Baby Diaries (Chapter One)

I can distinctly recall the hour when I got the call; it was a Sunday afternoon. I was savoring beer with friends, celebrating the last few days of freedom before my beloved wife returned from her mother’s, restoring equilibrium to my carefree bachelor life. It’s funny how a husband excuses himself from the jamboree to take his wife’s call privately. Somehow, we have that perception of security when our wives’ assume our lives are dull and boring in their absence.

On receiving the call, I wasn’t even allowed to share the customary “Hello” before she jogged my memory on who is the boss, “Where are you? Are you drinking again? Didn’t you drink last night? Don’t lie to me. Acha, can I share some news without you freaking out?”  With the first two questions, I could hear my kidney reciting the Hanuman Chalisa to my other body organs. The third question had my colon wrap itself around my rectum. It was the last question that stopped me from crapping myself. Our minds have been self-trained for situations like these to instantly look for a quick getaway.

Completely ignoring the first three questions, I replied, “Hi babe. I miss you too. What is the news?”

“First promise you will not flip out.”

“Babe, what news are you talking about?” I repeated my query hoping her attention had been diverted completely off the initial questions.

“I will not say a word until you swear.”

The situation was like a high court judge refusing to announce the verdict until the accused promised there will be no hard feelings. Nevertheless, I placed my right hand on the rim of the beer bottle and took the ridiculous oath.

“I’m pregnant!” she exclaimed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I exclaimed. And then the fight began.

It’s not that it was an unplanned pregnancy; we even went for our baby moon to Dubai (right intention wrong place). To myself, I condemned the two beers for my flagrant reaction. To my wife, I blamed the stress of living in her absence for so long. Though she did not buy my justification, we both ended up in a happy place; my wife for the obvious reason ---- “We were going to have a baby”; and me for the more obvious reason, “I had fully functional, fast and successful swimmers residing in my scrotum.”

My wife was two days past the due date and frustration had managed to creep in. The anticipated desire to finally see her new born angel had soon turned to “When the hell will you come out?” She managed to somehow dump her discomfort on me, and well, the entire male breed, “For your two minutes of pleasure, I have suffered for nine months. Don’t you ever think about sex again? All you men want only sex. Damn you all!” Blah, blah, blah…

Her outcry lasted seven minutes at the end of which, my male ego had only one question, “Did I last for only two minutes?” I wisely chose not to voice my concern out loud.

After a long wait, our gynecologist finally decided to end her misery the next day. We were allotted a day’s time to check into the hospital for surgery. The hospital boasted every feature of a five star hotel. From a pretty receptionist to a uniformed bell boy, in-room dining to temperature controlled bed warmers, all aspects had been well considered before its making. They even had a suite for the affluent demographic. The gorgeous nurses made me drool and wonder if Mr. Mallya had a stake in the property. Sadly, I guess their tagline “We are a Hospotel” wasn’t given a reassessment.

We booked our room at the hospital well in advance. It was quite amusing to see my dad negotiate a deal with the manager. Whether buying sandals off Fashion Street or booking a room, in India, the negotiation tactics are very much the same. You can double your price and offer us a 50% discount, and we will be content with the bargain.

“Why so expensive?”

“The nearby hospital has more experienced doctors.”

“In her family (pointing to my wife), there are many casualties and if you give me a good deal, I can get you many clients” --- really dad? Praying my in-laws come in harm’s way just to get a petty discount?

“What discount will you give if I book two rooms?” --Two rooms? For whom? It’s not a vacation dad!

My dad did the walk of pride as he marched out of the manager’s cabin after successfully obtaining a 15% discount. The manager gleamed with happiness as he muttered softly, “What a novice, I would have gone up to 20”. My dad grinned to himself, “I would have settled for 10.” ---the perfect Indian negotiation.

 

We reached the hospital as per schedule. There was no water breaking in the middle of the night, no grand theft auto to reach the hospital, no drama, no tension and no excitement at all. To many including my wife and family (an ailing grandmother, distraught mother-in-law, strictly frugal father, and an over sensitive diplomatic mother) it was a relief that the delivery was a very organized and planned procedure. For an ardent Bollywood fan like me, I was rather disappointed. To ensure I don’t end up as a patient in the adjacent room, I concealed my disappointment from my wife with a fake sigh of respite.

We checked into our room at 10.00 am. My wife was whisked away for numerous tests for which I, being the faithful husband had to accompany her to the countless wards in the “Hospotel”. As we entered the hallway to proceed to the various wards, we passed the delivery ward where apparently, expectant mothers are admitted right before the baby pops out. Doctors and nurses were scurrying in and out of the ward and this caused the door to open and shut at frequent intervals. With every swing of the door to open position, a loud shriek engulfed the hallway. The screams were succeeded by the word “Push” multiple times which only increased the decibel of the screams. The harrowing sounds faded to heavenly silence as the door closer slowly heaved the large piece of wood back to its original position.

For some reason, the renowned architects after months of planning thought it was appropriate to position the waiting room for next of kin, right at the entrance to the ward. Every time the door hinged open, you had an aunt fainting, a grandpa go into a coma or a would-be father excusing himself to the restroom. As for me, I broke all records on human perspiration. My head began to spin profusely. My stomach felt empty and my bladder felt full.

Modern science has developed ingenious ways of counseling, to ensure the mother goes through a stress free pregnancy. Did no one bother to even once consider the strenuous effects on the father? Finally, a kind lady offered me her seat, wiped the sweat off my brow, got me a glass of water and gave me a consoling pat on my crown, “Don’t worry, it’s just a matter of a few hours.” It was my pregnant wife. Ironic, isn’t it?

After galloping around the hospital for over an hour, we finally arrived back to our room only to find that my family had shifted to another room because my dad did not admire the view from this room. For the amount he was paying as lodging fees, he sure as hell was scraping every penny’s worth out of it. And this was at a cost of putting his own son at risk of being mauled by his wife, which I’m sure, was the last of his concerns. From the corner of my eye, I could see my wife roll her eyes and raise her arms in despair. Like always, I assumed her anguish was targeted at me and was about to offer an explanation when I heard the door slam, preceding her exit.

Hastily, I followed her to our newly designated room. For a pregnant lady with a nine month womb, her pace was nothing less than a sprint, and with every step, I could hear a huff blow out her nose. If Usain Bolt was ever pregnant and furious at the same time, this is how he would walk.

My strange imagination caused me to let out a chuckle which was so soft, only a dog could hear it. My wife with her heightened sense of ultrasonic reception instantly caught the sound. She stopped in her tracks, turned her head around and glared at me fiercely. The same glare a lion would give if you ever pinched its ass for mysterious reasons best known to you. There were no words exchanged as my lioness resumed her dash to her room. I lived to die another day.

On entering the room, I discovered my wife in her maternity clothes, lying on the bed engaged in a light conversation with my mother. I swear to God, she entered the room only a few seconds ahead of me. How could my pregnant wife possibly have changed into her maternity dress so quickly? If only she was that efficient before going to a party. My immediate deduction was, with the pregnancy having altered her DNA giving her superpowers to fight crime, she took a leap from the door, expelled her clothes mid air, somersaulted into her floating maternity dress and landed right on the bed. If Kung Fu Panda was in my head right now, he would be considering different career options.

I walked up to the window and drew the curtains wide open to get a glimpse of the view that finally enthralled my dad. It was practically the same view from a slightly greater height. Yes, the hospital relocated us to a room right above the former room. Same geography, slightly higher altitude. I opted not to share my observation with dear daddy for fear of reliving the same horrific experience with dear wifey.

After an hour of unpacking the enormous trunk that my mother still complained did not carry all the essentials needed, we finally took time off to straighten our legs. At the precise moment that I stretched out on the sofa next to the bed, our gynecologist walked in with the test reports in his hand. “Damn!” I cursed my luck and greeted him.

In his early forties, the gynecologist was in every way dressed to display his profession. He wore a faded checkered shirt, pleated pants, a stained white overcoat, a pair of bifocal spectacles and a stethoscope around his neck. Unruly hair and stubble on his cheeks indicated he spent the previous night in the hospital. He took his own sweet time examining my wife and then the reports he brought with him. After a while, he put aside the reports, removed his glasses and fixed his gaze upon me. My entire family waited eagerly for him to say something. He did not say a word, his smile relayed everything.

-“I was going to be a father.”-