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!