Come the monsoon showers and all the mothers take out their protective gear and take a pledge,come what may,my child won’t fall sick these monsoons,the rain God can’t play smart with me. Few rains down the line we realise the little one has cold, and there the mother India in us goes gagaga again,this is it,cold I am going to make you stop right there. Then comes teaspoonful of honey,warm oil massages,brewing tulsi in milk,making hot halwas,which without a doubt goes down their throat too.
All in vain, by the next evening fever starts showing its signs. Mommy tiger panics yet pretends all is under control,a spoon full of paracetamol,more halwa’s and tulsi’s brewed,honey with a pinch of black pepper and ginger now but she can feel the efforts go down the drain, doctor has to be involved . You still feel if given for yet another day the concoctions might work but then you can’t see your baby have sleepless night again because of a fit of cough. Antibiotics it is, every time the baby is administered with these,mommy tiger wonders ,that he was totally on my feed for six months,the much hyped breast milk, but why does his immunity goes for a toss every time Season changes. Dilemma of a modern mother, our vice,we think a lot.
Doctor intervenes tells you its seasonal and you are like,’ya sure ,we have a change in season every two months in north India,only a fellow north Indian mum can under stand my plight.’
But this article is not about kids,its about the mother’s . This is about my tribe. Season changes for us too,those rain showers they have never spared us ,the sun shines brightly in our bow. That depressing winter.Alas! who feels us,none.
Coughing her guts out a woman after settling her child extends her hand to get hold that bottle of water suddenly a voice tells her,’ stop coughing yaar,I need to sleep.’ As if its giving her kicks to disturb her husbands beauty sleep and she has been plotting all day that I’m gonna die coughing tonight just to teach him a lesson.
And that God forsaken cold,it starts from the nose,parches the throat and somehow makes it way all the way up to the head. That splitting headache , the Lady of the house rubs all the balms, drink endless cups of tea,but this one is like an unwelcomed tenant. Mr. Husband enters the house,sees her face which by now is like a ripe mango, yellow and about to drop any second. He is about to say something witty but realises it’s not the right time,after all joke can wait,incase it touches a sore spot he wont be spared this time. All he utters is ,’ you don’t seem well, rest for a while.’ Rest, those magical words,you comply,get in the bed,secretly thank the head ache,wish to get a little high on fever. Not much around 100f would do and promise yourself that you won’t see a doctor,not until things are in control.
Don’t feel guilty my friends you have all the right to absolutely enjoy this new found luxury. The luxury to fall sick once a while.After all this is when a mother might have quoted,’blessing in disguise.’