds. I never thought I was poor at dealing with adults, but apparently when it comes to aggressive moms, I am. 

But most of all, I was a bit put off by the fact that my bag is special only to me and in the world of Louis Vuittons and Pradas, is not a particularly expensive piece either. 

Nevertheless, the bag has been returned to its dustbag, and it still retains its status as a luxury. Though the next time, I will probably hold onto it instead of leaving it lying around.

How to feed a giraffe

“Where are you guys?” I asked D over the phone.

“In the Wild Africa section”. D replied

Bobo, his grandparents and we were on a jaunt to the zoo. Post-lunch Bobo had shown no signs of being tired and insisted on seeing a few more animals. The rest had dragged their weary feet to Wild Africa while I had made a stop at the ladies.

“Where exactly?” I queried

“Hmm. We are at the Hippo section but we will head over to the Giraffe section soon. There is a feeding session at 1.50 p.m. We just missed the Hippo feeding by two people” D caught me up on the latest on-goings in the zoo.

I had not known about the existence of feeding sessions in zoos till Bobo was born but now they seemed to be important events around which our schedules were planned.

I agreed to meet them at the Giraffe feeding, checked that I still had fifteen minutes to find my way and set off. Except, I got lost and by the time I reached Wild Africa, it was already 1.45 p.m. 

There was a long line outside the Giraffe enclosure and I could only see the tail end. I raced to the head of the line to catch up with D and Bobo, casting a glance at the people at the end of the queue. “Poor blokes” I told myself “these guys are bound to miss the giraffe feeding. I wonder why they even bother to wait”.

Suddenly from behind I heard D yelling “Mummy is here! She will stand in the queue”.

What??!!

It turned out that D and Bobo had just finished watching the lions being fed and were not in the queue at all, head or tail.

A thousand questions ran through my head begging to be answered, the most pertinent of which seemed to be “why did you guys stand in the line sooner knowing how you missed the Hippo feeding already?”

There was no time to waste however, and I meekly took my line at the end of queue. The line snaked so much that I could not even see the giraffes and had to merely take D’s words that I was in the right queue.

“Wow! That is a long queue”, D remarked “Hang in there Mummy. We will walk around a bit and come back”. Before I could begin the third-degree interrogation on poor-planning, D and Bobo were off.

Time passed really slowly. I could only watch with satisfaction as more people joined behind me. D and Bobo visited me occasionally in between their visits to the animals and gave me news snippets. I found out the grandparents had plonked themselves somewhere, being too tired to move. The giraffe feeding had apparently started but that did not result in any progress in my position in the line.

Suddenly there seemed to be some movement and I could glimpse the head of the line. D came by to tell me that it was touch-and-go and I should hang in there. I felt like smacking him but let it go.

Finally I was just two people behind and I could see that there were enough food trays still left for us to have a turn at the feeding-session.  We organised ourselves in preparation. D, Bobo and I would do the actual feeding while the granddad took the photo. Grandma stayed put in her place, looking tired.

Excitement mounted as our turn came. We were handed a small tray with a few pieces of potatoes and carrots.

D handled the part of making a token donation for the food tray.

I held Bobo on one hand and a food tray in the other hand.

Grand-dad positioned himself for the best photo angle.

The two giraffes stood eagerly with their mouths open and licked their lips with their giant tongues.

Giant giant tongues. Huge and long tongues with tons of drool coming out. I was going to have to feed this creature with its huge tongue…

In a moment of panic, I held out the tray to one of the giraffes. Partly I did not want the tongue to touch my hand. Partly I was being a lovely hostess, holding up the food tray rather than doling out food in portions.

Unfortunately the giraffe was not a perfect guest and in one quick motion, gulped down almost all the food on the food tray.

At this point, D appeared and pulled me back. One carrot remained. I meekly gave it to Bobo, who bravely held it out to the giraffe. The greedy giraffe smirked at me and then gently took the carrot from Bobo. The other giraffe merely nodded its disappointed head at having gotten no food.

It was D’s turn now to be annoyed. Instead of holding out one vegetable at a time and stretching out the experience for Bobo, we were done in less than five seconds.

I tried telling D that I had moral superiority here, having done all the waiting. Besides, Bobo did get a turn and most importantly, we had it on record.

At which point I heard the granddad say “Ok the camera is ready. Go for it!”

He had missed the entire action while trying to figure out the buttons on the camera.

All of us walked quietly to the next enclosure, when Bobo broke the silence

‘I want to feed the giraffe some more’

Things I learnt from one year of being a mom

# I need to get enough sleep. Adequate sleep takes precedence over my child, work, relationships, exercise and food. 

# I am more pro-choice than before. If you are not in a position to love and bring up a child, please don’t bring it into existence. And on a related note, I am all for sex education

# I don’t think I have ever loved anyone or anything as much as I have my child despite having lovely parents and being married to a nice and kind person. I can only assume parental love is a very primal feeling. 

# I need more to my life than just my child. I need adult interaction. I need to do something that gives me a sense of identity. I love being called ‘Mummy’ when I accompany my child to Gymboree. But I would probably feel depressed if I was only called that all the time. 

# Instead of glaring at small babies who are crying, I now feel sorry for them. Babies usually cry for very good reason. 

# I still can’t comfort any child other than my own. And even there, I am not always successful. 

# I am capable of sharing my prime spot in my child’s life with my helper. I am just happy that they bond well as of now. 

# I have become a better worker. I have never felt as eager to get back home as I do now and if that means being focussed and efficient all day long, then so be it 

# I have started prioritising and planning everything I do. I no longer have an infinite stretch of time to loiter at a shopping mall for three hours in the weekend but I do make the time to go out during my lunch breaks every once in a while for retail therapy. 

# I am enjoying simple games like peak-a-boo. Soon I would have shed all my carefully cultivated cynicism. But maybe it is not such a bad thing.

# I cry over movies with even a single scene of a child suffering. I can no longer watch horror movies. This may be a bad thing

# Work is an important part of me and I did not contemplate giving up work after having a child. I used to think women who gave up working after a child were defectors to the cause of feminism. But after having my own child, I can see why motherhood means different things for different people and I have stopped being judgmental about people’s choices. 

# I have started thinking twice before I buy most things. Apparently a spendthrift like me can also be brought to heel at the thought of saving up for her child

# My no. 1 worry used to be about things related to work. Now it is things related to my child. 

# A child is a big challenge emotionally and can test relationships to the utmost. Broken marriages cannot be fixed by a child. If anything, it is likely to be other way around

# This is the most important investment that two people can make together and it can bring them a lot closer if they are in a good place

# The amount of joy in bringing up a child has caught me by surprise. You can have a horrid day at work and come back and see a tiny thing pumping its fists into the air upon seeing you and then nothing else will matter. 

# I needed all the help I could get during my pregnancy and the first year of parenting. This is the first time in my adult life when I have truly needed family to be there for me and I am grateful I could lean on them. 

# People at work can be a lot more supportive than you think. A good boss who can put up with lower productivity for a few months will make all the difference to your decision to continue at the same workplace. 

# A baby is actually easier to manage in the earlier months than later. Except you are so terrified of the job that you find it growing on you only as they grow

# I did not know I was capable of not sleeping through the night for an entire year. 

# I did not know I had married a man who would pick up the baby every time he cried for reasons other than a night feed. This is the one act that has reduced my sleep deprivation in the last year and kept me sane this year. To think this criterion never even featured in the checklist I had made eons ago on desirable characteristics in a potential husband. 

# I used to feel irritated by dads who are not too involved with their kids and let their wife/mother/mother-in-law do most of the work. Now I just feel sorry for them for missing out. 

# Pregnancy is a very lonely state. No matter how helpful the people around you, you are the one literally doing the heavy lifting. Once the child comes out, I actually thought things got better since I had so many people around to look after him. 

# I am happy to listen to advice from everybody on parenting tips and techniques but ultimately the only two people who can decide how to bring up our child is the two of us. (Good luck Bobo!)

# In the darkest part of the night, with a wailing baby in my arms, I have had moments when I have wished for my old life. 

# In the darkest part of the night, with a nursing baby in my arms, I have just felt grateful to have had the chance to be a mother. I am glad I did not listen to myself when I seriously wondered if motherhood was for me.