Kymaia has always wanted a sibling, like any single child, and has never been able to understand our justifications for her not having one, nor is she satisfied with cousins who she sees once in a while and has occasional sleepovers with.
So, when my cousin, Rasika Gupta, had to quarantine for 17 days and her daughter, Raavi, came over to stay, with all her bags, baggage, books, computer, shoes, rock collection, origami books, et al, to say there was wild jubilation would be as understated as to claim that the Delhi Durbar of 1911 was a wee celebration.
That said, there was total chaos (the next time I read the phrase, ‘fog of war’, I think I have an approximate idea of what the writer means), since it is just the first day and we are all adjusting to two separate personalities, school timings, food preferences, likes & dislikes, sleeping (and waking) patterns, and relationship (and reaction) to authority; all of which in the midst of, as my readers well know, Tashuji’s and my ongoing separation, however cordial, and having just lost both our helps (the full- and the part-time) and a new one from Nepal being trained with her own limitations (for one, having never worked outside her own home, and secondly, not knowing any other language but Nepali) while also having another new part-timer, who is as bewildered as the first one and probably reconsidering her life choices and what she seemingly signed up for; adding to that mix, a hyperactive but slightly injured dog (Rafa) with separation anxiety and who needs medication and care, Kym’s Masi, Rashmi Singh’s maid (who is on her way out back to Nepal for different reasons), my search for a house to rent in the same compound (for my mum and me), and both our careers, Tashuji and my own, poised precariously on a decisive (for the better, we hope) precipice where we are alternately working at something while interviewing and presenting for something better, and insert into that, internet breakdowns, power outages, milk spillages, car punctures, shortage of hot water/eggs/bread, fights over blankets, and newly pierced ears of which the earrings need constant turning (and needing the ‘pain is my friend’ mantra’ to be repeated ad nauseum, apart from requiring Baba bear’s full attention), and you can get a fair feel of the Bear household this morning.
But even with all that, the girls were woken up, dressed, fed, given their respective places to sit and attend their classes, their machines configured, pencils sharpened, parents/grandparents spoken to on video call (one from the USA), and breakfast and other morning rituals completed for the adults by 0800h IST, all thanks to the super-efficient Mamma bear and her mysterious and unseen 3 pairs of arms, apart from the ones that are apparent to the eye.
And now, as I go out there in my armour (a suit which I am wearing after ages) to attend an important interview about leading a project that could well be a defining moment in India’s geriatric care, and Tashuji is preparing to present to some of India’s smartest women leaders, all of which is happening today, we think back at the time when we were considering having more than one child (and I still think we ought to have had) and wonder if our lives would have been so busy as to have had no time to find differences to fight over and go our ways in the first place.
Well, that’s all water under the bridge now, with all the shoulda, wouldas, and couldas, or as the saying goes, ‘If my aunt had a moustache, she’d be my uncle’.
