Digression Series 2. The specific challenges of being a Bangali Jamai

If you have the good fortune of being a Bangali Jamai in this life, you can safely assume that it is God or rather Goddess Durga’s way of blessing you and saying, “There Son. You will never ever see another hungry day in your life. Your bank account may often approach zero and your assets may look meagre – but your plate shall always over-flow. With your mother-in-law’s ador(affection). With your bou’s (wife’s) love. And more specifically, with luchi and aloo. With illish (this fish has a God-like status among Bengalis) and mangsho(mutton). And mishti (sweets) And yes, aloo again.”

And so, there you have it. It’s not a job for the faint-stomached. There arcertain elixirs to help you through this extreme gastronomic journey. Namely, Neo-peptin and Joaner Arak (an ajwain based-medicine). Never, ever attempt a journey into Kolkata as a Jamai without first packing generous portions of these two magic potions!

Worse Half believes that our excessive need to eat and feed has psychological roots in the Bengal Famine of 1943 and before that in 1770. Such was the trauma that the Bengali community suffered, that there has been a deep-rooted, irreversible impact in a Jungian unconsciousness kind of way. We are subconsciously storing up – fat literally on our bodies, and food in the store cupboard – preparing for the next potential Famine. After all, what can see you through another Famine if not a bottle of Jharna ghee (another brand that has God-like status among the Bengalis!)

The next specific challenge. You will never actually know what your wife’s relatives are a called. Familiar faces will swirl in front of you in a haze of Panchus, Babus, Rajas, Bapis, Mamunis, Shonas, Poltus, Tukis, Tublais et al. You will know where they work, where they live, who they are married to and how many children they have. You will have cups of tea with them and more luchi and aloo. But you won’t know their actual names. That’s just the way it is.

On to the next challenge. Your name will be changed too. Forever. Whatever your name may be, we have a better, Bonglified version of it. Worse Half is now, suspiciously called, Omit. (veiled suggestion, somewhere? J)

What is not a challenge, however, is winning over your Bengali relatives hearts. If you go a-visiting to Kolkata during Durga Poojo, this is all you need to do…

·         Eat Well. Specifically, this means the following:

–     Luchis for breakfast in multiples of 4

–     Mishtis for dessert in multiples of 2. Desserts may be served at any meal. This includes breakfast and tea snacks

–     Fish pieces. 2 and above. Never a single piece. Unless you really want to attract dark and dangerous bad luck.

–     Nothing less than at least half a kilo of mutton whichever meal it may be served at. This includes breakfast and tea snacks.

·     Eat at all times: This is a Very Very Important Aspect. We don't eat in between meals. We have meals between meals! We have adapted the dietician's advice of eating 6 Small meals through the day to 6 or greater Big meals through the day. The problem is further compounded by the fact that you need to meet immediate and distant family members, all of who are close, within a limited time-window. You naturally cannot pick between Mashis (Wife's mother's side) and Pishis (Wife's father's side). So you just resign yourself to eating multiple breakfasts, lunches and dinners :-)

·    1000 brownie points if you wear a dhoti. Which I have to concede that Worse Half does swimmingly well. For those days only, I call him Better Half :)

·     Another 1000 brownie points if you can smile and say, “Aami ektu ektu bangla bolte paari” (I can speak a little bit of Bengali) in response to relatives asking you if you have (finally) learnt Bengali. Applicable to jamais who are non-Bongs themselves!

So there you have it. The life of a Bangali Jamai. And in case Bangali Jamai complains on Day 4 of visit to Kolkata that he will positively die of over-eating, this is what I say as I hand over the bottle of Neo-peptin. “Would you rather have married Pop-eye’s daughter? Or a fruitarian – and waited under a tree for the fruit to drop?”

In the face of such irrefutable logic, Worse Half meekly glugs down half a bottle of Neo-peptin. And revives aka Asterix.

Which is just as well…because it’s time for tea snacks, yet again!

 
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Pregnancy Diaries 8: Gadgets, gizmos and heartbeats

I do think that a lot of gadgets and gizmos that have been created around pregnancy are by fathers who felt that there were not involved enough in the pregnancy.

To be completely fair to him and give him due credit, rare though such occasions are, Worse Half bought lots of really useful and cute things for the baby.

But he also fell prey to some pretty pointless objects which as a typical Indian husband-worshipping wife, I have chosen to highlight :-)

Useless Gadget one: The Baby Monitor

Undoubtedly this has great use if you are staying in a sprawling bungalow in the American Suburbs or a massive ranch in Texas.

Why pray, do we need a baby monitor, when the baby can only be in one of the 2 rooms in your “super” spacious 880 super built up apartment, which includes the non-completely legal encroachment in the bedroom and the space squeezed out by breaking an addition layer of the wall in your bathroom? Not to mention 2 sets of grand-parents, a motley crew of support staff and an even greater hub of friends and well-wishers on hand. Chances are, your baby will never cry alone, as at the first whimper, any or all of the above will rush to the room to see why “shona” is crying.

And there was  Buchu (our four legged first born), who proved to be the most effective monitor of all, barking loudly whenever Aarinie cried and giving us baleful looks as if to say, “Guys, do something!”

Useless Gadget two: Listen to my heart beat gadget

Worse Half also bought a complex looking gadget which guaranteed that you could listen to the baby’s heart beat post 3 months. By the time Worse Half arrived it was already the 9^th month, so we were sure that we would be able to hear the baby’s heart beat.

Worse Half placed it lovingly on my rather large belly-welly. We listened at the other end, which were like the ear-plugs of a stethoscope.

And...

We heard our baby’s heartbeat for the first time - or so we thought. Amit and I held hands, just as they show in them romantic movies and I tried to smile coyly (as in them romantic movies)

The heart beats seemed quite adult and developed and in good shape. After 30 seconds, we stopped listening and holding hands and smilingly coyly. I mean, a heartbeat, is a heartbeat is a heartbeat. Couldn’t  really expect to break into a hip-hop beat or a tap dance.

We looked down at the USD 130 dollar gadget.

“Let’s put it on my stomach,” said Worse Half suddenly.

I guess the 130 dollars for 30 seconds of Dhak Dhak wasn’t really seemingly like value for money.

And so we plonked the gadget on Worse Half’s very marginally less large belly-welly.

And there it was. The same unmistakable heart-beat emanating out of Worse Half’s belly.

“How can I hear our baby’s heartbeats from my stomach,” said Worse Half, totally freaked out.

“I guess this means you have a womb and are experiencing a sympathetic pregnancy and we can hear sympathetic heart beats,” I said drily.

A hundred and thirty dollars to listen to our own heartbeats. Wow.

Worse Half finally got to hear the baby heart beats at the gynaecologist's clinic. He whipped out an old fashioned instrument (undoubtedly approved by the British Medical Association) which looked like a trumpet and placed the wider mouth at a particular part on my belly.

And there it was, a fast moving, quick footed, a frenzied yet mild heartbeat. It was the heartbeat of someone working overtime to grow to its full potential. It was the heartbeat of someone bursting to get out, pretty soon.

And it was the heartbeat of someone who definitely had a headful of hair and chubby cheeks. In that, I had an  unshakable faith, a resolute belief.