"It took me eight years to become a mother, but I felt the sense and beauty of motherhood way before that while looking after my younger sisters. Looking after them had awakened the desire to be a mother someday, not that I didn't consider them mine, but the pleasure of enduring the pain with a smile, just to hold a part of yourself in your arms, that! I always dreamt of conceiving twins- a girl and a boy, hoping the boy to be as handsome as my love and with a heart that would melt, like mine, and the daughter to be strong and fierce like me and as brave as my man. Dreams came crashing down when I had four miscarriages, one after the other... I couldn't find the ray of hope that I needed, at that particular point in time.

Trying to keep up my belief, there wasn't one temple in Mumbai that I hadn't been to. All kinds of poojas being carried, all kinds of mantras being chanted, and all kinds of Gods had me reaching out to them. My eyes had experienced rivers flowing out, my wrists had cuts, and my will to give up on everything was at its peak.

I had my family's back and yet things did not seem so good. My sister-in-law's children filled the void with their happy, chirpy smiles, but there still was a crack, that was yet to be filled. I and my husband finally decided to adopt a baby and shower all the love we had, the love we had accumulated in these eight damn years of marriage, onto the baby. Just when we approached the doctor for a regular checkup and to confront about the adoption, to our surprise, she told me that I was pregnant.

"No!", I thought to myself, to not let my hopes be high, all set to fall harder. But the doctor swore to hand me the baby and I knew then, that things were going to change.

Months passed by, and my days were spent eating chilli chicken, being taken care of, and mostly me talking to the baby all day long. That was my routine, with regular checkups, of course.

It was August 9th and my craving for the grilled sandwich was not allowing me to go to the hospital, without having one. I remember my mother and me, running across the street, grabbing one, and rushing to the hospital because of my uneasiness. We knew we had come a long way and there definitely was no looking back. Reaching the hospital, followed by a checkup, I remember the doctor shouting at me. I clearly don't remember what was being yelled at my face, a nine-month pregnant woman, who was just hungry and anxious *puppy face*. After being thrown a ton of medical terms, the only normal thing said to me, which I could understand was that my baby was having an issue. There was a lack of oxygen and the baby had to be brought out immediately. 11 days ahead of my due date, I was here, in the hospital, being rushed to the operation theater. Everything was hazy, I was being pushed and pulled around by the doctors and nurses, and I wanted to run away. This was not working for me, but I recollected the doctor's words, "I will give you this baby!", and now I was here. I looked at the watch, it was 1:40 pm. Anesthesia was injected, and the scenes in front of my eyes were starting to fade off. My desire to see the baby was getting blurred... It was getting harder to keep myself awake and alert, blurry, but still, I could see. All I could hear were 'forceps', 'clamps', 'knives and blades'.

Apart from my exercise time, this, I have to admit, was the longest minute till date. After all the shouting and moving around, amidst everything, I heard a cry. Finally. FINALLY!! The doctor said, "It's a girl!", and before even I could take the news in and process it all, wanting to hold her and love her unconditionally, she was already being taken away. I know! I know! She had to be taken care of, covered in warm clothes, STILL.

The wait was over and here she was, in my arms, that have craved to hold her, with utmost care and love. That was when I knew I couldn't love anyone more than her. When 'her dad' *sounded so good to call my husband the 3 letter word that held so much meaning* entered, I told him, "Sorry love, I guess she'll be loved more than you!" and there was a smile on his face, not really listening to me, but his teary eyes said a million words...

These beautiful thoughts were vanishing as I was shouting, yelling at her for the 1000th time, to wake her up, to help her get ready for her 21st birthday. "Kumbhakaran!", I shout this time. (History does repeat itself!)
This wasn't what I imagined. Being a mother to a stubborn-ass, a rebel, to be precise, who has an excuse and a comment on everything!

 

Why God, why? I thought we had a deal!"