Mamma Mia – Confessions of a Doggone Desi Mom

As a full-time mom of a pre-schooler, pre-play grouper, and all-rounder-little-miss-mischief, I have joined the bandwagon of classic desi moms that handle home, work-at-home, and host play dates, aside from the entertaining and cleaning and ironing and everything else. While the idea of hosting play dates, like the infamous desi ‘kitty’ used to, sounds fun and exciting, it simply means that you’re willing to forego another night’s sleep conjuring up images of playing mommy to a few other kids alongside your own, and, if you’re lucky, you might swoon yourself to sleep. Or not. But the point is, you also have to ‘wake’ to bake or make goodies, and the worst part of all, clean up the house. If you are willing to stoop to the level of considering an ocean of toys as a house, that is.

I always have to ask my guests to inform me in advance if they’re visiting because the house is a constant wreck, and I need to make it at least mildly presentable. Of course, there is no way one can get everything in order in a meager few hours, so one finds shortcuts, and stuffs drawers and boxes and cabinets with things that don’t belong, or worse, fit in. And then one makes a mental note to spare a couple of hours in the weekend to undo that, but the weekend often has its own devious plans of getting one into other tricky situations. And of course, the parents in India will give one a protracted lecture about how they used to manage things when we were kids, and yet find time to cook a fresh, decent meal. By decent, I mean a twelve or thirteen course meal, the recipes of which you may never find in a fancy gourmet Indian cookbook. So there’s not a chance one can seek sympathy from that quarter, when one is feasting on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Of course, one can bring up the issue of the absence of domestic help here as opposed to there, but they always find a way around it. So, in order to discuss the miserable state of affairs with a co-desi-mom who’s as haggard and distraught as myself, I must make the time for a long telephone session. Or make note of it as a to-do on the post-it glued to the refrigerator door, which will later have fallen off and been made into a paper swan or a rocket that I’ll sit on and never see again.

I just hosted a play date, and I’m still reeling from all the frenzy. Especially given that we just dealt with the enormity of the rumpus that Halloween was, and the kids were all high on candy and refused to behave. I am not sure if Lego or Playskool or any of their affiliates have researched the destructive tendencies some toddlers are gifted with, but this would be a good time to start if they wish to. My little one is endowed with the best of these abilities, and she is more curious about what Pooh’s tummy can hold, than she is about his squeezy-squeaky right ear. So she rips his body parts apart, and realizes his tummy cannot be pried into after all. But in the bargain, I’ll be blessed with a bleeding, throbbing toe given that she’d have flung his pointy little shoe away and I’ll have tread on it, in an attempt to reach out to her little friend who was having a hiccup emergency.

The worst part is handling the little brawls --- especially when one is playing host, and the other moms are watching one with their magnifying parenting-foible-reader lenses on. That’s not to say it’s easier to go attend a play date as a guest. Then one is obliged to carry a snack or two, and that, coupled with the fact that it’s winter, can be quite a daunting task. I say this about winter because getting the little one into layers of clothing can take half a day, and if one is lucky, one can make it to the play date without limping and shuffling from running a stroller wheel on one’s foot while trying to bend over and get the cap to stay on the little one’s head.

And yes, here too, the parents would say they’d rather have carried the child in their arms. But given that I have never been in a professional circus, I wouldn’t want to risk that, knowing how heavy the diaper tote is and how loosely I tie my shoelaces for sheer lack of time. Speaking of which, I think I’ll take some time out, untie my hair, and have a cuppa (instant) Folgers. Unless, I’d want to risk brewing a fresh pot and saving it for later, as the beep would wake the little sleeping beauty.