9 months in your mother's womb. I wonder how was the experience. Closed room... arteries, veins and nerves everywhere, total darkness, nothing to do. If you think that this is eerie, unnerving and torturous, wait till I tell you about the time I spent at your aajoba's place at Mahim after your birth.
'Maherpan' is a very cliche tradition in hindu culture. Daughters shifting to their parents' house for delivery and returning only 3 months after delivery is an age-old concept. Fortunately, since our IVF clinic was at Borivali and the maternity home they had recommended was at Dahisar, shifting to Mahim for delivery was out of question. Your Mah-aaji and aajoba came to stay with us one day prior to your birth. They had been very supportive and helpful during our previous illnesses and this time was no different. Your Mahaaji's cooking and aajoba's tidiness helped us cruise through the initial few days of your birth.
And then started the dreaded discussion of 'Maherpan', the 3 months of you and your mother staying at Mahim. One thought was both of you shifting there during April to June, when I would have been too busy with my lectures. But then I wanted to see you every day when I returned home and staying at Mahim during my busy schedule would have been difficult. So it was decided that the shifting happens immediately and the return to Dahisar in April before my classes started. Some debates and discussions later, 19th Jan was finalized.
I never had an extended stay at Mahim, and without you around, I don't think it would have been possible. It is a spacious house. Separate room for us. No traffic during travel. Mahaaji cooks wonderful food. Everything was fine, but........ Dilip Jaywant Kelekar.
Lets get one thing straight. He was never the problem. The problem was that we were poles apart. A doctor by profession, a disciplinarian by compulsion, a cleanliness freak by obsession, always confusion in making decision, unnecessary aggression, sometimes causing depression, led more by emotion, more discussion and less solution (a typical kelekar trend), your aajoba and me staying together was going to be nothing but a head-on collision.
My habits were more Vengsarkar-like. Having a bath whenever i wanted to, not washing hands immediately after eating, eating on the bed instead of the dining table, keeping half-filled bottles in the fridge, clothes on chair, not keeping shoes in the rack. I was getting on his nerves. Being a जावई , he avoided direct confrontation with me. 'तोंड दाबून बुक्क्यांचा मार' was his state of mind and his frustrations were let out on his wife and your mother. Indirectly, i was getting the message and the air was filled with tension.
But then ur dadda is one कोडगा person. I did not change, will never change. I stayed there with aplomb, with my habits intact. Your Mahaaji is one cool lady. She doesn't care much, except a टोमणा or 2 everyday. She was more worried about me discovering expired things in her fridge.Your mother was trying to do a balancing act between her father and husband, but you kept her quite busy and she found her relaxation on the rocking chair.
You were in a completely different world. U enjoyed Usha mavshi's oil massage and bath, used to sleep for hours after that. (I hope u meet her once and listen to her "Sonu, Sonu"). Mahaaji' tel-maalish at night was an entertaining ritual before sleep. Giving you 3 medicines A-Z, liv52 and D3rich400 was a never a tough job, u loved them. Priya mavshi used to drop nearly every day and carry you, until her shoulder and neck gave way. Sunita and Sharmila mavshis were the maids at that time. Sharmila's complete disinterest in you caused quite some heated discussions. Aai's friends came to meet u, so did Manomay and Asmita Wagle. Shaila aaji, Mangal aaji dropped by. Loud-voiced Kamat kaki peeked through the door every day. Ur first month birthday forced Aaba and Dah-aaji to come all the way to Mahim.
Vagdevi was a tough time for your dadda, but i dont think me, aai, mahaaji and especially aajoba will ever forget even a single moment of that time. The walls of Vagdevi are filled with the sounds of your crying, the sights of your smile, the scent of your baby-powder, the taste of your lactogen and its dahi. Every nook and corner has felt your touch and still yearning for it. Your every sense has been lovingly stored in every brick of Vagdevi.
Today when you are reading this, Vagdevi wouldn't be standing anymore, most probably redeveloped. But over the years, there will be your childhood memories attached to that place. You will remember some of them, will forget many. But do one thing. Mahaaji must be quite old now. Go to her. Ask her to put some oil in your hair and sing 'aakko maakko tel makko' or 'Bhaiya dheere dheere chale'.
And just wait. Close your eyes. From the other corner of the room, an old fellow in white clothes will say
"शाणू गुणु तो ".
'Maherpan' is a very cliche tradition in hindu culture. Daughters shifting to their parents' house for delivery and returning only 3 months after delivery is an age-old concept. Fortunately, since our IVF clinic was at Borivali and the maternity home they had recommended was at Dahisar, shifting to Mahim for delivery was out of question. Your Mah-aaji and aajoba came to stay with us one day prior to your birth. They had been very supportive and helpful during our previous illnesses and this time was no different. Your Mahaaji's cooking and aajoba's tidiness helped us cruise through the initial few days of your birth.
And then started the dreaded discussion of 'Maherpan', the 3 months of you and your mother staying at Mahim. One thought was both of you shifting there during April to June, when I would have been too busy with my lectures. But then I wanted to see you every day when I returned home and staying at Mahim during my busy schedule would have been difficult. So it was decided that the shifting happens immediately and the return to Dahisar in April before my classes started. Some debates and discussions later, 19th Jan was finalized.
I never had an extended stay at Mahim, and without you around, I don't think it would have been possible. It is a spacious house. Separate room for us. No traffic during travel. Mahaaji cooks wonderful food. Everything was fine, but........ Dilip Jaywant Kelekar.
Lets get one thing straight. He was never the problem. The problem was that we were poles apart. A doctor by profession, a disciplinarian by compulsion, a cleanliness freak by obsession, always confusion in making decision, unnecessary aggression, sometimes causing depression, led more by emotion, more discussion and less solution (a typical kelekar trend), your aajoba and me staying together was going to be nothing but a head-on collision.
My habits were more Vengsarkar-like. Having a bath whenever i wanted to, not washing hands immediately after eating, eating on the bed instead of the dining table, keeping half-filled bottles in the fridge, clothes on chair, not keeping shoes in the rack. I was getting on his nerves. Being a जावई , he avoided direct confrontation with me. 'तोंड दाबून बुक्क्यांचा मार' was his state of mind and his frustrations were let out on his wife and your mother. Indirectly, i was getting the message and the air was filled with tension.
But then ur dadda is one कोडगा person. I did not change, will never change. I stayed there with aplomb, with my habits intact. Your Mahaaji is one cool lady. She doesn't care much, except a टोमणा or 2 everyday. She was more worried about me discovering expired things in her fridge.Your mother was trying to do a balancing act between her father and husband, but you kept her quite busy and she found her relaxation on the rocking chair.
You were in a completely different world. U enjoyed Usha mavshi's oil massage and bath, used to sleep for hours after that. (I hope u meet her once and listen to her "Sonu, Sonu"). Mahaaji' tel-maalish at night was an entertaining ritual before sleep. Giving you 3 medicines A-Z, liv52 and D3rich400 was a never a tough job, u loved them. Priya mavshi used to drop nearly every day and carry you, until her shoulder and neck gave way. Sunita and Sharmila mavshis were the maids at that time. Sharmila's complete disinterest in you caused quite some heated discussions. Aai's friends came to meet u, so did Manomay and Asmita Wagle. Shaila aaji, Mangal aaji dropped by. Loud-voiced Kamat kaki peeked through the door every day. Ur first month birthday forced Aaba and Dah-aaji to come all the way to Mahim.
Vagdevi was a tough time for your dadda, but i dont think me, aai, mahaaji and especially aajoba will ever forget even a single moment of that time. The walls of Vagdevi are filled with the sounds of your crying, the sights of your smile, the scent of your baby-powder, the taste of your lactogen and its dahi. Every nook and corner has felt your touch and still yearning for it. Your every sense has been lovingly stored in every brick of Vagdevi.
Today when you are reading this, Vagdevi wouldn't be standing anymore, most probably redeveloped. But over the years, there will be your childhood memories attached to that place. You will remember some of them, will forget many. But do one thing. Mahaaji must be quite old now. Go to her. Ask her to put some oil in your hair and sing 'aakko maakko tel makko' or 'Bhaiya dheere dheere chale'.
And just wait. Close your eyes. From the other corner of the room, an old fellow in white clothes will say
"शाणू गुणु तो ".
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