I am mighty upset at this…but there is very little I can do. Rekha is a strong woman and if she decided on something, it is difficult to budge her.

From now onwards, Rekha will be my better three-quarters. Yes, she has put on a lot of weight after the delivery!

In the World of Gynecologists there exists a term called ‘Sympathetic Obesity Syndrome.’ If you are a doctor and know that such a term doesn’t exist…well…it exists now. In fact, now that you have found out, I might as well name - ‘Jammy’s Obesity’.

To cut the fat story short, when a lady is pregnant…she eats a lot. My wife indulged in various items found both inside and outside the refrigerator. Her indulgence was so intense that when the baby arrived the refrigerator was empty. Outside the refrigerator…we were left with out double bed, treadmill, Television, bookshelf, computer, printer and the stack of newspaper. Some clothes of mine went missing, but I doubt if my wife had a hand.

When the lady of the house eats so much it becomes difficult for the man of the house to remain inactive – the competitive animal that he is. In no time, the man in the house also starts putting on weight. Needless to say, I fell prey to this conspiracy of nature and today I am a bulky man. To five you the facts, Rekha put on 11 Kgs during her pregnancy and I put on 17 Kgs.

Now that my wife has delivered, she has lost all the weight and is almost back in shape. When I approached the gynecologist, he refused to induce labor and thus am left with all of my 17 Kgs intact.

Walking into a fitness center

Unable to handle the trauma, I walked into a fitness center five days after our baby was born.

“Hi, I am here lose weight,” I said.

Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone were showing off their muscles on all the walls. For those who didn’t know…Arnie didn’t start his movie career with a porn movie. His first was Hercules in New York. However, Stallone had good fun before he started acting with clothed women (his first movie was Party at Kitty and Stud’s. No, serious).

The lady at the counter looked at me from top to bottom and smiled. Perhaps she found effeminate…but tell you what…she was so much on steroids that it wouldn’t have been appropriate of me to address her as ‘sister’. I probably had to refer to her as ‘that brother at the counter’.

“You have come to the right place”, she said.

“Thanks. So, how much will it cost me to join your fitness center?” Cost would have definitely been a factor. If it was too costly…I had decided to stop using the treadmill at home as a clothes line and use it for jogging.

“We are pretty cheap at Rs 20,000 for six months.”

“If that is what you gain from me, what do I gain?” I heard my voice shaking…for I didn’t want to intimidate the huge lady.

“Down here, you all come to lose…not gain.” She smiled. She was cracking a joke she knew by heart.

“That’s true. So let me re-phrase my question. How much do I stand to lose?” Surprisingly, I was being persistent.

“It depends on your level of involvement. We had a guy walk in yesterday and today he lost 20 Kgs.”

“Wow…that soon? How?” They sure showed quick results.

“Well, this was a unique case. He didn’t know to use the treadmill and ripped his leg off while running on it. But the end result was a body that’s lighter by 20 Kgs.”

Resisting a ‘lady’ brother’s approaches

I stiffed up. What business were these guys into? Fitness center or contract killing where the victim pays for his own death?

“I am sorry. I don’t think I can join you.” I said fearing the worst.

She softly whispered into my ears: “We will make you feel welcome everyday.”

Surprisingly, I was still resisting. I searched my brain for something convincing to say and finally blurted out what Carol Leifer had once said: “But, my philosophy is different from yours. My philosophy is no pain, no pain.”

I don’t think she heard what I said. Perhaps she had a liking for me…for she ran her hand behind my back and asked me for the second time, “So, how flexible are you?”

I thought for a while before answering: “Mondays and Tuesdays are hectic. I can come on rest of the days.”

I am now a member of the fitness center. I see her everyday but she turns her head away…wonder what she meant when she asked me how flexible I was.

Other Funny, Funnier, Funniest Reads

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# Treadmill and its implications
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It wasn’t a normal delivery. She was born via a C-section operation, where ‘C’ stands for Caesarean. Legend has it that Caesar’s mother delivered him thus but there are doubts over the same. Read more about Caesarean deliveries.

I was just thinking about Caesarean deliveries – kind of different. If one were to look for an example in day to day living…it is like choosing to walk out of the window when the door is still available. Simple.

This incident has made me realize that childbirth is the only time one visits the hospital in a happy frame of mind. Doctors are an exclusion to this rule – why wouldn’t one be happy making money?

Rekha is still under observation. I am told that’s routine after a C-section. I am not complaining for it gives me ample time to mingle with the pretty nurses. Pity, one is forced to addressed them as “Sister”. I did try a Johnny Bravo line on one of the nurses. I walked up to her and said: “You smell kind of pretty. Want to smell me?”

She gave me a stare. Then smiled at me before saying: “Sure. First, let me clean the gooey mess you daughter has delivered on our operation table.”

Just when I was making some headway, the gynecologist walked into the scene. I have a feeling the nurses are not allowed to flirt with the patrons, for the nurse ignored me thereafter.

I did look thro’ the glass window of the Isolation Ward (they could have chosen a better name – it is as if Rekha had been abducted by the aliens) and whispered “I love you,” to Rekha. She in turn said something which I couldn’t hear. When I called my hands and legs to the rescue and conveyed to her that I didn’t understand, she asked the nurse to write something in a paper and hand it over to me. It was the nurse I had flirted with, so I gave my million dollar smile as I took the piece of paper from her hand.

The piece of paper said: “Now you have got what you have always wanted – a second woman in your life. You better behave.”

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Announcing - Pregnancy Diary
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The baby-mother bonding
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Communicating a baby’s birth to the World

Now-a-days times have changed. Relatives no longer go around town pissing on parapet walls, tree trunks, lamp posts, post boxes, and picket fences just because a baby was born in the family.

With little resources in hand, I have decided to use my mobile to communicate to the world as soon as our kid is born. In a way, it is revenge. In the eight years I have had a mobile phone, I received this dreaded message – ‘At ** p.m. today, I became a father. Both the baby and the mother are fine’ - umpteen number of times. How does one go about replying to such messages? Here are some of my responses over the years -

One thing that has bothered me for long is…why don’t the mothers send these messages? I am yet to receive a message reading: “At ** a.m. today, I became a mother. Both the baby and the father are fine.”

Maybe the women in my world are lazy. Or maybe, a child birth for them is just another daily chore. Or maybe, they reach out to their husbands lying next to them in a stretcher (after witnessing all the action in the labor room) and ask them to send out the SMS.

I will be in Kerala when my child is born, and sending messages to the 300 odd contacts in my phone book would cost me at least Rs 1000 (while roaming, Hutch charges Rs 3+ per message). Quite a costly affair, considering I didn’t accept a penny in dowry. Primarily, coz penny isn’t accepted in India.

With little money I plan to drop the inform-by-an-SMS plan and look for a simple (by which I mean a cheap) mode of communication.

Maybe, I can place a star on top of my house - like how Jesus’ parents did. The problem is, my house is not a manger but an apartment (from outside, that is). Even if I decide to have the star, I need to get the permission of my flat association president and I am sure he wouldn’t allow me because I sent him this message when he announced the birth of his daughter: “Wow…I never knew your wife’s tummy actually had a baby. I thought it was more a case of overeating.”

The other option I have is to immediately boot my laptop, connect to the internet and dispatch a mail to all contacts. I have done my homework in this regard – I already have the mail ready. Here is how it goes:

Hi all,

If you forward this mail to eight people within the next eight minutes, you will get a baby in the next eight months. Unmarried people please use your discretion.

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Two years back my wife whispered into my ear, “Let us have a baby.”

Yesterday, I walked into a baby showroom, aptly named “Diaper” and whispered into the counter lady’s ears, “I am having a baby.” I was forced to whisper because I didn’t want the other girls in the counter know that they didn’t stand a chance against me.

Yes, I have begun baby shopping and I can tell you…I am a toddler in this big, bad world. I say big and bad because I came out of the showroom all black and blue – black from the way I was treated by the counter girls and blue knowing how costly the baby things are.

“Do you have mosquito net?” I asked.

“For the baby sir?”

“No, something bigger.” I spread my palms for as long as I could without hitting the next customer.

“So, you want a mosquito net for the baby and the mother to sleep in?”

“No, I want a mosquito net for the baby, the mother and the father to sleep in.” Sometimes these counter girls can get to your nerves.

“But sir, we don’t have mosquito nets that big. After the baby is born, husbands are put in cold storage for a year or so.”

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# A visit to Fab India, Chennai
# A married man’s guide to safe and sound staring

I have always believed that God is losing his charm. No, I am not Satan but I definitely feel that God is losing his hold over today’s people. I stopped believing in him a few days after I got married to Rekha. It was shocking to know that God didn’t send the kids.

I am lucky, I came to know about God not supplying the kids in 2004 itself but I have a few nephews and nieces who don’t know that God is not the supplier of kids…and it is already 2007.

The other day one of my nieces asked (unfortunately, I can’t reproduce the six year old girl’s tone here): “Rajan, how did Shanti aunty get a baby boy?”

I stared at the girl. Sometimes staring helps. Most of the times, it doesn’t. I had to say something to stop her from staring back at me.

“Strokes visited Shanti auntie’s house last month and dropped a baby boy.” I was sure she would buy into the story.

“Strokes?”

“Yes, strokes. Strokes.” I repeated for emphasis.

“You mean the bird stroke?”

“Yes.”

“Surprising. Because only last week I saw a Discovery channel documentary on Strokes, and they didn’t mention a thing.”

“The US Government as part of its war against terrorism has asked Discovery Channel to keep it under wraps.” I tried to talk like Condellaza Rice, but it didn’t help.

“But, I thought one had to be married to have a baby. How do the strokes know that a lady is married or not?”

“Before dropping the baby, the strokes look around for a man-woman pair shopping.” I wanted to end this at the earliest.

“A boy and girl who are just lovers could also be shopping together. How come the strokes don’t mistake them to be married and drop babies. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing if Santosh uncle and the lady he meets in the temple come home with a baby one day?”

“Strokes don’t make such mistakes. They are intelligent.” This had become like the chess game where both players have only their King and Queen and thus can’t win, but want to continue playing.

“How?” The kid asked me.

If kids that ask questions grow up to be intelligent, I am sure our President Dr Abdul Kalam would have asked many questions when young. But then, I am also sure that he wouldn’t have been a popular kid among his relatives.

“Strokes hover above the shop for a while, and if the man drops out of the shot for a smoke or a tea or a 2-ruppee packet of groundnuts…it is a sure sign that the couple is married. If the man and the woman come out laughing from the shop, the strokes don’t drop the baby.”

I thought I had ended the conversation but apparently I hadn’t…for my niece immediately asked: “I always thought God existed.”

I didn’t want to start another war…so just muttered “Jesus” and moved on.

Other Must Reads

# When the stomach is full
# On why I am against helmets
# My wife is a murderer
# A visit to Fab India, Chennai
# Oxymoronic life that we live in…

Rekha is learning Morse code. For those who don’t know what Morse code is, it is a language which uses only two states - on or off - of a light bulb for example…to communicate. Audible Morse code would sound like – Dit, Dit, Da, Da….with ‘Dit’ for dots and ‘Da’ for dashes…and a combination of both forming each alphabet.

Confused? Read about Morse code in WIKIPEDIA before proceeding further. If you want to continue reading this post, thank your stars that you were born intelligent and click here.

- - - X- - -

“I am going to learn Morse code,” my wife said even as I closed Art Buchwald’s We will laugh again.

I was amused. Not because like me Art Buchwald is an amazing satirist but because I didn’t expect my wife to know about Morse code. I didn’t remember telling her about the times when my father and I communicated in Morse code so that my mother (and my father’s wife) didn’t know of our plans. We would blink our eyes and communicate messages.

My mother would sometimes get out of the trenches (read kitchen) and ask, “What was that?”

My Army man father, so used to making excuses to his superiors, would shout back, “Just a bit of remorse, madam.”

When my mother wasn’t listening, my father would elbow me and ask: “What does one get when Morse code is conveyed in reverse?

“What papa?” The innocent Jammy – those were the days – would ask.

“Remorse code!”

As if the humiliation wasn’t enough he would then ask me his favorite second question: “Now tell me what does one get when Reverse is conveyed in Morse Code?”

Since I never knew the answer, he would thrust this (see pic on left) Morse Code board into my face.

Cutting back to the present, Rekha is now learning Morse code. She revealed the secret when we were getting out of the gynecologist’s clinic.

“Let me guess…some office politics?” I responded.

“No…why?” Rekha had a confused look on her face.

“What else would you learn Morse code for? The biggest benefit of Morse code is that… after conveying the message you leave no evidence of it – no paper, no emails, no tapes, no nothing.”

“Ok … so?”

“Don’t all these features make Morse code the right vehicle to discuss office gossip?”

“Shame on you Rajan. How could you even think of your wife like that? When I saw Pratima kiss Balu in the cafeteria…I told only four people. If Radhika had seen them, she would have immediately created a Yahoo! Group on the scandal and given the URL to 16 other colleagues.”

“What are you trying to say, Rekha?”

“I am trying to tell you that unlike Shobha De and Stardust…I don’t live on gossip.”

I couldn’t believe my wife. Since when did gossip become second in the list of must-haves? I remember when we got married, gossip was 1.5 points more than diamond in the list of must haves.

“Then pray tell me why you learning Morse code,” I insisted.

She gave me a look which when translated in a rush meant: you-pig-of-a-man-why-did-I-even-marry-you-in-the-first-place. When translated at leisure it meant: If-not-for-the-kid-I-am-carrying-I-would-have-killed-you.

“Do you know that I am carrying your baby?”

“I know.”

‘Do you know that the baby is almost fourteen inches long and kicks me once in a while – which gives me a ticklish feeling?”

“I know.”

“Do you remember the many times I have asked you to place your hand on my stomach when the baby is kicking?”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember the many times the baby stopped moving as soon as I called your name. Probably because you still don’t exist for our baby.”

“I remember.”

“Do you remember the many times you said you wanted to feel the baby’s kicks so that you are not left out on the big pleasures of fatherhood?”

“I remember.”

“Good…I will be using Morse code to call you when the baby starts kicking.”

I stared into her eyes and I knew that for once she meant no harm. Just when I was about to start trusting my wife again, she said: “You might want to brush up your Morse code!”
From The Archives

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The natural that she is, my wife has developed an intense bond with the yet-to-be-born. They are so close that she has already lent the baby Rs 1000. On its part, the baby has promised to return the money in six months time.

When mothers talk, babies inside the womb listen and that is the main reason for the bonding. Not to be left behind, my wife has started talking to our baby.

Here is one conversation between Rekha and the baby, which I overheard.

“Hello Baby! How are you doing?” It was Rekha speaking in a hushed tone.

“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“Oh ok. So, did you get enough calcium from the milk I just drank?”

“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“That’s good. I hate milk. Never drank it in the last 25 years…but am drinking it now only because I love you.”

“Zzzzzzz.”

“I am glad you appreciate it. And what about iron?”

“Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“I know…it makes me nauseated too. My tongue feels rusted because of the iron syrup. But the doctor says it is good for blood generation.”

“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“You must be tired now. Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”

“That’s better.”

Believe it or not, now-a-days when I see Rekha talking, I slowly creep towards her right and see if she is wearing her wireless earpiece. If she isn’t, one has to assume that she is talking to the baby.

Sometimes, I am jealous of my wife coz she just might become our kid’s favorite parent.

According to reliable sources, at this stage all voices except the mothers are labeled as “Others” by the baby. When I clarified the same with our gynecologist, she said there was a work around.

“You can speak to the baby directly. Just get close to the mother’s stomach and start talking,” the experienced gynecologist said.

“Which language do I speak in?” It was a genuine doubt, but I have a feeling the gynecologist thought I was making fun of her.

“Any language. The baby just needs to know how his/her father sounds.”

I knew the gynecologist was on our side, but I still had my doubts. I asked: “How would the baby know that the voice that speaks from close to the stomach is the father?”

The gynecologist turned towards my wife. I turned towards my wife. My wife turned towards me. My wife turned towards the gynecologist. The gynecologist turned towards me. Nothing was said, yet so much was conveyed in the expressions.

The gynecologist signed deeply and said: “The baby knows that nobody…and…nobody can come close to his mother’s stomach. The baby knows that only his/her mother’s husband can come close to her stomach and thus starts labeling that his/her father’s.”

“Doctor, how would the baby know sociology – I mean how would he/she know that only husbands can come near their wives stomachs?”

The gynecologist didn’t reply, but she did charge us Rs 500 as the consultation fee – Rs 300 more than the usual. Wonder if she wants us to look for another gynecologist.

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In this post, the dates have been changed so that nobody lands up in court after our kid becomes famous and claims to be his/her mother!

DD1/MM1/YY – First time we knew Rekha was pregnant.

DD2/MM1/YY – First time we went to the medical lab for our child

DD3/MM1/YY – First time we visited the gynecologist

DD4/MM2/YY – First time we had the ultra sound scan

DD5/MM2/YY – First time the three of us went to a movie

DD6/MM2/YY – First time the three of us went to a drive-in theatre

DD7/MM3/YY – First time the three of us traveled in a train

DD8/MM3/YY – First time the three of us visited Madurai

DD9/MM4/YY – First time the three of us went for a walk

DD10/MM4/YY – First time the three of us had ice-cream from a single cone

DD11/MM4/YY – First time we slept under the sky

DD12/MM5/YY – First time the three of us went to a marriage

DD13/MM5/YY – First time we went to ECR at 12 midnight

DD14/MM5/YY – First time we felt the baby kick from inside the stomach

Like how Kingfisher is the King of Good times, I now call Rekha the Queen of first times. For everything there is a ‘first time’. So much so, the other day I called Rekha “beti” (in Hindi that means daughter) she relied:

“This is the first time you are calling me a beti, after I became pregnant.”

“Cool. Isn’t it?” When your wife is pregnant you have to act excited so that she is always in high spirits.

Just in case you haven’t already received Rekha’s mail which was dispatched to 5,439,87,902 friends all over the World, 13th of November shall hence forth be known as the day our baby first kicked Rekha in the stomach. Needless to say, Rekha is pretty kicked!

Apparently, three of her best friends – only women can have three best friends - are pregnant. My wife said:  said: “Three of my best friends are also pregnant. Our delivery dates fall within a month.”

“Great…but why you looking at me like that? Are you suspecting me of something?”

If you have been married and have delivered a young mammal you probably understand how important it is to maintain secrecy in the first three months. Rekha and I did manage to maintain the secrecy – at last count only 300 of the outside circle of friends and relatives know. But it is really difficult to maintain a secret with a wife who pukes this bad and sports a stomach the size of a traffic constable.

Here is what happened during our second visit to the gynecologist. Even as we waited, I saw the name board “Amudha Hari” and wondered why such doctors were known as Gynecologists.

Once inside, I piped Rekha to the post and asked the doctor: “Why are you called a gynecologist?”
 
“I am a woman’s doctor and ‘gynaik’ in Greek means ‘woman’.”

“Are you sure that’s the origin? Because I thought earlier gynecologists treated injured ‘guy’s necks’ and that’s why even to this day they are referred to as Gynecs.”

“Guy’s necks?”

“Yes, in the olden days, the war soldiers used to wear an amour on their torso, a metal helmet on their head and the only portion left unattended was their neck.”

“OK…and?”

“And Gynecologists were the medical practitioners who attended to their neck injures. After the wars dwindled and the soldiers started losing their lives in peace keeping operations, gynecologists moved to the next lucrative business – baby producing.”

At this, the doctor looked at my wife, who stood up for me and said I was just fine. Rekha assured the doctor that it was the pressure of suddenly being thrust into fatherhood.

I heard the doctor say “If you insist” before she started going through the lab reports again.

I was terribly upset. I had cut a sorry figure in front of the doctor I will be seeing for the next six months. I had to make amends and I had to make it now.

“Doctor, my wife has been puking a lot. Anything I can do to stop that?”

“The puking is because a foreign body had nested itself inside your wife and her body needs time to adjust.”

Her answer confused me. Was she saying that I will get a foreigner as a child? If it was going to be a foreigner…how did the doctor know? Will it be white? Or will it be Afro-American?

“Doctor.. are you saying that we will not have an Indian baby but a foreign baby?”

At this Rekha kept her hand over mine and stopped me. In years of marriage one understands such messages. She then apologized to the doctor. She said: “I am sorry doc, my husband has had a lot to handle lately.”

The doctor gave me a compassionate smile and then I saw her lips move. She had turned towards Rekha and was now whispering: “I understand your husband’s situation. No, issues.”

At this I had jumped up and asked: “No issues? I thought you just confirmed the pregnancy!” After that I don’t know what hit me, I just blacked out.

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Yes…Rekha and I are in the family way. The day I came to know of it, my nightmares wherein I used to get pregnant have stopped. But other nightmares have begun.

I am celebrating this news as only a blogger can – by introducing a new category called “Pregnancy Diary”. It will contain my travails as an expectant father. Does this mean we will have a “Baby Diary” by April next year? Damn right.

Here I try and describe the hectic one week during which Rekha announced that she was pregnant. 
 
Aug 5-6: Just before detection

No sex for a long time - all kinds of excuses flying around the house. Wonder why men never make any excuses for not having sex? Anyway, when you don’t get your daily dose of sex…you know something is wrong. She is either mad at you or she is pregnant.

Wife talks about other girls who are trying to get pregnant. She talks of other girls who have kids. She talks of how Ms X’s husband Mr Y gifted her a diamond.

We visit the gynecologist where my job is to decorate the sofa in the waiting room. I am told it is regular visit, only to be deceived later. ISI hand?

Aug 7:

Wife wakes me up at 5. Apparently doing a home pregnancy test at 5 a.m. is good…or so she believes. Wakes me up at 5…she doesn’t know I have slept at 1 a.m….for the next two hours she appraises me of how my life will change because she has tested positive for pregnancy. I say: “But hasn’t it already changed.”

Forced to make her breakfast coz as soon as the she saw the positive test, she started feeling pukish. I tell her, “I am also feeling pukish,” but she doesn’t believe me.

Forced to drop her at office. Apparently, autos are a strict no.

Aug 8:

One of her friends asks her to do a lab test for pregnancy before calling up a gynecologist. At 9 a.m. go to a lab, do a test and then go have b’fast and then drop her in office and then go to my office. When I reached office it was 11 a.m.. Men do have huge responsibilities. 

Everybody is calling up….and congratulating. Wonder who told because Rekha’s last statement on the subject was, “Let us not tell anybody for three months at least.”

Now, she gets up at 8 a.m. and as soon as she gets up I am expected to be ready with tea.

Went to the gynec at 8.30 p.m….she said everything needs to be in moderation. Except happiness. The gynec placed the whole responsibility of keeping her happy on my frail shoulders. I wonder why I pay the gynec. By the way, they have an awesome thirst for money.

Aug 9:

Wife doesn’t bother if house is cleaned or not. Doesn’t even brush before walking into the kitchen and eating something - this is real news coz she was the Rani Mukherjee of Chalte Chalte earlier.

Rekha has started reading up Babycenter.com and subscribed to their newsletter too. Calls me after every half hour to tell about this new pregnancy tip she read about. So much so, my colleagues know that when I sleep off at conversation…it must be a call from my pregnant wife.

Aug 10:

We went to a hospital for various kinds of tests, including the HIV+ve test. Rekha was upset that her results weren’t positive…took me a while to explain that this was one test where being negative was good. Never waited in a hospital for so long…with nothing to do but listen to one’s wife narrate pregnancies stories from across the globe.

If only Rekha had told me one more story…I would have gotten pregnant and my nightmares would have come true.

Other Pregnant Reads

When I thought, I was pregnant
Our Visit to the gynecologist
All about babies
All Males Unite