The right path need not always be the hard one – Making a baby !

Last week we were travelling to Pavna Lake, a stunning weekend getaway just an hour and a half from the buzzing Mumbai. There we met a couple. A lovely, young Indian couple. The woman was 5 months pregnant and the couple was elated. This is their story.

We invited them to our room for drinks. At night; all of us were in somewhat high spirits (except the to – be mother of course), when her husband began to discuss the ordeal they had to face to achieve parenthood. He explained to us how they were not able to conceive despite all attempts since a year. He spoke of the exhausting rounds at the gynecologists and  obstetricians that left the couple with lesser and lesser hope each time they met somebody.

Harder they worked, further they got from actually having the baby. Every time they visited the doctor, the doctor said; “What are you doing so wrong? Are you drinking? Are you taking some pills?”. Another, rather crude doctor told them, “You are getting older by the minute. And by the minute, you both are losing your fertility!” Their sex life ironically suffered the most. The one thing, they never had any problem with, now suffered immensely. The harder they worked towards it, the more stress built up, romance got thrown out of the window and having a baby became a dying hope.

6 months ago, they gave up. One morning, the woman woke up and threw away all her medications. She went to work after a week’s sick leave and wrote a note to her husband. It read, “I can live without a baby but not without my life.” And that was it. They gave up all their doctors and medications and went back to their wine, beer and non – vegetarian diets. They even got a dog to fill up the void of the future. Soon love flourished, and intimacy took it’s own course to make a child grow naturally within the woman. No medications, a really bad lifestyle but a month later; she actually got pregnant!

So what ever happened to the ageing womb and the weltering sperm count? They went to see the crude doctor again who now said, “See. It pays off. All the medications, all the persistence.” The husband started laughing hysterically now as he said, “But Doc ! We were both drunk when we made our child !” The husband swore that the doctor turned red when he heard this and asked them to leave and they happily obliged!

So they dropped the hopes, they even chose not to follow the hard routine. The eased into their life. They made their life fun. They did the one thing their unborn child wanted them to do – To be themselves, stress- free, carefree, just like him / her.  And then the soul entered his mother’s happy body, to float in her happy waters, and to kick and move in her new found stress free comfort.

My happy ending to this story was when the woman told me, “It is so funny. We tried and tried and tried and we couldn’t make it. And now, this fellow right here, is an unplanned child ! ” she said while she nursed her swell.

The right path need not always be the hard one – Part 1

the dusty, murky winding path or the paved, clear, shady path?

There’s always a choice. Almost always, we all have one. Whether it is to call the truth the truth or to slip away by not saying anything at all. When a goal is clear, one is again faced with a choice. The easier, smoother paved road or the murkier, dusty winding road. Which one must we take? It is arguable but often stated, repeated and even quoted that the harder the path you choose to victory, the sweeter it will hold for you.

However, this is highly relative, subjective and all other words of diplomatic value. Isn’t it easier to drive to the hospital to see your sick child than to trod along? Isn’t it easier to donate a rupee to a beggar than to shoo him away? Isn’t the easier thing to do, perhaps the right thing to do. Just perhaps, maybe?

Hordes of argumentalists would advocate against me saying; I am confusing factual with abstract decision making and that my spectacles need a severe improvement because I am being severely narrow visioned.

Thus, allow me to take a broader example.

Let us suppose, I have been an artist all my life. I am to perform once again in front of an endearing crowd of hundreds. My song is a mighty crowd pleaser and I barely need to rehearse, but of-course, I am sincere. Hence, I do rehearse.

You, the producer of my show walk up to me and tell me, “Shake a leg, woman. The crowd loves you and would love to see you dance a little!” I smile outside and die within. I am no dancer.

However, I practice (since you hold my money). I practice straight for a month. I am nowhere close to Shakira. Hell, I am nowhere close to nobody. After a month long hard work, my act is still an imitation of the clown’s act from the town hall circus.

With my heels on, I trip on the day of my grand rehearsal. I control the chattering of my teeth and the sudden wimping of my legs. I think I am under prepared. You look at me from a distance signalling with a thumbs up! Are you one of those with blurry vision or easily charmed by an adult clown, I wonder.

I am quivering on the stage now. The curtains are just going to be drawn. And just when the spotlight falls on me; the glaring, blinding light; I forget the first step. What was it, I struggle under my puffed breath. The loud applause, the sheer noise in the audience; I feel like I am in a deep sleep. Unable to shake off the inertia of my rusted memory.

The microphones have been checked. 1,2,3,4; I see you now. You are staring at me. You wonder which ghost crept into me and when. You wonder how long I would stare back at you blankly. My cue has long passed. I have to either sing or start to dance. The crowd has gone silent now.

Yes! A hazy image fills up my mind. Oh yes! I have tap the left foot and swirl my waist. Oh yes, my heart; I feel it is smiling a little. I will dance and sing and shrug off the fear forever, I resolve.

I tap my left foot, it hurts my heel. That was probably a little hard, a little too hard; I think. The microphone tripod is under my foot now. I have set it in motion, I can see its perturbation in your eyes now. My microphone slips off the holder. Somehow I grasp it with my sweaty palm.

I am on my feet again. I stand firmly. I don’t swirl my waist. I do not move for the rest of the night. I sing, I sing with all my heart. I beat the chords I couldn’t strike with my unshakable voice. This becomes the best performance of my life. The crowd stands up. They love me.

I took the easier path, when it was the right thing to do. I look at you at the end of the show. You urge me to try again. I promise I will. But tonight I sleep well.

Triumph is triumph. It does not acknowledge the path chosen.