Dear Papa

Dear Papa

We have been through this conversation over a 100 times. In my head, of course. A lot of things have happened since the time we last spoke. It was a rough Sunday morning some three years ago when we saw each other last and since then, life has definitely changed. I am now married. Married to the man you approved of. We also have a daughter. You are a Nana now! As much as I would like to believe that the little baby (we call her Baby Hashtag on the internet) looks like you and me, she resembles your son-in-law more. There is a little bit of Mumma's face in her face. So you and me get a rough deal here. But we are a happy bunch now. It was a difficult year when you moved on, but recuperation is happening.

I have moved cities now. Everyone else is in Hyderabad, nandusa chachi golu and mum. Speaking of Golu, she has become the naughtiest version of herself. Nandusa has put on more weight and Soni chachi is still her happy self. They miss you guys a lot. You, Dadosa and Baiji. Dadosa's family is tighter now. Sunita Bua, Lalitsa, Devusa, Jyothidi, Cherry and their families are now bound with affection and understanding. It is something you always wanted and it is exactly that way. 

I have not lost any weight. In my defense, I did shed a few kilos before the shaadi but got it all back thanks to the baby. So, that is one thing that has not changed. Also, what has not changed is my love for you. Everyone misses you, sure. But no one misses you like I do. It is not grief that I feel, it just feels incomplete. I am however very glad that I could spend with you, all that time making fun of others the way we did. It was hilarious. That is what I will remember you by. All the happy pictures and the way we called out to people on our scooter rides. Thank you for making me iron your shirt every morning before school. That is one craft I know and love too much. Laundry. *kidding*

I do not know if I believe in a higher realm. I am a confused person like that. But you are the force I want to believe in. And so, all my prayers usually go out to you. 

We miss you dude. Love you dude. Bye dude. Until next time.

Baby Hashtag speaks | My second month

Things around me haven't changed much but I have. I am supposed to, right?

I just moved from my Nani-Maa's home to my own home in Kakinada last week. While I am adjusting to the new living conditions here, I do miss the cosiness of my maternal home in Hyderabad. But here, Papa Hashtag is around more and I love it. 

I am in the third month now and month#2 was a fun ride. I got another one of those wretched vaccinations. In the 6th week to be precise. The doctor did ask Mumma to give me fever medication much in advance so I hardly felt the temperature rise. But the pointy needle hurt so much more than I had signed up for. I am used to yawning, stretching and playing and unknowingly I did stretch the vaccination-administered leg a little too hard. Result? Unknowable pain. What did I do? I cried. It seemed like hours but I heard Mumma tell Nani that it was for a few minutes. Urgh, I don't think I am getting the hang of time anytime soon. 

Which is why nap times have become quite a hassle. While I nap happily and wake up fresh after what seems like hours, Mumma exclaims that I drifted to sleep for 10 minutes only. Honestly, I am exasperated that I cannot talk already and reason with her. So in its place, I choose to be cute and smile into space. Speaking of staring into space, all that staring has got me a new friend. That colourful pointy thing on the ceiling is bae. It goes round and round whenever I look at it and it is just the best. For reasons even I cannot fathom, that thing on the ceiling that everyone calls fan, is my favourite!

To Mumma's happy luck, I sleep better and longer at night, waking up only to feed and drifting off to sleep immediately after. Once in a week, I do stay up after this midnight nursing session and play with everyone before crying my lungs out and falling back to sleep. Hey hey hey I know what you are thinking! If I establish a routine so early in life, where is the fun. There's got to be some unpredictable moments right? 

Oh and did I tell you that I totally rejected the bottle of expressed milk when Mumma offered it to me. She wanted to check if I fed from the bottle directly so she could take a break and let someone else babysit me once in a while. Not so soon Mom, you are not leaving my sight for at least six months now. Even after that, I cannot guarantee you anything (cue evil laughter)

Mumma started wearing me in this ring sling from Soul Slings. It was kinda uncomfortable at first but I love how snug it is now. She also switched from Himalaya to MamaEarth for baby products. To be honest, I don't miss Himalaya at all. Mum did blog about her experience with the MamaEarth products. You can read it here:

http://hashtagdisha.blogspot.in/2017/01/review-mamaearth.html

Also, I now talk louder. There are variations in my tone so I can express different emotions like happiness, hunger, irritation, anger, pain and mirth. I leave the interpreting to the adults. My job right now is just to be cute. And I think I am getting mighty good at it.

That is all for the second month update. See you soon!

Lots of love,
Baby Hashtag

Baby Hashtag Speaks | I HATE!

Hello World! Baby Hashtag here.

I am all of 7 weeks now and I implore you to not go by my puny self. I already have a list of things I am not particularly fond of. Can you believe it, I already have a list? Read on.

1. Bath time
I am not anti-clean. I am just anti-water. For now at least. As much as I enjoy being massaged by mommy, when she takes me to bathe and when water touches me, all hell breaks loose. Hey hey, do not peg me for a naughty baby yet, pouring water takes me by surprise and at my age, I hate being surprised. When I transition from these water-thrown-with-a-mug baths to the tiny-tub-baths, I am sure I will love them. Till then, I will go about taking the present baths with all the wailing and crying as I do already.

2. Vaccination
I just had my second set of vaccines administered recently and I can comfortably say that I hate them! Agreed it is important for me and all that. But being poked by needles? Not all that fun you see.

3. Cranky toddlers
I love playing with my 7  year old Golu Maasi. She dances for me, reads to me and keeps me entertained in general. But then there are those cranky toddlers who are downright loud, cranky and irritating. Moreover, they want to touch me and poke me and scream in my ear all the time. Like I am an exhibit. How about I scream twinkle twinkle in your ears kid, how about that! 

4. Dirty clothes
I need to changed three times a day because dirty clothes just ain't me. Even a speck of dirt and I throw a sneezing fit to let mommy know that I need a sparkling new outfit. Understand this! I am photographed pretty much all the time, thanks to the many many mobile phones in the house. And if I am being clicked constantly, I need to look photo-ready all the time. Right? Right! 

5. Soiled Diapers
Go away soiled diapers. After I am done doing my business, I wail and howl and squirm because baby needs a change of diaper. A minute's delay and I take major offence, not looking at mommy at all. Please! I am not a drama queen but PRIORITIES! 

Baby Hashtag speaks | My first month

Hello World! 

Life on Earth is fun. Not on vaccination days. But otherwise, it's a fun place and fun time to be alive. It was fun in the first week, napping for 20 hours straight, waking up only to feed and then dwindling back into that merry sleep stupor again. But sleep has gotten a tad more elusive now. My day is now a collage of random naps put together because I am hungrier than usual and sleeping sound for hours at a stretch is now a foreign concept. Nevertheless, the first month has been an adventure.

The first week went by in a haze. We were at the hospital a few days and were back home where we spent the next couple of days getting used to the new setting. Mommy is a bundle of hormones and emotions around this time and I try to make up for the overwhelming feeling she has by being all cute! Papa and the entire family are around a lot as well, trying to sneak in a picture or a video when they can. At the end of 2 weeks, I have learnt to make cute noises and gurgling sounds so now I have everyone at home wound around my finger. Each minute is an anticipatory dance of when I will chime 'ga-ga-goo-goo' next. I experienced my first growth spurt at 3 weeks and I fed round-the-clock for a couple of days. I enjoyed feeling snug and close to mommy the whole time while she got very little sleep. I take a little guilty pleasure in that but I compensated with all the adorable coo-ing and make gurgling noises. 

It has basically been a great ride and we have stepped into the second month feeling pretty proud of ourselves. By the way, I howl throughout the massage and bath sessions every morning, but secretly I love them. The post-bath naps are heavenly! Since it is winter, I am mostly dressed and covered up head-to-toe. I cannot wait for it to be sunny so I can wear them cute strappy frocks! Yay! 

Today, I am successfully past the 5 week mark and I feel nothing short of a celebration coming on. Maybe I'll treat myself to an extra hour of play time. Which only implies, one less hour of nap-time and one less hour of sleep for mommy and everyone else at home. 

See you all next month<3 font="">

Lots of love,
Baby Hashtag

SMILE!

We prize ourselves at being lovers of candid photographs. The beauty of a candid shot is that it is raw in emotion and purely an unadulterated excerpt of a memory. The same does not go for pictures that are posed-for. Photographs of people that are staged, as part of a photo-op or a professional photo shoot or with the plain intent of capturing a certain someone on frame with their knowledge lacks all the incentives that a candid photograph carries with it. Naturally with so much thought and effort being put behind a picture that is posed-for, you would except a smile flashing back at you most times. Right?

Alas!

Most people do not smile at the camera. And I hate it! To have to initiate a fun jeer in a group or having to coax people into smiling even slightly has turned into quite a task. Unless your photo-op demands you to look deadpan at the camera, I suggest you smile when a camera is pointed at you. Because when you smile, you are telling everyone, who will subsequently look at your picture later, that it took the least effort for you to do so. By flashing your grin, you are conveying a message that you are easy and friendly and not a serial killer in disguise. 

Be like babies. Babies take a second to smile and laugh. And laugh hysterically they will, because all they own is innocence and happiness. Bring that kind of a positive energy to a photograph; For it is a keepsake and not something that will disappear with the blink of an eye. 

Make the most of what little you have left of today and when someone you know asks you for a picture, pose and smile! And while you are at it, smile often. Smile when someone gets up to offer you a seat in the bus. Smile when someone stops the lift when they see you running so that you can get on. Lift your head from your phone and smile at your mum and your dad and tell them you love them. You need not do it all the time, but do it enough. 

And to make your day a little more cheerful, time for some pictures of my favourite Suhana and her happy happy smiles! 

#Photostory : A day in the life of Mumma

Celebrating my mother with a series of photographs I clicked of her over the day. She is the woman I look up to because she embodies joy and courage in the face of testing times. Her transformation from being a housewife to a woman who works and handles a business is commendable. Now the eldest member of the family, she guides us like the true matriarch that she is, inspiring us along the way. 

I welcome any feedback you, the viewer, may have.
Happy viewing

An early start to the day

Her constant companion - Suhana

Getting ready for work

At work : A Cafe she runs along with the family

Meeting with relatives and well-wishers

Caught candid

Deep in conversation

Homework follows

#ExplorerSeries : To the Zoo

When was the last time you felt like a little kid and went to the zoo? For no apparent reason. Just. My family has a long standing love affair with the Zoo. My uncle, whom I call Nandusa, is a lover of zoo trips. On hardly a minute's notice, he will assemble the people in the house, hop into the car, pick up chips and chocolates on the way and head to the zoo. 

Hyderabad's Nehru Zoological park spreads over an area of over 350 acres and houses scores of different species of animals. My earliest memory of the zoo is of my dad driving a beat Maruti Omni and me and my cousin crammed in the back of the car with the door of the trunk propped open. We packed picnics and lunched out in the zoo park, right next to the lake or the model dinosaurs in the prehistoric park. After, we played with the frisbee and even enjoyed a couple of games of badminton hardly ever getting to beat my mum who was a local champ at the time. Even today, those Sundays spent at the zoo make for a happier time than a feverish trip to the overcrowded mall in the present. Simpler times were indeed the happier times.

And that is why, Nandusa loves to go to the zoo and loves to take us along. To be aware of a simpler happier time, when having fun was a shared lunch with the fake T-Rex. But we haven't been to the zoo in a while now. Our last trip was a couple of years ago and it was him, his brat of a daughter Suhana and myself with the camera. With half the family back home nursing our matriarch back to health, I decided to carry my camera along on the trip to document the trip as the father-daughter explored the zoo. This is also Suhana's first trip to the zoo after she grabbed the concept of animals and learnt to recognise them correctly. 

The following series of photographs are nowhere related to the zoo, it is a photostory of a father playing guide to his awed daughter. 

This is the first of the many posts that will subsequently follow in the #ExplorerSeries 
Would love to hear feedback.
Cheers!
D

My Father, my Hero!

Photographing Papa was no task because my camera loved him. His friendly face and joyful charisma made for the best pictures ever. He is my hero and my friend.

Here are some of my favourite pictures of Him:

My favourite man in the world, Papa

Mum Dad, I know love through them.

Papa

My Hero! 

Love means these two! Playful and crazy! Maa Paa <3 font="">

Papa's signature smile. He is the most charming man I know

Papa and his late mother

Recuperation

Diwali is not Diwali anymore.

It is a struggle for normalcy. A struggle for coherence.

It is a dark endless pit of dismay. Of possibilities too.

This used to be my Grandmum's and Dad's favourite festival, they wanted the family to stick together atleast during the festive week. Dad usually was the one who made it happen. My most fond memory of him is of an over enthusiastic man going on a crazy-ass shopping spree at a mall with his whole extended family let loose. He gave! Happiness and gifts and a ridiculously optimistic fervour. What Dad could not attain was permanency in stature and well-being. It never was the eternal Diwali he had wanted. This loss of permanency triggered his weak heart and two years living a life he most dreaded, he passed away, suddenly but peacefully. He is survived by his wife, my mother, whose life is a constant struggle for survival. And she wades through, donning a brave face.

We appreciate hard work a tad bit more, mother, uncle, aunt and I. We fight stigmas, together. We heal each other with words, deeds and gestures. We learn new strange things everyday. And that, desertion by people is imminent, both by the dead and the living. We cry over loss a little more, now that reality sinks in harder than before but we also laugh a little more heartily because we know this is the time to live!    

I do not know if it is the fear of an eternal night or the promise of a new dawn, hope is all that we live by. No matter how bleak it is today, Recuperation is in place. 

And Dad (I know you are reading this, because I am pretty darn sure heaven has free unlimited WiFi),

To tell you that I miss you is a solid understatement, it is like a void. But you are finally celebrating your favourite time of the year with your parents, I know you are happy. We are good, a little broken, but mostly good. I am taking newer decisions, better decisions hopefully. If there is something you do not approve of, send me a sign, Make a cloud shaped like a NO or something. But since I am your daughter, doing stupid things is not really possible. Mum's good too, you know what's troubling her, FIX IT please! Nandu, Soni and Golu say Hi to your picture every morning. Say hello to Baiji and Dadosa from us, and be well, all of you! Be our angels. 

Miss you, Bye.

Lost a parent. Found my God.

AGNOSTIC  /aɡˈnɒstɪk 

  

/
A person who believes that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of God.

I have been an agnostic for as long as I can remember. Coming from a family of staunch believers in divinity, I was the oddity. None of the relatives understood what I was. Honestly, I did not see sense myself. Praying was a matter of convenience, remembering a higher power happened when I was in trouble and needed an out.

And then last week, I lost my father to an unexpected cardiac arrest. Having lost my grandmother just four months back had left a rather lasting impression on me and I began to treat death as any other 'big' moment in one's life. Papa suffered from a long-standing heart condition. I made myself believe that his passing away had relieved him from years of pain and suffering. I also told myself that no matter what happened, I still had mum to be with and look after. I went about the charades gracefully, fulfilling the duties that were expected of me. Being the only child, mum insisted I light Papa's funeral pyre. Unorthodox as it may be to everyone, it happened and mum's wish stood honoured. The priest argued that women were weak of heart to handle the sight of a dead body, let alone the body being their father's. It was orthodox-talk for 'keep the women out!' 

I stood near Papa's head, trying to take it all in, when it hit me. A wave of sheer realisation. This will be the last I see of him. Ever. 

Then there was His voice in the back of my head. 

Him, singing a song.

"Kya se kya ho gaya...."

Because that is what he would do. 

Papa sang songs to commemorate events, big or small. He did that all the time. He used to say that it was his way of making a memory that lasted way longer than just a few random seconds. In that eternal moment I knew how I was going to remember him for the rest of my life. I was going to make him a part of every memory I make thereafter, big or small. From that moment on, I gained a God. Watching over me. Loving me. Letting me make mistakes. Smiling down at me while I teach mum how to pick a perfect song for every emotion. 

Papa was an amazing man. His sense of humour is as legendary as his anger and self-respect. No man could ever lead a family out of non-entity the way he did. He taught me how to be benevolent by just being himself. We had our share of fights as well because he raised a daughter who would not give up without making herself heard. He believed that people were essentially good and helpful. He may not have necessarily turned me into a believer but I am not a skeptic anymore, because my father is my angel. 

Dealing with the loss of a loved one, let alone a parent, is one of the most difficult things a person has to go through in his life. Living in denial is bad. Worse than that is trying to get over the death. You don't get over someone dying. Instead, you learn to live with it. You embrace it and you let the happy memories of that loved one heal you. The moment when you can think of those who went away and smile at the kindling of a fond memory about them is when you know all is going to be well after all. Its been 7 days and Papa's memory makes mum and me smile more than it makes us weak. He gives us strength to carry on. 

P.S.

Papa, 

I hope there is internet connectivity and a constant supply of mangoes and pizzas where you are. I will look after mum, don't worry. You just make sure I don't do anything stupid, I know you will point me into the right way when need be. Needless to say, I miss you. A lot. I love you so much.

Throwback

I wrote this particular piece nearly 6 years back. Back then I wanted to be like Chetan Bhagat, a Rs 99/- wala book writer. You can safely say, I was naive. My naivety will reflect in my rather flat style of writing below. But this short little story is closest to my heart because it made me want to be a writer one day.

Here it is: 

Spolier: It talks about me! :D

DATE – 20^th September 1988

TIME – 7:15 am

  

In a not so well-groomed courtyard sat Mr.Chaddha on his armchair swaying back and forth. He was sipping his favourite Darjeeling cinnamon flavoured tea greedily like there was not going to be a tomorrow morning. He was a portly man in his late forties, though he looked much older, had a pot belly large enough to store food for an entire battalion and had a good natured face with a frizzled moustache. It was exactly 7:15 in the morning of that drizzly September day. The South-west monsoons were on the verge of its end. And so it rained pretty heavily to mark its last. Mr. Chaddha picked up The HINDU and read the headlines.

He tut tutted something about politics going to the dogs and put the paper down as if it had deeply disturbed his conscience and made his heart ache. The expression on his face was terrific, humanly impossible to even form for us normal earthlings, but then that’s Chaddha uncle at his diplomatic best. He pushed the troubling thought out of his mind and went back to slurping his lukewarm morning drink. Wait a minute, enough of him. Because, this is not his story.

No, it is not!

Three blocks away was a hospital – Sita Bhateja Nursing Home, run by a gynaecologist. No prizes for guessing who ran the nursing home, Dr.Mrs.Sita Bhateja. Right then she was in the labor room nursing a woman terribly in pain. The hands of the clock slowly ticked as the anxious parents of the aforementioned ‘lady-in-pain’ waited. Her husband had been informed the minute her water broke and the father-to-be anxiously started for the hospital. It was their first child after all. All this was happening in the Garden City of Bangalore; and the father-to-be lived in the neighbouring capital of Hyderabad, and he left instantly to be with his wife. He knew he would well arrive after all of it is over, but still the excitement and the anxiousness got the better of him. He was overjoyed. This over enthusiastic ‘father-to-be’ is my Paa, more specifically my FATHER. And yes, the lady-in-pain is my MOTHER, my Maa. Oh, now you are getting it, this story is about me – the child about to be born.

Let me tell you how my Ma and Pa came together.

They met in the strangest of fashions. Theirs wasn’t a love marriage. It was arranged as was the tradition at that time in the small village of Rajasthan they hailed from. The story goes that Maa was the pretty maid in her early twenties and she had heaps of prospects peeping through her doorway everyday; she had a hell of a choice to choose from.

‘I’m confused’ is what Ma blurted out after meeting each prospect in due succession. And then…… enter Paa-The dashing young man! He was smitten by the beauty and charm of the beautiful young lady and her confusion made him fall crazily for her. Their meeting was arranged, Maa and Paa saw each other and it was love at first sight. An alliance was anticipated and everybody expected an almost immediate formal announcement of an engagement. But my Grand-dad played spoilsport and like all the typical prospective groom’s sides in India, my grandfather said he would give his answer in a week or so, but Paa found that too much time to wait. Overnight, he boarded a bus, traveled nearly a thousand miles from Hyderabad to Rajasthan to get to Maa’s house and declared his wish to get married to Maa as soon as it was possible. That’s the best thing Paa did because if he would not have made it then Maa was being forced to say yes to another prospect. And if this alliance failed to happen, I would have never existed to tell my story.

Now it was all settled.

Paa said YES and Maa accepted it more than willingly.

And then they had ME.

No wait, they were still in the process of having me. Maa’s in pain and Paa’s still in the train.

‘Wow!’ 

That rhymed. I started training myself in such feats in Maa’s womb itself. So, you could say that a genius is about to be born.

While Dr. Mrs. Bhateja nursed my mum through her painful labour, my attention shifts over to the anxious looking parents of the mum-to-be. They were about to have their first grandchild, an achievement in itself and were bloody beyond happy. Today is the occasion of firsts.

Now, the moment of action. Precisely, at 7.16 am, a minute after Mr. Chaddha tut-tutted about the Indian polity, I was born. Like an angel to curb the negativities of politics which ached Mr. Chaddha’s heart even as he sipped his tea. I was the saviour who was born as the one who would shine as the lone light of hope and the end of the dark tunnel of the disappointing administrative machinery. I was born to be the source of relief to the balding gentleman three blocks away. But, unfortunately for him, I was neither of these. I am a baby, after all.

So, big discussions can wait for now. 

Wonderment

They intrigue me, the matters of heart. When I was a kid, I loved the whole idea of love and the hullabaloo that surrounds it. Not that I was untouched by it in any way, I felt it around me in the air. The people I knew claimed to be foolishly romantic and totally head over heels this person they were with.

Whoa! If you just put aside all the lovey-dovey feelings aside and tried to be rational about the concept of love. Love eventually leads to co-existence. Living with the other gender, habitation, copulation, etc follow. (It can comfortably established what genre of 'love' I am particularly referring to) Anyway, I used to wonder a lot when I was in my early teens as to how two sane adults come to terms with a situation like this. I mean we are talking about making a family, living with each other's flaws, compromising to no end. Mind you, I dreamed of a perfect man too. That perfect guy who would sweep me over, flatter me to no end and take me away to a far far away land where i'd live as his QUEEN for the rest of our lives.....and then I grew up!
I still had fantasies but coupled with harsh realities of life. I looked for answers, asked a lot of people (strangers mostly, who shot me a disgusting look and cast me away) Little did I know that the answer to a proposition that complicated was lurking around in my house.

Let me tell you about this couple I know at home. Extremely romantic, deeply in love, fights like raging bulls but pampers each other at the same time. Eventually they went on to start a family and voila! I happened! I look at Maa and Paa and the way they spend their day together. Even if it did not involve telling each other how much they loved them, they seemed a lot in love. I got to talking with Maa one day about the bond she and Paa shared. "Oh! It was not always like this," she had said. "Your father and I had adjustment issues initially in the marriage, we even fought a lot over trivial things. But as time passed I started to understand him, and he, me. We found happiness in each other and still do. That is the secret to our marriage. Infact sweetie, that's the secret to every successful relationship there is." I was stumped. I was getting my first relationship advice from my mother and I was barely 15.

Today, at 22, I do not recall this story that often. But it has since changed my whole perspective about love and relationships. I have learnt not to be scared of what's out there. I have grown up enough to learn and embrace what comes my way. 'Cos if I love, I will be loved back.
And I am the most loved person on the face of this planet....Period!

Mumma

thats me! cute, one might call. i say chubby.
all the cute baby qualities i had, some incorporated in me by my doting mother. oh how i love her. she is such a joy. sometimes she does get a little cranky about things, but whats a good mother-daughter thingy without a little tantrum throwing! inspite of me bring the rebel, wanting to live life on my terms, she has regarded me as a model daughter throughout. she has had her doubts clarified eventually and realised the one fact that her daughter ain't gonna give up easily no matter what. i have come to appreciate hard work because of her belief in it. i feel comforted in her lap (yes, i still sleep in her lap 'the maa ki godhi'). i glow when my relatives tell me that i look so much like my mother, of course i should, i am her daughter after all. mum supports me when i need it the most, scolds me when i deserve it the most. though i never admit it in front of her, i dunno what i would have done without her in my life. i argue and fight with her quite often now that i am starting to grow 'big' (in my ma's words) but thats just how we are. she knows me and i know her. i am her punching bag when she needs to let her frustartion out and she is my teddy bear when i wanna cry. i have never told her this but i mean it deeply - I LOVE YOU MUM!