Memoir 2

Today is my daughter Jigeesha’s birthday. It is a Saturday, just like it was the day she was born. She has completed 11 years of her existence in our lives and I look forward to many more years like this. Not surprisingly, memories of the moment and circumstances of her birth come flooding back, and perhaps induce a few tears of happiness as well. They do say that mothers tend to forget the pain and remember only the joy of giving birth. One doesn’t forget the pain, time just blurs its intensity…

The pain was, to say the least, benumbing. The sea green walls of the nursing home cabin looked gloomier than they should have. Suddenly I was afraid. I had waited 37 weeks for this moment. Finally I would get to see my baby. I had been feeling her presence all these months but I did not yet know what she would look like. The curiosity was strong as was the tendency to worry. The matron came in with a reassuring and efficient smile. A little while longer now… It was almost 24 hours since the pain had begun, first feebly and now insistent… I kept telling her I would like to visit the washroom, and she kept discouraging me from going anywhere now, other than the labour room.

My gynecologist came in, calm and cheerful. He patted my head gently.

“Would you like to listen to some music?” he asked.

So where’s the party? I thought.

No point arguing with the man. In his able hands lay the fates of my baby and me. “Anything you say”, I murmured politely.

At least, now that he was here I need not worry.

“Dolly, listen to me carefully. This is something that you are going to do yourself. I am only here to help. Curb the desire to scream. Concentrate.”

Whose job is it? Mine. Whose baby is it? Mine. I had to stop the pain from getting the better of me. The clock up there on the wall opposite me showed 20 minutes past 5. Was it morning or night? Was it today or yesterday? The music was playing somewhere, the singer’s voice familiar. Not a voice I particularly liked.

“Dolly, you are doing very well. Just a bit more and we will have the baby here soon.”… the voice of my doctor cheerful, reassuring. Everything would surely be fine.

The clock said 5.56 a.m. as I felt the pain leave my body with a rush.

I heard my doctor’s voice, “You have a beautiful daughter”.

I began sobbing at the sight of the white naked body of my baby, held upside down by my doctor. A little clucking sound, hesitant… that was the first cry.

My baby lay in a tray a little apart from where I lay. I turned my head to look. Voices spoke. There were miscellaneous noises. The little hands moved, a small foot weakly thrust itself out. I tingled with exhaustion and excitement. The pediatrician brought my little girl to me, lay her on my bosom. The tiny face so close to my cheek, a little puffed-up pink face, eyes shut, the tiny, soft, vulnerable body swathed in cotton; the phrase ‘bundle of joy’ justified.

My body no longer seemed to exist. It had become weightless, the fears and uncertainties of the past few months melted. The nurse came up and took her away. My heart went with her and I floated away into dreamless sleep…

That was the day. February 13, 1999. Today 11 years later, my body still tingles with all the confused feelings of that initial moment. Motherhood - complete and complex; composed of myriad emotions. I often experience these moments when I look at Jigeesha with something of wonder. I feel the satisfaction of the artist, who started off with a notion and ended with a creation whose nuances only he understands best.