Joie de vivre is how we would describe our feelings as we landed at the San Francisco airport. Never mind, the aircraft took off from Bangalore two hours later, we missed the connecting flight, were loaded on to a circuitous route, and had to improvise a bunch of chocolates and dessert for Asian Vegetarian Meals in the changed flight. Past is past, we said to ourselves and looked forward to meeting our son and, more important, our daughter in law who was all set to deliver a baby a month later.
Finally arrived the day - no, the night, to be precise. It was around three at night when our daughter in law felt uneasy. My wife suddenly rushed to the kitchen. “Must be getting some hot water ready,” I guessed. No, she was browsing through the New York temple calendar hung there to ascertain the auspicious and not so auspicious times, and the stars of the day. The star that was reigning that moment was not among the most sought after, but she felt happy that it was on its way out.
The hospital authorities suggested us to bring the patient along. Back in India, my wife would not have let our daughter in law leave home for the event till a cow, lady or a child passed by as a good omen. But she is reconciled that US cows don’t enjoy the same freedom of movement, or the right to rest on roads, as their counterparts in India. Equally, she is fair not to expect a lady or child to pass by at the mid of night. She hurried to the car-park basement, and came back just as my son and daughter-in-law were just stepping out to the hospital. She said that she went to check if the car seat for the newborn-to-be had been fixed. I knew for sure that this could be the last item that would strike her. After they left, when confronted, she confided that it was a ploy for a makeshift omen.
An hour or so later the telephone rang. “The baby is born, Amma. It is a boy. A normal delivery, and a very quick one at that,” my son beamed to my wife. Overjoyed, she raised her point of concern: “And what is the exact time of the baby's birth?”
After some calculations - from New York time to California time, etc. - she galloped the stairs: “I say, the baby is of the same star as mine”, she announced still gasping for breath. “Doesn’t matter, we will consult the astrologer for an atonement,” would have been my usual unguarded answer, but not on this occasion.
These said, the happiness shared by me was no less considering the circumstances that conspired to bring about this culmination.
Yes, it was four years since this son got married. One full year is the upper limit my wife can wait for news of a possible addition to the family. Restlessness is the name of the game thereafter. During their subsequent weekend calls her one-point agenda was to elicit a response on this.
“Thus far, no further,” exasperated she said one day. “You buy tickets for Palghat, we will see Panikkar,” she ordered me, as she hung the telephone once last year.
“Who? The ‘atonement’ astrologer?“ I quipped, knowing that all his predictions accompany matching prescriptions of atonements to mitigate, minimize, or overcome hurdles and obstacles. Often one felt the remedy is worse than the disease.
“You don’t have to be sarcastic. What about the accurate predictions that he makes?” she shot back in his defense, disarming me totally. “I wonder when some people would learn to look at the brighter side,” she rubbed it in, finding the going good.
“We will consult Panikkar as to what is in store for them,” she asserted, in no mood to give in.
“That is a fair concern, dear, but should we not first ask them if it is not part of their planning, since both are working?” I persisted, trying to carry conviction to my argument.
“You don’t have to add ‘dear’ to continue your rebuff,” she cautioned me. “Our elder son and his wife were both employed. But she gave up her job as soon as she delivered a baby,” she retorted, evading a direct answer. She does that with aplomb.
Panikkar gave his views, which he does in writing to register his stamp of authority and authenticity, that by mid-2008 the couple would be blessed with their first child – and two more would join the bandwagon later.
My wife made sure that she picked up the next weekend call, to be the first to relay the prediction - all by herself;
I still am not sure whether the poor children revised their plans succumbing to her irrevocable mental make-up, or it was a natural turn of events. Months later, we received a call from them – this time unusually in the middle of a week - to say that our daughter in law was in the family way, and that the delivery was expected by, yes, mid 2008. With the birth of a child for the San Jose son too, my wife crossed yet another milestone.
Her focus has now shifted to our elder son in Phoenix. When he rang up to congratulate us on becoming grandparents yet again, she lost no time. “Your son is now four years. This is the time he should ideally have a companion, preferably a baby sister,” she launched her next project. “If necessary, we are prepared to stay back in US for some more months and help with that delivery too,” she added as bait. My elder son knows for sure that any talks with her hereafter will revolve around this topic. Equally so, he knows that given her simplicity, her small world consists of just three things: - our family, our family, and our family.
V.V. Sundaram retired from long years in the publishing line in a UN organization, is based in Bay Area.
18 August 2008 (Posted on 29 October 2010)
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