Tail of two cities

While watching Avatar (which I will refrain from ranting about) I thought it would be pretty cool to have a tail. And I got my wish.

My tail is short, three years old and has a mop of curly hair.

It’s my niece La.

The first evening I met her, I asked her if she wanted to colour and from then on, we were set, thereby proving that the way to a little girl’s heart is through her crayons.

Helps if you’re mentally aged four and love to colour too, except you’re too embarrassed to do it yourself as a grown-up.

Colouring with my niece is interesting because she is obsessed with green. She’ll watch me pick different shades and even advise me on what to put where but will only pick shades of green herself. It’s a big vote in your favour if she hands you the green. I’m kind of kicked that I got passed the green crayon whenever I wanted it.

The second evening when I came home from work La was strangely coy. My sister-in-law then told me that while giving her a bath, she had been saying that she didn’t want me to come home. Sil was mystified until she spotted my soap broken on the floor. So she asked La if she was scared I would shout at her and she meekly said yes. Then unfortunately later she knocked over a piggy bank in my showcase and it broke. Actually, it was already broken but everyone told her I would be angry. So she was scared.

Anyway, I asked her if she wanted to colour and that was that.

She’s been my tail ever since. She wants to sleep with me, go to the loo with me and even bathe with me. If I change my clothes she wants to change too. If I go to pee, she wants to pee too.

I’ve always wondered how I would cope with cleaning up poo and pee when I have a child. Now I know. You are faced with the child and her crappy underwear and you just do it. Helps that kids are completely matter of fact and unselfconscious about this stuff.

It’s funny to have a pint-sized fan but for someone who claims not to like kids, I tend to attract them like the Pied Piper. Maybe it’s because I don’t patronize them. I can fall into pretend games and fantasy very easily. I don’t care for practiced kisses and greetings but I generally get them spontaneously after a while anyway.

The way I deal with La and my in-laws shows up the difference between us. The Ills are keen on La giving the correct answers to their questions and colouring or doing puzzles the right way. I’m ok with girls that have green hair, puzzles that look like a blob and explanations that aren’t entirely logical. I think it displays imagination and creativity.

For example, everyone was most concerned that La wouldn’t colour in the lines. Finally, I just snapped and told them to leave her alone. It was pointed out to me that she needed to learn how to do it properly sometime. Which is true. But she’s only three. In some countries, kids aren’t even allowed to hold a crayon till 5. There’s time enough for her to learn the rules. As long as she’s not being a pest, how does it matter where her imagination takes her?

La’s affection for me has also raised my worth in the parent-in-law’s opinion. Their grandchild is their pride and joy and if she’s given me the vote of confidence, there must be something to me.

I still wonder though if I can sustain this for the 12 years or so in which children are most dependent on their own parents. It’s one thing being the fun aunt. But being a parent? That’s a whole different ballgame.

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The damage this Christmas

Debit

1. Three pairs of Nine West shoes: 1 black (for work so legitimate purchase though this morning discovered I bought them half a size too big. I seem incapable of remembering or gauging my own shoe size even after trying shoes on), 1 brown with crocodile skin print (very tall and totally unnecessary and indulgent but hey, I’m a girl), 1 pink suede tassled sandals (not strictly necessary but I don’t have any pink shoes)
2. 1 pair of skinny black cords (can replace unflattering flaired current black cords which I have mysteriously persisted in wearing today), 8 long sleeve tees in plain colours, 1 purple stretchy long sleeved tee, 2 striped long sleeved tees, 2 velour tracks. (Could be counted as Christmas present to Bossini from where they all came)
3. 1 pair of green Nine West shoes as Chrissie present for Sil2 (now need to scope out prezzies for Sil1 and Mil. Have decided boys don’t deserve prezzies.)
4. 1 Wii for husband
5. 1 My Little Pony, 1 magnetic dress changer toy, 1 crayola crayons, 1 bottle bubbles solution for niece

Pending debits:
1. Sweaters. Lots of them.
2. Heater. (This could go into Credit column when office finally, if ever, reimburses me).
3. ooh and stripey coloured gloves.

Credit

1. 1 iphone from husband. I am now wondering how I lived all these years without it. Best prezzie ever since Barbie accessories binge aged 11.
2. Two awesome dresses from Sil1. She never ceases to amaze me with her ability to correctly gauge the size of people she has not seen in a year. Even with shoes and jeans! I guess all that shopping she does comes in handy.
3. Beautiful shawl from Kashmir from Sil2.
4. India reading list: My Friend Sancho by Amit Verma (already finished), Almost Single by Advaita Kala (in progress), You are Here by Meenakshi Madhavan Reddy (was very tempted to borrow this from friend but then felt I should support fellow blogger even if she seems to be doing quite well for herself), Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel (not strictly India but book came from India)
5. Silver chain, pendant and earings with diamonds from Mil. This is great progress because Mil is a Malyalee but restrained herself from buying gold. Baby steps.
6. Three boxes of Lindor chocolate from friend. Technically, one box was for niece but hey, she only likes the white ones. Love it when friends get you exactly the chocolate you’re going to be craving the whole week.
7. 1 orchid plant from Mil and Dil. Quite funny that they went shopping in HK and bought kilos of fertiliser to take back. Oh well, different strokes.

The Worst News*

*otherwise known as the HK Doctor Saga Part Deux
**otherwise known as I guess I should eat more veggies

Though I don’t know whether eating veggies would ungrow the cyst on my right ovary.

Because that is what I have.

A cyst. That is growing. Or maybe it isn’t.

It is 6 cm.

It could be harmless. It could be cancer. It could burst. It could grow larger. It could cause my entire ovary to be lopped off. It could be solved with a surgery.

Etc.

The key point here is uncertainty. I do not know.

Why?

That’s where the HK doctor part comes in.

So having experienced some premenstrual bleeding (and this could be totally normal, in the way that excruciating pain during a period is normal because being a girl sucks), I decided it was time to see a gynac.

Having shoved some cold steel thing and then ultrasound up my privates, doctor informs me, almost casually, that I have a cyst (3 cm) on my right ovary and a small one (1 cm) on my left. Nothing more, nothing less.

At this point, had I been the kind of person who did not equate cysts with cancer, I would’ve stood up, said thank you and been on my way. However, since I am not that person, I asked a couple of questions – what do I do, what does this mean, can I get pregnant (who would’ve though I’d ever be asking that question).

All of which were answered somewhat monosyllabically, and finally I was told that these often disappear on their own but to come back next month if the bleeding continued. If not, come back in three months.

The gynac visit scared my ovaries into submission and no bleeding ensued. Except this month, a teeny bit. So I went back, three months later.

Again, quite casually, I was told the cyst had grown larger (6 cm) and I would need surgery. This time, I had to ask about cancer and was told that it probably wasn’t but they need to check etc. Typically, the doctor wasn’t forthcoming and I couldn’t think of anything else.

Oh, and I’d have to take two weeks off for the surgery.

Mainly what I thought was oh shit, I won’t be able to go to India in Feb because that’s the best time to do the surgery. And this was what traumatized me as much as the idea of infertility and/or cancer.

Finally, I decided to get a second opinion. So I made an appointment with another doctor, the next week and trundled down.

This doctor was the opposite of the other doctor. She chatted with me so much that she ended up writing down my entire biodata. I thought it was a little weird. Like, it’s nice to know me as a human being and all, but the exact dates of where I worked and where are not necessarily relevant no?

However, she was ancient and eccentric and the first doctor who managed to be gentle down there.

She then sent me for an ultrasound. And guess what? The cyst is only 3 cm.

So: a) the first doctor was lying (but I how could the pics lie?)
b) the second doctor didn’t get a good look. Actually, she didn’t get a look at all. The ultrasound was done downstairs in another clinic and that technician just sent me up with the measurements scribbled on a piece of paper. Also this was a pelvic ultrasound and not a vaginal.
c) the cyst burst serendipitiously.

So, the second doc (who didn’t know that I had done an ultrasound already) sent me on my merry way, telling me I had nothing to worry about and should have a baby pronto.

I would love to believe her. I would love to tear up the notes as she did and go to India happily and forget about all this ovary-nonsense.

However, there’s the small matter of the ultrasound of a week ago with a sizeable growing cyst. So what am I to do? Go to another doc and play best of three?

Apparently yes. (Thank God for insurance.)

So on week three, I made an appointment with a third doc. Since the past two had been women, I decided to mix things up and go with a male doctor. Yes, I going to volunteer to let a strange man stare up my skirt and more.

Anyway, third doc seemed both all there (ie- not mental like second doc) and willing to listen (unlike first doc). So I ended up coming clean and telling him about the other two docs.

He was patient and gentle, despite a propensity to address me as love a la English country gentleman (though he is Chinese). He also fully explains what he thinks I have, which is endometriosis. (My mum today informed me that Katrina Kaif has it) This can only be confirmed with a laproscopy (ie- surgery gah!) but the symptoms seem ot fit. Apparently, excrutiating period pains are not normal and should be taken seriously. The cyst is probably a result of this, though again can only be confirmed with a laproscopy. Since the doc happened to be doing a presentation on this very subject the next day, he actually showed me a presentation on it, including a video of a surgery. If I was squeamish about blood, I would’ve fainted.

So surgery is his recommendation.

Which brings me back to my initial trauma. How am I going to fit it into my plans of going to India in Feb?

I am now leaning towards another option. Drastically changing my diet, exercising and losing weight and reducing stress. It seems that these factors influence the formation of cysts because they lead to an estrogen boost in the body. Chinese Medicine also has a treatment for endometriosis and I might try that. This is something most doctors don’t tell you. But it’s all over the internet, in addition to the fact that you can have surgery but the cysts could come back.

Of course, I run the risk of the cyst bursting, the endometriosis taking over my uterus and causing infertility and god knows what else. So I need to consider things carefully.

I’m also going to get a fourth opinion from a doctor who is a relative. Ask her some more questions etc.

It’s a little up in the air right now but one thing is clear – it sucks being a girl.

PS: This is written for the edification of all your girls who haven’t had a gynac check-up yet. Better to know things sooner so that they don’t screw up your vacations (and erm life) inconveniently.

All I want for Christmas

1. Black waterproof half-trench with zebra lining I saw in CB (HK$500)
2. Pair of black pumps that I can wear to work with different coloured tights.
3. Different coloured tights. Have black, purple and gray. Need maybe navy, green and red?
4. Ankle boots.
5. Planner.
6. Calender (I am really not used to buying these items)
7. Slanket
8. Stripey coloured gloves
9. Apple Macbook
10. Foundation and moisturizer combined/skin coloured moisturiser
11. Eyebrow threading lady
12. Heater for my icebox office
13. Something cooler (that is, more fashionable) than a thermos in to fill water in at the office.
14. Pack of slim cigarette and ability to smoke them w/o husband tantruming
15. Not to be asked when I am going to have a baby
16. Zoya. Or failing her, a Labrador retriever. Grown up one will do.
17. Bombay
18. End to poverty, climate change and world peace.
19. A cook
20. Ability to withstand onslaught of in-laws.
21. My first designer handbag. I’m over Furla so I’m thinking Chloe (Paddington?) or Prada.
22. Skinny jeans and ability to fit into them.

Not the end

Growing up is not fun

Chandni had this post about how sometimes she just wants to curl up and be a little girl. I concur.

Growing up is not fun. And somehow when you’re married, the plunge into adulthood seems to happen rather abruptly. In some tribal societies, young adults (or adolescents?) have to go through a rite of passage (like walking through fire, hunting alone or being circumcised ew!) to prove that they have come of age. In ours, marriage seems to be the big marker. I say this because before I was married, people still treated me somewhat as a kid and did stuff for me. After the big day, you find yourself on your own, miraculously expected to have grown up or maybe someone else’s responsibility.

This does not apply to parents. I am still a little girl to my parents. (My mom still gives me instructions on eating veggies, taking medicine and going to church over MSN.) But I now live in a different country. Though I suspect that even if I lived in the same city, I’d be expected to fend for myself more once married. Hmph!

So what does this new adulthood mean?

1. It means that when you’re ill you have to get up and make a bowl of soup or get a hot water bottle for yourself. Husbands may do this but they cannot be relied upon. With parents, there would be no question.
2. I have to forage for food on my own.
3. I have to handle my own financial stuff. (I am still kind of delegating and/or ignoring this part though)
4. Birthday and Christmas presents are no longer forthcoming from extended family. Suddenly one is deemed to have grown up. Or maybe they feel that if they give me a gift they’ll have to buy one for V too and that would be too many gifts so they don’t bother. But honestly, it’s ok to only give girls a gift. We’re easier to shop for and boys don’t deserve them (or appreciate them) as much as we do.
5. One is expected to send out one’s own Christmas greetings. Like till last year, you were part of your parent’s family so your name could go on their cards. Now, not so much.
6. If something in your house collapses it is entirely your problem.

On the flip side:
1. One can not eat ANY veggies for three meals straight.
2. One can step out of one’s underwear and leave it lying there on the floor for oh, two days until it begins to annoy self. Unless one’s husband is V. Then one gets shouted at.
3. One can open one’s eyes in the morning, reach out for book and start reading as if intervening sleep never happened. Again, if V is one’s husband this is not happening unless he is distracted by video games.

Basically, one will notice that V has sort of replaced my parents in the nagging stakes. He’s pretty good in the food and finance departments also. But not as reliable as the parents.

I suspect I’ve got a raw deal. I want my mommy!

Remembering Dilip Chitre

To arrange words
In some order
Is not the same thing
As the inner poise
That’s poetry.

The truth of poetry
Is the truth
Of being.
It’s an experience
Of truth.

No ornaments
Survive
A crucible.
Fire reveals
Only molten
Gold.

Says Tuka
We are here
To reveal.
We do not waste
Words.

First Christmas

This will be my first Christmas in Hong Kong. It’s also the first year we will be decorating our house.
Every year we go to India for Christmas so there’s really no need to do the decorations at home in Hong Kong. In fact I’ve realised how much decorating the house for Christmas is a kids thing.

My parents wait until I arrive to do the decorations which means they’re only up on Christmas Eve sometimes. Surprising because being a klutz I was never that involved in hanging up anything. I only had a say somewhat where it went.

The Christmas tree was my own domain though. I used to spend hours in front of the tree telling myself stories about the ornaments and rearranging them several tines in the season. So it was natural that the tree in my parents’ home would wait for me.

But as an adult I saw it as a bit of a chore. In fact this year I probably wouldn’t have bothered with decorations if my niece wasn’t coming. I felt that she deserves a proper Christmas.

V wanted to get a small wrought iron tree but I insisted we needed to get a green one for her. Don’t know if she’ll care in the end but most kids I know are fascinated by the tree. And then V wanted a wreath and we ended up getting tinsel and then it was like might as well go the whole hog.

The experience has reinforced in me that arranging home stuff is one of the many things I’m not good at. Chandni had written this post some time ago about how one imagines one’s home will be and the reality when it happens. I realized when I had my own home that while I know what I like and what I don’t, I don’t know how to make it happen. I realized the perfect home décor doesn’t come naturally to having good taste and the space.

Money would help because the things I really want are expensive and if I can’t go the whole hog I don’t want to do it at all. But there are people who can do this without a lot of money. Even with money home decor is a special talent.

My sister-in-law has a home that looks like something out of a magazine and she’s a great host, providing all those little touches. I can’t do that. I’m too careless. But it’s annoying to realize that V is better at me than arranging things. Or maybe he’s just more confident. Or I’m too much of a perfectionist to attempt something if I’m not sure it will turn out like I want it without too much effort. So I’m lazy and a perfectionist. Killer combination.

Ironically, the day I wrote this, I noticed my boss mincing around the Christmas tree in our lobby with two baubles in hand. She felt the tree looked bare but confessed she hated doing decorations because she never knew where to put things. I laughed. I realized I’m not abnormal after all.

Thoughts on Telangana*

And these are really just thoughts and mostly questions. They may change.

1. Whenever cities are renamed, states chopped up etc, my first reaction is “what a waste of time and money”. But that’s only my first reaction.
2. In the case of Telangana, the method (fast-unto-death) which seems to have done the trick and the logic of the Centre capitulating based on that boggle the mind.
a) Very logically, if someone says I’m going to fast till I die, why not just let them?
b) Of course, there will be riots if the person dies. But is that to say that the expected rioters cannot be moved to riot before the guy’s death. Why don’t they skip the guy fasting part and just get to the rioting. Ok, I just got it –because he is fasting in lieu of the rioting. So his fast could be construed as a riot in itself.
c)Can we really condemn KCR given that the nation won its freedom from the British on similar such fasts and acts of civil disobedience, mentored by Gandhi?
d) How come KCR get what he wants if he stops eating and Sharmila doesn’t? Is it because she’s in the North East and noone cares? Is it because it’s easier to force feed a woman? And if the Centre caved because it wants to avoid sending in the paramilitary/military forces in case of riots, how come they’re ok with those forces continuing in Manipur? Is it because she doesn’t have enough support and so her fast/riot is not taken seriously?
3. Does the Indian constitution give the Centre have the right to force feed people? Is there some clause that says that if this person’s death will endanger public safety then he must be kept alive at any cost? I don’t think KCR was that serious about dying (I could be wrong) but in Sharmila’s case, could she have gone to the Supreme Court to back her right to fast unto death? If the Indian state force feeds political activists then what about yogis who fast for religious reasons etc? Shouldn’t we be hunting them down in the Himalayas?
4. It was pointed out that after Jharkhand, Uttarakhand and Chhattisgarh were separated, they are doing much better than their parent states. So there seems to be some logic in favour of smaller states.
5. Much of the anti-state-chopping sentiment seems to come from people like you and me (ie – urban, educated, fairly well off, access to Internet kind of people) who this development may not affect in a drastic way anyway. We are not really the common man, as we and the press would like to make us out to be. We are an elite. What does the real common man think? Almost impossible to know.
6. One might say that the TRS was beaten in the last election and that’s the mandate of the people. But really, don’t we only accept elections as the mandate of the people when it’s convenient to us? The actual political process seems to be more about who has a greater gunda force and who has the most bribes to hand around. So can elections really be accepted as the mandate of the people. It could be that if people really hated a party they wouldn’t take their bribes – but at what cost? And does that happen?
7. It’s also impossible to make any sense of newspaper reports, especially if you’ve not been following the controversy for some time.
8. Finally, why must these announcements be made at midnight. Why not wait till morning so it doesn’t seem like people just got tired of deliberating and gave in?

The Best News

The one thing that I’ve been dying to shout from the rooftops about for well over six months is…

No, I’m not pregnant.

But

My sister is.

Remember this raison d’etre post. Well, what I didn’t add in there was one of my life goals is to be an aunt. Well, I’m already an aunt. But aunt to my sister’s baby (preferably a girl). Yeah, that specific. Because my sister has wanted a baby in a while and I want my sister to have everything she wants. Sibling indulgence runs both ways in our family.

To be honest, when my sister first mentioned babies, I was meh. I couldn’t conceive why anyone would want one before, oh, two years of being married. But as I began to see how not having a baby was getting my sister down I began to take it up with the powers that be.

The past year, the one thing I have prayed for every spare minute I had, while walking home from work, while gazing emptily into space in the MTR, was that my sister gets pregnant. Every stray eyelash was seriously wished upon. When this bore no results, I began negotiating.

Let’s just say I want my sister to have children more than I want to have children. Because she wants it more. And because she deserves it. And because that’s how far sibling love reaches.

And almost miraculously… because she had been told that she would have to do some expensive procedure… she is.

It happened a week after she visited HK so I’m claiming some credit. No I did not impregnate my sister, creeps! But I’d like to think that I showed her such a good time that she snapped out of her always-stressed state and her body decided to cooperate.

Anyway, when my sister called to tell me, it was pretty much one of the happiest moments of my life.

I decided not to push it by wishing the baby is a girl (though I did send the occasional hope up). Healthy was enough. I could deal with a boy. In fact, a boy would be fine for my sis because she’s all into sports and stuff.

But I’m glad she’s having a girl (my sister did anxiously ask me before she found out if I could find it in me to love a boy and I said that if it was hers, yes. She also asked what if it wasn’t cute, and I answered in the affirmative again. What a paragon aunt I’ve become. I’ve been known to reject babies on grounds of non-cuteness.)

Immediately, I sprang into monster aunt mode. I instructed my sister not to do anything that would compromise the safety of the unborn child. No running etc. If you turn fat, enjoy it! Be careful what you eat. Don’t take any chances.

Honestly, I don’t see myself being this fastidious when/if I’m pregnant. But this is my long-awaited niece we’re talking about.

I have also submitted a long list of possible names. Actually, this started almost as soon as my sis told me she was pregnant. No boy names were submitted – which was why she got a little worried. (The big joke will be if I land up having a boy child… poor thing will have to go nameless).

I even got a bit agro about it. For example, her friend was planning to name her baby one of my chosen names though she also had an alternative. I kept harassing my sis to lean on her friend to pick the other name. Sadly, it was not to be and that name is lost forever. Hmmm maybe I’ll save it for myself.

V has decided the new baby is going to be called Chloe. I don’t think it is, actually, but he’s insistent.

Sonography pics show my niece has a penchant for standing on her head and kicking her legs in the air. I have decided this shows an inclination to run away and join the circus. I approve. My sis wants her to be a world famous scientist. Hmph.

Anyway, I am going to be godmother. Neither my sis or me are particularly religious but the godparent tradition is hard to shake off. Noone is entirely clear what the point of godparents are. Some say it’s to ensure the spiritual upbringing of the child (ha! I’ll be a fine one for that. I told me sis I planned to teach her kid to question the existence of God). Others say that in case anything happens to the parents, the godparents step in (which makes no sense to have godparents from different families then).

My godparents basically treated me a little more specially than their other nieces. I would get a slightly bigger Easter egg from them (which is ok, because the other kids would get big eggs from their godparents). When my mom decided I was too young to own an expensive pair of boots, my godfather bought them for me (and kicked off a lifelong addiction I might add).

So that’s what I’m going to be. I’m going to be the one who buys my niece her first pair of boots, and hopefully steers her down the path of shoe addiction. I’m going to be the one that gets her the biggest egg. I’m going to curry favour by getting her stuff her parents don’t give her. Hopefully, I will be voted Top Aunt. Actually, there’s no competition so I’m safe.