There has been a steady stream of visitors this week - my friend Bhavana, her mother and daughter, my friend Lavanya and her mother, my cousin with his wife, my parents-in-law and our family friend Mayya Mama and Shashikala Auntie. The naming ceremony is on 9th but we haven't finalized a name yet. I've always thought of Aditi as my daughter's name but both my husband and son are not for it - flimsy reasons both - and I can't think of any other.
The baby has not taken kindly to the bath. She howls the moment oil falls on her body and of course not very keen on water either. There are two more girls of the same age group in our building and it's very confusing when one of them cries.
My bath of course is a much more elaborate process. I shamelessly get an oil massage from my mom, she gives me a bath too and the water is piping hot - the rule being that I should be sweating profusely as I come out of the bathroom. My mother silences my objections with a warning that my face would otherwise bloat up. God knows how that is, but I can't take such risks at this age so I just hold my breath as the water almost burns my skin. Anyway, that's not the last of the ordeals. Next I have to hurriedly tie a saree around my waist. This is the stomach belt that gives me support as well as helping me in shrinking my tummy. Next is the worst part. There is a concoction given to mothers in our parts. It is called 'kattaNe' in our language and consists of water boiled along with coriander,cumin, black pepper, dry ginger, nutmeg, clove, dry turmeric and jaggery. The mixture is fiery and I can't help wincing as each short gulp goes down my throat. This makes me sweat some more and with burning tongue and throat I slip under two sheets feeling drowsy and praying that the kid doesn't wake up for at least half an hour more. Of course it's not that I have to put her to sleep or anything; my mother will be right there to do that thankfully.
The name is decided by my son finally. It is Ananya. My mother is not happy but he puts his foot down. There is also a row on how the naming ceremony should be performed. My mother-in-law says ideally there should be four ladies for four sides of the cradle which reminds us that there is no cradle at all. My father parcels my son's through a night bus the next day. The question of ladies remains, though. We don't have the guts to suggest it to my husband who has already established that he does not like elaborate ceremonies. We do venture to suggest the neighborhood ladies as the solution with expected results. After some heated arguments, coaxing and cajoling, we have a workaround - my sister, mother, mother-in-law and myself are the four ladies for the cradle, the priest from the nearby temple will perform the naming and the neighborhood will have to be content with sweets. My parents-in-law go and bring the priest along. My son for some reason is very excited at the sight of the priest; he insists that all the people in the house go and greet him which of course I refuse to do.
The baby and I wear new outfits for the ceremony; the baby being thin, the dress hangs on her body like a bag and my saree being starched cotton, stands out like an umbrella. The priest is in a hurry - at least my husband believes so - and so the naming ceremony gets over quite quickly. The reluctant pair - my husband and son - go out and distribute sweets around. We can anticipate more visitors in the coming days....
The baby has not taken kindly to the bath. She howls the moment oil falls on her body and of course not very keen on water either. There are two more girls of the same age group in our building and it's very confusing when one of them cries.
My bath of course is a much more elaborate process. I shamelessly get an oil massage from my mom, she gives me a bath too and the water is piping hot - the rule being that I should be sweating profusely as I come out of the bathroom. My mother silences my objections with a warning that my face would otherwise bloat up. God knows how that is, but I can't take such risks at this age so I just hold my breath as the water almost burns my skin. Anyway, that's not the last of the ordeals. Next I have to hurriedly tie a saree around my waist. This is the stomach belt that gives me support as well as helping me in shrinking my tummy. Next is the worst part. There is a concoction given to mothers in our parts. It is called 'kattaNe' in our language and consists of water boiled along with coriander,cumin, black pepper, dry ginger, nutmeg, clove, dry turmeric and jaggery. The mixture is fiery and I can't help wincing as each short gulp goes down my throat. This makes me sweat some more and with burning tongue and throat I slip under two sheets feeling drowsy and praying that the kid doesn't wake up for at least half an hour more. Of course it's not that I have to put her to sleep or anything; my mother will be right there to do that thankfully.
The name is decided by my son finally. It is Ananya. My mother is not happy but he puts his foot down. There is also a row on how the naming ceremony should be performed. My mother-in-law says ideally there should be four ladies for four sides of the cradle which reminds us that there is no cradle at all. My father parcels my son's through a night bus the next day. The question of ladies remains, though. We don't have the guts to suggest it to my husband who has already established that he does not like elaborate ceremonies. We do venture to suggest the neighborhood ladies as the solution with expected results. After some heated arguments, coaxing and cajoling, we have a workaround - my sister, mother, mother-in-law and myself are the four ladies for the cradle, the priest from the nearby temple will perform the naming and the neighborhood will have to be content with sweets. My parents-in-law go and bring the priest along. My son for some reason is very excited at the sight of the priest; he insists that all the people in the house go and greet him which of course I refuse to do.
The baby and I wear new outfits for the ceremony; the baby being thin, the dress hangs on her body like a bag and my saree being starched cotton, stands out like an umbrella. The priest is in a hurry - at least my husband believes so - and so the naming ceremony gets over quite quickly. The reluctant pair - my husband and son - go out and distribute sweets around. We can anticipate more visitors in the coming days....
No comments:
Post a Comment