My second sweetheart

(Vase's eight...oil pastels on paper)

The entry of another male into my life, that too within a year of our arranged marriage was absolutely unintentional. Actually-accidental, albeit coercive, if I were to be brutally honest. That my husband and I were residing in different cities, he making a weekend visit once a fortnight, probably fueled our passions and fanned the situation, catalyzing the inevitable. I must confess that initially I was very apprehensive about the trio-tango. I was earnestly concentrating on my post-graduate board exams due to come up in the next few months and as a new bride too; I could ill afford the attention and commitment that this new, evolving relationship was already demanding.

There were weekends when my husband could not make it due to his professional obligations and that left me lonelier than I already was. It forced me to look for solace in this new relationship. The recent association was threatening to eclipse my higher education also, by clamoring for more time and greater attention. I finally made a compromise by promising myself that profession-studies and my personal life would remain exclusive of each other and that my teachers and peers at the hospital would certainly not be privy to this personal information. I however knew that the matter would be out in future but now I preferred to live my life one day at a time, or rather a fortnight at a time!

However, with two flames kindling it, my life was ablaze with tremulous excitement! And certainly off handle!...... I felt sinful and guilty as I could not ignore the second fellow and felt more and more drawn towards him. I chose to ignore the fact that the longing for my husband had imperceptibly faded off just like the henna on my hands. My resolve to concentrate and study seemed to be gradually slipping away too, donating its time to hours of contemplation and scheming, enjoying and hoping to consolidate the growing second relationship. Disaster struck on the first of January 1994, hardly eight months post-marriage. My husband was with me for the weekend when my new sweetheart chose to make his presence felt.

It happened at bedtime, after we had a hearty dinner and were about to retire. The pain was terrible and it scared the hell out of me. Was it signifying the end of a blossoming relationship? I began to cry even as I was rushed to the hospital. I was diagnosed as having pre-term labor, slightly elevated blood pressures and the outcome of the event was guarded. There was nothing more left for me to do except wait. I was under absolute bed rest, medications, laboratory tests, and to make matters worse, my national board exams were due in less than six weeks.

I finally managed to attend my National Board Exams at St. John’s Medical College, Bangalore on the 7th and 8th of February 1994. (First Monday and Tuesday of February, as it is always conventionally held). Eight and half months pregnant, on medications to prevent miscarriage and save the baby, face swollen beyond recognition (a few of my male class mates who were also taking exams had to be told who I was before they recognized me!), only my determination to write my exams and then deliver, kept me going, much to the dissatisfaction and frustration of my obstetrician. I was determined to deliver twins-pass exams and pass out through labor room, in that order, in flying colors and with a cuddly rainbow respectively!

Even as I wrote the punishingly tough exams, I had to keep a tab on the number of fetal movements and any untoward symptom that could crop up. My husband would wait anxiously outside the exam hall with a huge lunch carrier for the break and a car ready to whisk me off to the hospital if necessary! Two days of four papers, three hours each! At the end of the three hours, I would come out of the hall, slippers in hand, as the feet would be so swollen, refusing to slip back into the slippers! Finally...one target had been achieved and the second and most important was yet to be delivered. I handed over myself to my belligerent obstetrician who finally heaved a sigh of relief. A battery of blood tests, scan, NST followed. I was admitted on Saturday, the 12th February and underwent Cesarean Section on the Valentine’s Day-14th February 1994.

So, there you have it. My most memorable Valentine’s Day. When in the true meaning of the word, love’s labor had fructified despite or rather amidst all odds and adversities. I had the most adorable male baby mewing and plucking in my arms-my second sweetheart who was gifted to me by my first one, on our first Valentine’s Day, post-wedding! The most cherished Valentine Day gift any girl can hope to get from a soul mate.

Thus will my most memorable Valentine’s Day be remembered by everyone in the household for at least three generations, as my son celebrates his birthday on that day! (I can envisage the bevy of girls who will wish him on his birthday with actually the Valentine’s significance in their minds. Lucky girls, lucky son!)

If you are wondering whether the date for the delivery was intentionally chosen to be the Valentine’s Day, the answer is a resounding NO! Back in the early 90’s, 14th February was not as pompously celebrated as it is today. Not many knew the significance or the story behind this western custom. The decision was made by my obstetrician, who was anxious to curtail any further complications. For my husband and me, it was THE day when our son was born- overcoming all the horrible travails I had to undergo during pregnancy. Thus we bonded ourselves into a cozy Valentine family! Unwittingly, we had redefined the meaning of Valentine’s Day, promoting it from a routine duet to a delightful anthem of enchantment and celebration for the rest of our lives! 

Dubai Diary 1-First foot forward

Dubai is an overwhelming city. Doubly so, if you have to start work from the first day of setting foot on foreign soil. 

As per employer arrangement, I was entitled to board and lodge at their decent hotel till I found a suitable accommodation for myself. Three weeks after hotel stay, I had not seen any of Dubai as work and rest consumed my days. Little surprise that I liked the idea, when a friend suggested I move into a fully furnished apartment before renting a larger house which needed to be furnished. I put my preference to the HR guys and put them on job. I liked the first fully furnished apartment that was shown to me!

It was rather large to qualify as a studio apartment but that was what they called it. Flat 112 on the first floor of a very decent building; in the popular and well connected Bur Juman area…I agreed to take it though they told me it was tagged high even by Dubai standards. The owner is a stubby, extremely fair skinned Pakistani with yellow teeth and seemed like a rich brat to me. He was relentless at reducing the price though I later discovered that he had charged me a cool 500 dirhams more than the previous occupant who was another young chap-a commerce-business graduate from Jaipur who was in Dubai for a training and was hoping to set up business here too shortly!

“No…”he had said shaking his mop of jet black hair and squinting through thick glasses, “There is TV, wifi, A/C…” I need to cover the maintenance expenses as well,” he said. I stared at him wondering how he planned to use this pocket money that he would be receiving as rent.

“Someone told me subletting was illegal?”

“Yeah. But I will put down the tenants as my guests…Did you find any problem? “He asked of the commerce tenant who shook his head, shuffled his feet and stole a glance at his wrist watch for he had to meet someone if we finished looking up the place quickly.”Two months before there was a girl from Cathay Pacific and she shifted to Abu Dhabi…No problem Doctor…all Indian families around…No one will question,” and looking at my still skeptic face, he added, “I have seventeen apartments all over Dubai and am into this business and I can assure you!” My doubt was cleared. He was a rich brat indeed! He mistook my look of realization for relief and added,”But I need to be paid early… I won’t take off the ad off till I am paid!”

Money exchanged hands the next afternoon in the parking lot before the building. He came to my vehicle where I was sitting and grinned,”I am getting married next month…will drop in for a chat and chai!”

“Oh! Get her too?!”

“Yeah.We are going to France and Versailles for honey moon. Bye,” he was gone. The apartment was mine 2 days later and I moved in-obviously the right foot in first at half past two on the Sunday afternoon, ensuring it was well clear of the Rahukala! Richie Rich had ensured that a man came in to clean the apartment which appeared hardly used, especially and obviously the kitchen, given the antecedents of its previous occupant. 

“What’s the wifi password?” was obviously the first ever communication (as a mobile SMS) that went out of my room within minutes of entering! The young landlord replied promptly. Net in, I attacked the TV next. Etisalat desk top box was most unkind to me. One hour after wrestling with remote, confusing it with various combinations, I managed to keep the frame hung for the next 24 hours!!

So…a quiet room. But not for long. I had a load of clothes that need to be washed and I thrust them into the welcoming washing machine. And oh!! I had never heard a washing machine before, only seen its aftermath clothes! This one whined and whirred like a supersonic jet…Uff so much fanfare for so little work, I thought though inwardly thankful for some noise in a TV-less room! No outside sounds filter in to its closed confines…

True that adversity breeds invention. I began to identify all the other noises that now seem a part of urban life in Dubai. The air conditioners…ever so soft but with a mechanical shudder every once a while…so also the fridge – a soft whirr that gradually grows into a roar and it is only then it becomes apparent…and as you begin to think how you missed such a loud sound, it climaxes and goes silent! (Noticed this fridge sound phenomenon first in Bangalore, though)Then there is that exhaust fan in the bathroom that needs to be kept on. That provides a background constancy to all these other waxing and waning sounds. The microwave is the only one which has a musical lilt to its voice and I have begun to identify it as the only female gadget in here! It gives a loud lilting tling-ling when it is done! And of course the good old tick-tock of the clock keeps company too. 

The TV ‘s frame was still frozen when I came back on Sunday night and so the next morning, I resorted to playing music on the laptop as I grew tired of the mechanical symphony of my surroundings. And then when the laptop ran out of charge, I discovered that the plug points here cannot take the round Indian plugs! They needed squares plugs and that meant an adapter and another afternoon of soundlessness! My laptop went blank with a shrug of helplessness! What an emergency that was to an existence dependant on rechargeable gadgets!

So in all desperation, as I was now aware that work was the only place where I could recharge my laptop and phone, I bought the costliest adapter that evening. And burnt it on plugging it, the loud sound and the aftermath soot scarring me…but egging me on to further foolishness as I believed the fault to be with the plug point and not the plug! I attempted to plug at another point. This time. I kept the main door open, just to ensure someone rushed for help if I got electrocuted in the process.

Another bang and soot stain later, I was stranded! Whom could I call at 11 in the night? Could they be so callous here? (I later realized that the plug was defective or maybe I hadn’t pushed it in sufficiently) They expected Beans like me and had made the place secure with exclusive lighting, heating and all else. The multiple controls and the ELCB panel were at reach and adversity mothering innovation; I flipped the switch at controls! The power was restored and the next blessed moment, after I flipped the switch, the TV came alive in all its glory!!

The adapter was exchanged for a new one the next day. That meant all gadgets would be kicking and booting healthy…audio-video-net behaving well…and I have plenty of time to debate and think to swat or not to swat a lonely fat fly!

That then ensures now that my home is where it was meant to be. In my heart!!