Singapore Suitcases: Week 2 - Of filter kaapi's, daycares and The MD House - Singapore!

1. One of the most famous hotels in the world - The Raffles Hotel, is located right across the street from The Fairmont Hotel, where we stayed for most of Week 2, as we still await our apartment keys.

The Raffles Hotel, is a beautifully designed, colonial style structure, rewound in time and very reminiscent of Sri Lankan architect Geoffrey Bawa's work. With it's open tropical courtyard filled with bars and cafes and meandering paths that stroll you through a man-made jungle of sorts, this hotel had the pleasure of an afternoon spent with the daughter and me. Coming from the West, I realise we are spoilt silly with parks at our disposal, everywhere we go. Not as much the case in Singapore, I am told. There are parks and public recreational green areas, but not sprinkled all over the island, as one would find in NYC. So for now, when the daughter and I find a green hotel with benches and fountains in it, we make it our afternoon hangout. The Singapore Botanical Gardens are next on our to-be-explored list. We are told, they are huge sprawls of never-ending beautiful greens that will require more than one visit.

2. In a classic case of Asian-gone-to-America-and-now-returned situation, Hubster still doesn't get with the program and spells 'centre' as 'center'. Thanks America, for teaching us to live with typos for the last ten years of our lives. After his emails to the business 'centre' at the hotel, kept bouncing back, he learnt it the hard way, through the attendant "Sir, Centre is spelt C-E-N-T-R-E Sir" My laugh-out-loud moment of the week, that was!

2. Food will most probably deserve a mention, in every week's travelogue, as we eat our way through Singapore. This week's yummy discovery was at The Murugan Idli Shop.

My love for South Indian food is a fact known to many. It can be traced back to when I was a 6 month old baby, thanks to our good ol' South Indian neighbor. Having been co-raised by her, when Mommy went to work, I grew up eating idli's and tayeer-chaadham (dahi-rice) as a second lunch every day, after I was done devouring the Mommy-made tiffin box. A love for authentic home-cooked South Indian food was thus inculcated. Being best friend's with a 'Tam-Brahm', naturally had it's perks as this childhood habit of second breakfasts and lunches continued at her place. So when we were moving to Singapore, the Southie in me (referred to as Swetha) jumped up and down, excited at the prospect of delicious home-cooked South Indian fare.

Our debut visit to the Murugan Idli Shop, had the staff presuming I am a Tamilian and my broken, somewhat limited knowledge of the language, helped us get the 'insider' status. To say the food was beyond authentic and touched our souls, would be an understatement. Dear Tam-Brahm connections - each one of you was sorely missed, especially at the end of my meal, as I sipped on my 'filter kaapi', thinking of you! Someday I hope you will join me in this experience here.

3. The daughter has been entertaining locals and expats in public places, for free. Sometimes I feel like I am accompanying a performing monkey. I've been asked which dance class she's being sent to, by several Mom-petitors! Since she starts dancing at the drop of any musical note, we've had embarrassingly large audiences accumulate around her in shopping malls. It's like a performance, except the 'Tips' jar is missing. Contrary to my initial impression, there seem to be enough baby-friendly people (locals and expats) to make up for the stiff, no-time-for-anyone Singaporean that I often come across.

4. Daycare/ Babycare/ Infantcare/ Pre-PreSchool, whatever you call it, have been on my mind all week long. I started the search by taking a tour of one of them, called The Sunflower Baby House. Highly impressed by their staff, sanitation efforts, attention to detail & personal involvement with every baby, this one easily makes it to my list of potential contenders for the daughter's first school-to-be.

My general research reveals that daycare centers in Singapore, are a superb package deal. From oil massages to baths to feeding, napping, potty-training and recreational activities all of which are part of the timetable, these nurse-equipped baby schools are a dream come true for any working Singaporean mother, who doesn't mind delegating the job to professionals. In addition, the fee structure offers an enormous subsidy to Singaporean children of both working or non-working mothers, making this an easier decision versus hiring a nanny at home. To me, the added value comes in their bilingual curriculum, to be conducted in both Mandarin and English.

5. The principal of the Baby House was surprised to hear that Zoe is only 15 months old. "She looks chubby for her age" she wondered out loud. A little later in our conversation, I discovered that the feeding routine at the school, was short by one meal when compared to Zoe's daily diet. That realization, funnily enough seemed to bring down her raised brows alright.

4. Three nights in a row this week were spent playing catch-up over dinner, with various friends, old and new. Some who are ex-NYC, others who've moved here from India. Conversations have been filled with plenty of questions on my end; garnering opinions and sharing impressions with all of them, on their and our lives here, this far. Unanimously speaking, Singapore is a transition town for many; not one to make a permanent home out of, but to stay and stop for a while, en route to the next destination.

5. Lastly, but never the least, making it just in time to fit this week's events - "The MD House - Singapore" is finally here! We got the keys mid-week and officially moved in on the weekend.

It's our home away from homes, considering we have a few places we call home, at the moment. As is the case with us MD's, high floors and vast views are a necessity, thanks to both our high-density-low-square-footage upbringings in Mumbai. So naturally The MD House - Singapore is a tres-modern 4 bedroom apartment that finds itself perched nicely atop the 27th floor of a  high-end luxury condominium building called Scots Square. We are above a shopping mall of the same name (Yes, Welcome to our new home, which has one entrance through the mall as well, with several security fobs, if you will. Typically Asia, I am told). In keeping with The MD House (original), it also has a weather-proof access to a supermarket (Another must, considering we are the go-in-your-pj's-and-buy-it-last-minute kinda people, what with my random cooking/ baking whims). However, unlike it's original namesake, this MD House sits bang in the middle of the city, in the Orchard Area. The closest parallel I can draw is of living on Fifth Ave in Manhattan, i.e living among stores you can't shop in, everyday.

Among other amenities, the apartment building offers the usual gazillion swimming pools/ plunge pools/ pool on the roof deck blah blah, that are essential features of most Singaporean luxury condos. The daughter is sure to have a ball here; the tadpole that she is.

As we are gradually learning to live with such never-before upgrades, the one that stole the show for us was having our very own private elevator! Hubster and I collectively gulped when we first saw it. He, for the private elevator I think, me more so for the hi-tech kitchen with the slick Miele wine cellar in it. Hic! I was sold! Going by our short stint here, we figured this is it. Us adult MD's agreed and with a little "I-care-two-hoots" kinda nod from the little MD in the house, this home made it to being the second MD House, there ever will be!

Excitedly, we now await random visitors, friends and family to share our cheap thrills and our new found space with us, over the course of the next few months.

Until next week, it's a wrap on my end for this one. Also, I smell something. Oh wait, the daughter probably needs a diaper change. Got to go!

Much love,

Shweyta

Singapore Suitcases: Week 1 - Of first impressions & second thoughts

Prologue:
The Hubster and I have been wanting to delve into multi-city living for a while now. The seed was planted in my head in 2009, when I took up a 6 month long professional assignment with L&T in Mumbai, where I moved, for the latter half of the year. In those 6 months, Hubster and I frequently met; in the States, in India and in Europe. I had two homes, in two cities and life was full of travel. Needless to say, I loved it.
Last New Year's Eve in San Diego, California as we discussed what lay in store for each one of us in 2012, I told the best friend I was hoping to go back to multi-city living this year, only this time with Hubster and baby in tow. Talk about, being careful what you wish for!
Hubster's work presented us with the opportunity and of course it was love at first sight. Only this time it was going to be 'quatro-city' versus 'dual-city' living. The four different cities we would call home over the course of the next couple of years would be Singapore, Mumbai, Delhi & NYC/ Jersey City.
Thus began the pre-move phase, when we air-freighted some basic essentials to Singapore (our first base-to-be), moved some collectible furniture pieces to storage, rented our Jersey City home to two gorgeous European male models and said "Be Right Back" to our friends and to NYC/ Jersey City. After procrastinating just enough, so we could get the entire NY Summer in, we flew off. After a month-long stopover in India, we are now here in Singapore. It has been a week and we are still living out of suitcases, at the very fancy Fairmont Hotel, as we await the keys to our uber-swanky apartment, here in Singapore. As much as I'd like to dwell on that now, it's best spoken of once we've moved in. For now; I'd like to oblige requests made by a few friends to re-start a weekly series about our lives here (similar to the one I wrote in 2009 called 'Mumbai Diaries').
So here goes - presenting to you, the first of a weekly series to be called 'Singapore Suitcases'. (The name stems from our current base here in Singapore, yet a suitcase-d nomadic life which entails a lot of travel, in and around)

1. Everyone said many things about Singapore, to us, before we left.
"Its so clean and antiseptic, it will annoy you"
I stared at the roads on my cab-ride from Changi to the Hotel to see if I could find a single piece of trash that could tarnish this remark. I found a few. Besides, the fallen leaves everywhere indicate there is Fall here too. Half as beautiful, but it's there. Singapore is not THAT spotless either. Thankfully.

"It will be a great transition between NYC & Mumbai"
Not really. At least not for me, since I know both those cities enough, to know what to expect from each. This city does not offer that in-between. Instead, it comes across as even more backward than Mumbai in a lot of cases (pre-paid phone cards are not available everywhere, iphone unlocking is hardly prevalent etc...The Mumbai 'jugaadu' sense is amiss, among other aspects) and hardly more forward than NYC in any aspect. ( NYC is a true global city which does EVERYTHING better or up to a reasonably high standard, than any other city in the world, as we all know. There is hardly any room for discussion there) 

"Z will love it, it's very child-friendly"
Zoe, our 15 month old toddler was spoilt in the country of her birth. Strangers stopped in their tracks to chat, hi-fives and marvel at her dance moves, often joining in themselves. She is used to the idea of striking up conversations with strangers, with her trademark "Hiiii" to them, wherever she goes. In this past week that she's been in Singapore, she must often wonder why most people here don't respond to her emphatic greeting and walk past her without joining her in her splendid shimmy. I, her determined Mommy, first found this unwelcome behavior unexplicable, then realised maybe Singaporeans are not used to friendly toddlers reaching out to them. My analytical mind could not help but link this response to the declining birth rate in this country. I guess they just have no time for children, theirs or others, period.
My tactful solution, to make sure Zoe does'nt care about this either, is to respond out loud to her greetings and indulge in some jig-ma-shoulder kinda dance moves myself, each time she shimmies, regardless of where we are. Together, we must come across as the "comedic mother-daughter pair" to Singaporeans busily whizzing past us. That said, I must however confess that the only people thus far, that interact or play with Zoe sometimes, are expats, Tamilian bell boys/ cleaning staff and young sales girls in stores. On more than one occasion, she has almost walked off with each one of these, possibly overwhelmed by their love and regard for her.

2. Maid interviews that I have conducted through various agencies last week, remind of a subtle modern-day "slave" scenario. For a few hundred Singaporean Dollars a month, one can have a full-time live-in legal maid, who makes everyday life a breeze. The catch of course is, that the employer takes complete responsibility of the maid (health/ visa/ accomodation/ food etc) and pays a hefty sum to the government as "levy" on her behalf, each month.
During my interviews, while I was busy marvelling at my future state of domestic bliss (what with being called 'Madam' and all in my own house), Hubster annoyingly, yet correctly pointed out that all the maids, looked highly malnourished. One of them even told us that she has not been paid for the past 3 years by her Chinese 'Master' (Read employer). Yet, she stuck with him for fear of losing her visa and having to return back to her country. I can already see loopholes in what I thought was a well-designed pro-maid system. This one is going to be an ongoing bone of contention; between my practical head and my principled heart.

3. Asia spoils you. In a not-so-good kind of way. I still get weird looks from people when I pick up my tray after a meal at eateries here. When you re used to cleaning up after yourself, it's a little strange that somebody else's job depends on you not doing that. Blame it on my domestic staff-less upbringing. Made a mental note, to not make a habit out of this, for fear of weirder looks in other parts of the world we may chose to live in.

4. Construction workers resemble their fellow 'macchas' in India; lean, dark South Indian men, wearing bell bottom pants/ jeans and short cropped shirts. My South Indian colleagues at L&T would feel at home here.

5. God forbid the toddler starts picking up the Singaporean accent, in her next few months here. The "aa" drawl at the end of every sentence spoken with a Chinese slang, seems to be a Tamil legacy. I somehow prefer the drawl in Tamil than in a Chinese accented English. And lets not get started on the grammar here. Being a grammar Nazi myself, its safe to say I need to learn to shut up more often.

6. As is a known fact to most, the daughter's hair adapts easily. Otherwise partially wavy in most countries, in humid Singapore, of course it chooses to be one big curly mop. Together; we garner quite a few praises for our thick natural curls among the usual, omnipresent poker-straight, thin-crop of manes.

7. "If you're Indian, you must be vegetarian"; goes the belief among the common man Singaporean. Two prospective Filipino maids turned down interviews with me, presuming we wont eat or let them eat non-vegetarian food in our house. Oh well!

8. The weather's been kinda monsoon-y since we arrived. Thunderstorms, rain and wet winds welcomed us, in our first week here. I knew clogs for the family was always a good idea. Funnily enough though, even when caught in the rain, it's quite easy to find one's way, keeping dry, towards the nearby MRT (train station) stop, ducking through a network of weather-proofed shopping malls, one after the other.

9. There's only so much a girl can shop. Well at least that's what this girl thinks. So naturally most Singapore destinations (Read malls, malls and more malls) do not appeal to me. Art on the other hand, is a different story altogether. 'Ode to Art' ( http://www.odetoart.com/) is my newest hangout. Conveniently located underneath our hotel, this is a lovely contemporary art space which I frequent daily. (Yes, it is located in a shopping mall too) The daughter and I are known on a first name basis here, as we spend a big chunk of our afternoons gawking at the works on display. In my mind, I am already the owner of a few breath-taking pieces that I have yet to figure how to pay for.

10. The Idiot Box kinda makes me feel idiotic in a way, given it's multilingualism. Except for the US Presidential debates on CNN, British funnies on BBC and Australian news channels, I am on a self-imposed language lesson binge; only watching channels in Mandarin, Tamil, Bahasa, Japanese, French, German & Malay. Subtitles, now more than ever, are my best friends.

11. I miss wine! I miss the accessibility of a broad range of good, simple, purchasable-in-single-digits yet delightful reds, that I grew to love, living in the States. I miss wine bars. Their exposed brick walls, the soulful music, the dim candle-lit ambiance and the company of fellow-oenophiles (you know who you are!). A fellow expat oenophile, browsing around next to me, in the local wine shop, looked sincerely sad. She joked that she has learnt to shop by price versus grape/ taste. Mental note to self: That will not be me! Also, remember to ship that crate the next time we go back to NY! 

12. The Asian food here is remarkable. Be it the Hawker Center's/ street side shacks and even in the high-end restaurants. But it ends at that, I think. So far, I have been disappointed in my search for a basic, reasonably 'fresh' western salad for lunch; the kind that abound in the States/ Europe and even in Indian cities now. I have found good bread & good cheese; but a good salad and I have not met yet, in this city.

12. My world's collide and shrink by the second. It's a happy realization that dawned upon me years ago, when I figured I've met people from all stages of my life, in NY. In a similar impromptu scheme of things, an old college friend was in town for work this week. Post-dinner drinks and catch-up session with her on my third night here, is perhaps a sign of many such reunions to come, in the near future.

That in a nutshell sums up Week 1 here, in Singapore. Week 2 is already halfway through, so expect that write-up soon too!
Until then, signing off with much love and slurp, over a soulful bowl of ramen,
Shweyta

Dear Zoe...

Dear Zoe,

In the last one year we’ve been guilty of the following –

1. Forgetting to feed you on time. A lot. That you ate whatever we fed you, whenever we fed you, makes you you!

2. Force feeding you earlier or later than when you should be, because we needed to get someplace. That you didn’t mind it, makes you, you!

3. Letting you cry yourself to sleep, through Sleep training, so our life ahead would be a breeze. That you quickly got the point and learnt to sleep by yourself, anywhere and everywhere, makes you you!

4. Made fun of you. A lot. Of the donkey-like braying you do at times, to the insane ‘loca’ like behavior you have now become famous for. That you giggle along and still carry on, not caring a damn, makes you you!

5. Back-slap you hard, sometimes harder than needed, to burp you sooner. That you’re quick to burp followed by a broad knowing smile, makes you you!

6. Wondered if we could leave you at home asleep and go out for the night. Figured it would be ok, since you tuck in early and don’t rise until morning anyway. That you sleep so well that we can even plot such, makes you you!

7. Consciously kept your things to a bare minimum (except of course your expansive book collection) - a few clothes, a few toys, the essentials, with a random splurge here or there on occasion. That you’re happy playing with play-room communal toys and have invented your own tactics to entertain yourself and others, makes you you!

8. Making you dance to music we love as against trying to play “baby” stuff for you, all the time. That you always appreciate music of any kind with your now trademarked shoulder jig, makes you you!

9. Left you crying in your crib, thinking you’ll stop in a jiffy anyway. That you always did really stop in a jiffy, makes you you!

10. Snatched away from your hands, if you ever went to grab a remote control/ phone/ gadget/ laptop and kept you off all of these, so you could appreciate the non-gadgety side of life. That you let the lure of the gadget be so momentary, letting something else easily catch your fancy, makes you you!

11. Say “No No” to you more often than “Yes Yes”! That you just say “No No” back to us and still do what you want anyway, makes you you!

12. Singing out aloud to you, thinking we have great voices and superb rhythm. That you get really amused and giggle galore, playing us right back into thinking we sound great, makes you you!

13. Make ridiculous hair styles and mis-match your accessories, because we think it’s cool. And of course, because we didnt buy you two sets of the same kind. That you don’t care and carry it off in style, makes you you!

14. Leave the house often, with something amiss in your diaper bag. Either your sippy cup/ your dinner/ your milk/ even diapers and wipes. That you patiently hang in that wet diaper without crying or don’t mind eating a late meal, makes you you!

15. Non-ambitiously thinking you’ll do us proud and make a good receptionist someday. That you still have a grin plastered on your face at all times and uninhibitedly yell out “Hiiiiii” to every stranger you meet, makes you you!

16. Hiring someone to do what we could never do – be full time parent/s. That you were ok with it, since you were 8 weeks old and now happily wave ‘goodbye’ to us, each morning, makes you you!

17. Getting you to believe you’re being brought up by a single mom, more often than not, when your dad travels the world on work. That you make it so easy for her and go to bed early, that she pines for you to stay awake just a little bit longer, makes you you!

18. Making you the object of Mommy’s culinary experimentation with baby food. That you make faces, even try to spit it out sometimes, but always empty the bowl at the end of the meal, makes you you!

19. Taking you everywhere we go – bars, restaurants, museums, clubs, dinner parties, brunches, swimming, football, strapped on our backs through 100 deg day hikes, cold strolls through snowstorms (when we’ve forgotten your weather-proof sheet) and all our social events. That you enjoy company too and go from one person to another with ease, makes you you!

For these and many more reasons; some too controversial, others too personal to say out loud, dear little Z, when people congratulate us for doing a good job as your parents, on your first year, we feel the need to tell them to wish you instead of us. Not just a very Happy First Birthday but ‘Congratulations’ and ‘You did it’ to you as well!

You did it Z! You made it through your first year with us as your parents! That makes you you!

We love you! Thank you for loving us right back!

Your keepers,
S & A

Some weeknights at the M(a)D House....

"Hi Oeeeeeee..." Eta screams as she opens the door to come in.
*Jump Jump - Wiggle Wiggle - Big Broad two-teethed smiles* in response.
After Da-da-da and Ta-ta-ta, she’s now graduated to “Eta-Eta-Eta”. Eta likes to think she’s calling out to her. She responds “Oe-Oe-Oe” and Oe smiles back!
Thus begin some weeknights at The MD's!

Mit sometimes watches them and wonders if he’s resigned to a life with two crazy-heads in the house. Perhaps it should be called “The MAD House” instead of “The MD House” he thinks, not knowing Eta and Oe can hear the voices in his head. No wonder then, while Eta is still thinking of doing it, Oe goes right ahead and does it – slap Mit on his face! I always knew she would do the things I only dream of doing, sometimes!

Eta and Oe then go back to their games. Sometimes they blast Adele or Lady Gaga on full volume and dance carelessly in the window, where everyone can see. Umm, they've perhaps never heard the phrase - to 'dance like no one's looking'? Later, they read out loud from everything they find around them – Oe’s storybooks, Eta’s design magazines and even the take-out menus lying around the house. Eta comes home each evening and Oe tells her how her day was spent. Whom she met in the park, how many times she farted that day and what she'd like to have for dinner that night. Eta then tells her how her day was spent – Whom she met at work, how many times she farted that day and what she'd like to have for dinner that night.
Then Eta and Oe sing. Sometimes Eta starts the song – very often it’s Oe’s favorite French poem, followed by a Hindi film song, followed by one of the top 40 tracks on radio that week, that’s been buzzing in Eta’s head. Sometimes Oe starts the song – very often it’s Eta’s favorite zibberish poem, followed by a Spanish ‘mamacita’ kinda number, followed by Eta chiming in with her own lyrics to a non-sensical tune. Together they think they sound sensational. Not sure if next-door Stanley agrees.
Oe dances all throughout this musical bonanza. Eta hopes she will stop at some point, so they can go a more mellow ghazal route perhaps? But Oe seems to find some notes to kick and wiggle on, even in the most somber of tunes. Oh Well, says Eta and springs right back up; "Let’s take a break and say Hello to Manhattan shall we?" Then begins ‘The Manhattan song’, while standing in the balcony – “Hi New York City, How are you?” Pat comes the reply “I am fine Oe, How are you?” “I am fine New York City. Where are you?” “I am here Oe, In front of you” ..and so on and so forth. Until New York City needs to go hang with other friends and Oe gives Eta this look that says "Really?"
OK Then. 'Alone' time beckons. Oe hangs in her crib doing her own thing. With Simba, Ellie, Sophie, Rattle and others. Eta goes about her business doing her post-work stuff. Until it's time for Oe’s dinner. Sometimes that is the last they see of each other in a day – Oe sleeps off during dinner and is gone for the night. Sometimes, she plays with her friends after dinner and holds really loud conversations with them, while Eta and Mit catch up over dinner and chit-chat. On a rare night or two, Oe chooses to stay up playing late in her crib, conversing with Casper, who comes to meet her, only after lights go out. Like some kinda lover boy. God knows what they discuss but it involves 'muah-muah' and 'smooch' sounds, between silly giggles and babbles. Eta makes a mental sleepy note in her head - 'Get them a room soon'. Some nights, Mit and Oe talk to each other, over a sleeping Eta in between. Between Mit's TV and laptop-key-badgering and Oe's midnight squeals, Eta has now mastered the art of sleeping with sound.

At some point, around midnight, the lights do go out and Mit, Eta & Oe are finally asleep. The House sighs in relief and perhaps unplugs its ears. Maybe it lies down and decides to rest too. Until next morning, when Tia arrives and Oe & Tia start their screaming madness all over again....

Z & I

Z & I do a cartwheel
And look at the world upside down
The mud is blue, the sky is brown
And there's a smile in every frown

Z & I go for a run
And the park is in full bloom
We chase a firefly; follow the moon
And stop to listen to a musician's tune

Z & I climb a tree
And hang on it like monkeys
The branch breaks; bitten by bees
We fall down and scrape our knees

Z & I go tandem biking
And we think we know it best
She goes east, I go west
And the bike sadly gets laid to rest

Z & I sit on a bench
And start thinking out aloud
A bird poops over us, screeching loud
And bursts our big thought cloud

Z & I hum a tune
And mess up the words all wrong
The verse is short, the chorus long
And for a toss, goes the song

Z & I start to paint
And the colors spill all over the page
Yellow turns red, Black goes beige
And the work of art is on our face

Z & I sit to write
And we print a funny scrawl
It starts up stocky, ends up tall
And makes absolutely, no sense at all

Z & I open up board games
And we decide to play Scrabble
We make words from our daily babble
And there's a new language on the table

Z & I start to jive
And our hands and feet go out of sync
I step on her, she goes all pink
Time to vamoose, we both think

Z & I decide to bake
And we hope it'll be a yummy cake
We mix everything we need to make
And end up instead, with a chocolate shake

Z & I curl up in bed
And are tired from all this goofing around
We snuggle, cuddle, hoping to sleep sound
With a thud, we wake up on the ground

Z & I laugh our heads off
And her big black eyes speak with glee
"There's no other way we'd rather be"
She said, with her arms around me!

How I met your Mother

We were not ready. As usual.

The due date was July 21st, 2011. As far as I am concerned, you were to arrive much after that date. Late and making everyone wait, as do I, more often than not.

I felt great; hardly exhausted, highly spirited, still exercising, socially fluttering and still busy working. The smooth 38 odd weeks had left me wondering, almost hoping for that tipping point, at which labor would start, proceed and culminate easily, into your birth. Fate and you of course, had it planned otherwise.

July 12th 2011 was a Tuesday. Some uneasiness and a strange pain showed up at work around 4 pm after a late lunch. Lunch was at The Pump Energy Food. In hindsight, I think all that high protein intake may have had something to do with you showing up the next day. I walked back to the PATH station from work, with a colleague, warning her I would be a slow strider today. The pain still lingered; sometimes in the background, sometimes more pronounced. Friends came over for dinner around 9 pm; an easy distraction that took my mind off what was going on within.

At 11:00 pm that night after everyone had left, I realised the pain had'nt. In fact it seemed to have made a more regular appearance; enough for me to think that this might just be happening sooner than I thought. We called the doctor, who clearly instructed us to time the contractions. If they appeared at regular 5 minute intervals, we were to head to the hospital. Hubster set up his timer and much to my annoyance seemed to take this on as another one of his work projects. I bet he could'nt control the urge to set up an excel sheet with the columns 'duration' & 'frequency' on it.

"Started?" he would ask every 5 minutes and "Finished?" soon after, exasperating the jeepers out of me. Turned out, we could've set the clock to each of my contractions, which appeared punctually, at every 5th minute. Throughout the hour, from 11:30 pm to 12:30 am, I was in denial. For starters, I had meetings the next day at work. We still didnt have a car seat yet (It had been ordered, but had'nt arrived). And of course the weekend had already been planned. There just did'nt seem to be a slot to fit in 'giving birth' just as yet.

Well anyhow, Hubster broke my chain of thought with his "So shall we?" I figured there was no point denying the midnight hospital visit. Would be a nice drive at the very least, I said to console myself; like a dry run of sorts - we would go to the hospital and be asked to leave on grounds of a false alarm. And we'd come back home and go to work as usual, the next day.

So Hubster went online and rented a zipcar, while I called the folks, asking them to get ready to leave. (Mom had strictly instructed that we were to call them over, if things got out of hand at night.)

With a semi-packed hospital bag and my pillow in tow, we set out towards the hospital. Once there, after the regular check-in process with the front desk, began the real checking-in process with the nurse. The terrifying dilation check. What I remember of that moment was screaming at the top of my lungs, possibly the loudest I have ever. Yes, even louder than any of my screams for the rest of the night. The conversation that started out with my "Yeah, I am having contractions, but think it may be a false alarm" ended with "Ms. Mudgal, in case you havent realised it yet, you are having the baby before you leave here". It's a good thing she left before I could respond; my big 'Gulp' would not have been music to her ears anyway.

Texted the hubster who was parking the car downstairs, "Come up soon. And extend the zipcar. We are not leaving here anytime soon." Mom & Pops came in and looked surprisingly indifferent when I informed them that you're on your way out soon. Almost as if they already knew. Hubster & I moved to the Labor room, where the long wait began. Based on our quick calculations, since I was already 3/4th in without even realising it, we figured you would be here in another couple of hours. "Maybe you can even go for your meeting soon, Shweyts" Hubster assured me, while secretly hoping he could certainly go for his. Yeah honey, get used to it; your parents are weird like that.

We set ourselves up in the labor room. The anesthesiologist appeared; a pretty young British girl who's accent took away any anxiety that I may have had. While she administered the epidural, I relayed to Hubster, the order in which to line up my favorite music cds, next to the cd player. (Of course the CD player didnt work and the Pandora app on my iphone saved the day, rather night for me.) Yes, I had pre-decided that whether you liked it or not, I was bringing you in to this world, with Sting singing in the background. So I played "Fields of Gold" on repeat, much to Hubster's annoyance, secretly hoping you'd arrive and we'd be done soon. I should have known, you already had a mind of your own and would'nt fancy any of my pre-orchestrated tactics. Not only did you not show any signs of moving down and out, but you gracefully decided it was time to 'look up' after having spent too much time 'looking down'.

The unthinkable was to happen - after spending the entire night, sleeping, then pushing, then resting, then pushing again, at 7 am the doctor suggested I start "thinking of a C-section". That moment, was the only low point of this beautiful 10 month journey so far. You have to believe me when I say, I heard two gentle thuds - that of Hubster's and my hearts, that fell in dismay, in sync at the sound of a 'C-Section'. As much as I had promised myself, I would be open to the idea, I must confess I was'nt. When the ride has been this smooth all along, it just didnt seem fair, that the end got suddenly bumpy. So I vehemently said No.

"I dont want a C-Section Doc. I ll push harder" I pleaded. The doc granted me another couple of hours, through which I pushed with everything I had in me. At 9:45 am, you were still busy saying good-bye to your companions of 38 weeks inside and showed no signs of having moved down even the slightest bit. Now the doc played the "the baby is at risk of an infection if we go any longer.." card; a card I had no counter for.

I looked at Hubster, who looked back at me. As our two pairs of miserable eyes locked, we both nodded on a consensus - "Yes, let's do it."

What happened after, seems like a fast-forward of sorts. Suddenly, in a medical drama-esque sort of way, there appeared an army of multi-colored scrubs-clad men and women, who quickly transported me from the Labor room to the C-section room. As if to make the blow any softer, the C-Section room looked out at the East river versus the Labor room which only overlooked the office buildings on the next block. Thank heavens for the view, I said to myself, not knowing how long this was going to take.

Hubster was given a pair of scrubs too, as he sat wearing them on my side, feeling all important & doctor-like. More paperwork was in store - that informed me that I was going to be knocked out numb, waist down. My view up from the operating table comprised of several new faces and voices, all hovering about me. I was the frog on a dissection table. While I tried to stare outside the window, looking at the river that flowed nonchalantly, I sensed myself drowning into the anesthesia. In a matter of a few minutes, someone appeared on my right side, thrusting a pinkish white blob into my face. "It's a girl. Congratulations." the nurse said. "Uhh ok" I responded. In my drunken, stupefied state I guessed this white-pink blob with a porcupine-like mop of black hair must be you. "Uhh would you like to kiss her?" the nurse suggested, probably not liking my indifferent drugged reaction. "Oh of course....kiss kiss" I planted two on your forehead. The pink blob got smaller and smaller as she walked away with you. "Wow, that's her? Quite a stunner, dont you think?" I asked Hubster in my inebriated stupidity, slowly realising through my fuzzy, hazy state of mind that the job had been done and pretty darn nicely too. By hook or by crook, you were out. And about.

I felt turned inside-out; my body felt a void, my soul seemed hollow. My head was woozy, my lower abdomen was a skilled sartorial job. My eyes welled up, as they had done a few months ago, when I was told you were going to be a girl. Only this time, I didnt laugh out loud and fist punch the air with a triumphant "Yess". Instead a soft tear rolled down my cheek as I thought of the pink spiky blob that I had just kissed. And there, among the multi-colored scrubs-clad blurry specks in the background, as I held Hubster's hand and stared out at the golden East river horizon, Sting sang 'Fields of Gold' in my head.

And thus, on July 13th 2011, around 10:17 am is How I met your Mother.