There is an evil wind blowing in the blogosphere...the thought police is out and patrolling and for some reason they want us to quit blogging and start jhadoo pocha-ing or katka as some of you might call it (either way you pitch it, Shakespeare was right when he wrote about roses smelling as sweet, pochas smelling as vile by any other name ).
Anyways, two of my favourite bloggers (Mad Momma and Jammie) have been targeted by the 'jhaadu brigade' and I’m seriously bummed...hell I’m ready to set up a collection that assures the dishes in their household continue to be washed, the floors mopped, the cushions fluffed, just so that they continue to blog (not you Parul, as it is I have a bad case of blog envy...with steady maid service pata nahee kiya kuch seekh jao gee).
It is the same when it comes to people's 'life attitudes'...I’m tired of fielding through a minefield of criticisms towards 'creative types', rather than celebrating difference we are hell bent on producing clones of what we see as the Ideal (read Stepford Wives or for those who are uninitiated to all things pherang think Nirupuma Roy, white sari, bent over a sewing machine waiting for the son to emerge, white shoes and trousers and all "Maa mey BA kay imtehan may pass hogaya", I have always wondered at this juncture if sacrificing mom is to BA pass son than do tequila swigging keelub going mommas equal kids who grow up to become doctors, CA types and engineers? I am pretty bad at children math so any help would be welcome).
Every house is different, every couple is different, we are such a Molotov cocktail of chemicals, and I would hate to lose that to 'create people in my image'. There is no secret that when it comes to Casa Ruth Court I would like nothing more to read to my kid, read to myself, read to Pesho, fantasize endlessly about making THE Bollywood project, being king maker to South Asian politics, and straightening the carpet fringe; Gman obsesses about what he sees as relatively more significant matters as keeping the house clean, the lawn mowed, the counter tops gleaming and well earning our bread and butter and putting the baby through pampers. He will not give a rat's ass about the election results, I will google constituencies endlessly to know what happened to the Great Independent Hope. But we have both adjusted in the grand South Asian tradition to each other and have come up with a formula that works. He rescues me from my tendency to brood and I think I have saved him from a life of note chaapna and the ubiquitous blue and white striped shirt.
And we have Pesho...prior to her Gman could NEVER imagine that he would be in love with a cat...he was pretty comfortable going through life as a dog person. She came in as a 'cheer up' gift (from him) in the days post-BB's assassination and ended up being his beti. There were times when he would turn to me after fussing over her and ask me Did You Ever Imagine That You would Have Such an Adorable Cat? (I don’t have the heart to tell him that my other cats in other lifetimes were also pretty sweet). My fondest memory of telling people we were preggers , Gman enthusiastically telling Pesho "You will be a didi/baji soon".
Khair, I am glad we had Pesho before the baby.
I plan to make a list of how she made us better parents pretty soon.
Until then I leave you with some pics of Pesho as a number of you wanted to know what she has been up to.
I am Alive And Well, No thanks to you by the way
Pesho chanelling the "mujhey sab hai pata" look from Taarey Zameen Par in the early days post-bub when she could only stare at us through the window.
She still likes watching TV and looks away during the scary bits....in this case when Idi Amin goes on a killing spree in Last King of Scotland
She likes giving me scares, either by pretending to play dead or threatening to leave for greener pastures