Merry Christmas Everyone!

It's Christmas once again. Decorations are out, and everyone is decked up in their finest. So let's all be glad that we are still here, alive and healthy this joyous season.

Let not our determination to be merry bring sadness or pain to our loved ones.

May Peace and Joy reign supreme this Christmas and New year.

Travails of a travelling baby

It all started with the maid. She informed me one day that she would have to go home because her family was laying a foundation on her father's grave. I couldn't say no.

With her away, I would have to get another maid to help me and take leave the whole time she was gone. I mentioned my problem to my mother, and we mulled over it and the idea of going on a journey was born. This was in October, and we thought Ruatfeli would be big enough to travel by December. So tickets were booked, first only to Kolkata and back, then later to Delhi too because everyone thought there would be nothing to do in Kolkata for 4 days.

It was to be a large group - my parents, my brother and his wife with their two kids, and three of us, 9 in all with infant. As the time drew nearer the doubts grew bigger. How do I cope with the multiple feeding and naps? What if Feli gets sick? What if it was very cold in Delhi? What about Swine and other animal flus? Stupid me for getting nonrefundable tickets. And damn me, for ever conceiving the idea in the first place.

I made a lists of all the things that I could possibly need, and packed for four days:

1. 6 tupperware boxes.
2. 6 spoons
3. A hot flask
4. An electric kettle
5. Diapers
6. Half of Feli's wardrobe
7. Most of her medications
8. Oranges, diced papaya, Cerelac, dexolac, MamMam, marie biscuits
9. Bips and wipes.

Dad spared us his 'travel light' speech because he knew how tense I was. Not much could be done, besides canceling and losing thousands of rupees. So with fear and trepidation, 10th December came, and we left for Lengpui Airport. Feli slept on the way. So far so good. Our flight was delayed for 2 and half hours. Not so good, but somehow we could finally board the plane.

I could read fear in the Airhostesses' eyes. And loathing in the passenger who was seated next to us. In his slightly accented Mizo, he said he didn't mind the baby screaming and kicking in abandon. But it was evident in his mannerisms. We all heaved a sigh of relief when the air hostess led us to empty seats in the executive class. Feli finally breastfed and fell asleep. Now all we had to endure was 3 hours in Kolkata airport and 2 hours on the next flight.

We fed and changed Feli, she napped for several hours, but still she didn't like the next flight either.  We reached Delhi, safe and slightly unsound at 12ish, and poor Feli could finally sleep on a bed.

We had loads of lists, friends and relatives requested us to get this or that for them. Everybody knows about the huge price differences. But shopping with a baby was next to impossible. We did visit my college, met my friends and got my certificates and other things. And doing that much was quite tiring enough for Feli.

                                                    (with Padma and Monisha)

(Dusserah park near Mizoram House, Delhi)

 

                                       (Waiting lounge at Delhi Airport with Marilyn)
Mom offered to babysit for a day, and we managed to get some presents for other people, and several pairs of shoes for Feli, and nothing at all for H and I. But we did visit Nicco park in Kolkata....

An ugly black crow pooped on Feli and me right before the last picture. Was I mad! My kingdom for a gun.

It was wonderful to be back in Aizawl. Feli is resilient, and although she must have had a pretty tough time, she seems to be not much worse for wear, and she has settled back into her routine quite easily. And the one thing I have learnt from this trip is 'Do not travel with an infant'...atleast till they can walk, talk, eat adult food, or do the cha-cha.

Picnic break

It's hard to take time off. With a six day work schedule, we wait for Sunday with baited breath, and all too soon it's Monday again.

But last Monday was different, we got invited to belatedly celebrate my brother's birthday and wedding anniversary. So we all packed off to Zote huan, baby included. By the way, Ruatfeli is not new to picnics, this is her second time. The first one was a Departmental picnic at Park Eden, which is a pretty dismal place in my book.

Zote was much better. The weather cooperated, being wonderfully sunny and clear. The spot itself was clean, and the amenities were not that bad. The pool was supposed to be drained that day, so the water couldn't help being a little on the dirty side. The utensils provided were huge! Making Ruatfeli's food was difficult on their huge burners, but probably babies were not expected at picnics. I don't really have anything negative to say about the place, but since I am no frequenter of picnic spots, nobody should take my word for it.

Health, definitely Wealth

Ruatfeli is down with fever since Saturday. If she could talk, she'd probably tell me how her head hurts, how bad everything tastes, and how stuffy her nose is. Instead, she expresses her illness by being irritable and fussy.

Since she tends to puke out all medicinal things, giving her even paracetamol is an ordeal. Seeing your little one suffering is the one of the worst things you would ever have to face.

The only silver lining is I'm reminded again of the value of health. What I take for granted everyday, to be alive and healthy, is worth much more than wealth. It is the most precious of God's gift. What good is wealth if you are too sick to enjoy it? The unluckiest people in the world are the diabetics and the hypertensives, especially if they have a sweet tooth to boot.

I remember other times when people would tell me their little one is sick, and after a while, hear that the baby is well again. It seems to us only like a fleeting disruption in their lives. But a sick baby means sleepless nights, struggling with feeds, the smell of medicated syrups, and their vomited versions. Your shiny little bundle of joy becomes an irritable, hot little bundle of unvocalized pain. You're stuck in a helpless abyss, unsure of what to do, wishing you could ease her suffering or bear her pain. You remember the times when your baby gave you the brightest smile in the world, or amazed you with a new trick she learnt. And you also remember with guilt, the times when you would feel bored, or resentful of the restrictions a baby places on you. And you know you would do anything, spend any amount, be bored a thousand times, just to have her well again.

Familiar faces

I went to a friend's wedding with some friends recently, and there was this guy who looked extremely familiar. I asked my friend who he was, and she said he does look really familiar, but she couldn't place him either.


So we racked our brains, maybe he worked at where we worked. Maybe he studied where we studied. Naah. But he looked so familiar. If we didn't say 'Hi', he might probably be offended. Could he be a relative?

And the answer finally struck my friend. He was a newsreader on one of the local channels. Thank heavens she remembered before we went and blabbered at him. I wonder if he ever gets total strangers talking to him familiarly.


The pleasure of being cheap

A neighbour sold me these shoes at Rs 200 a pair. I fell in love with the price.

It seems like a minor achievement to find wearable shoes at these prices when shoes cost Rs 1000 upwards at the Millennium centre. At the workplace, I learnt you can get them for Rs 150 at the market :) But I still think I got them at a bargain. I know they're going to be worn out in a hurry, but they satisfy the thrifty Girl Guide spirit in me.

With everything being so darn expensive in Aizawl, it's fun to buy anything at a bargain. It's as though you were outwitting the enemy. You could get yards of cloth at the secondhand market, get them stitched at a local tailor, and have instant 'designer' clothes, which nobody else will have.

I can never bring myself to buy a blouse at 1800/- which everyone is wearing anyway. You can never have the most expensive shoes, or the most beautiful clothes, someone will beat you to it anyway. It's better (or atleast I think so) to be presentably turned-out and save your money for more concrete things...whatever those are!

Baptised by Holy water

Ruatfeli, along with 13 other babies, got baptised today. I feel a load off my mind. One, because for Christians, baptism is one of the most important milestones for a person. Two, because the ceremony itself is finally over!

I was a little worried that she would cry or fuss, since she's now 7 months. But Ruatfeli, being Ruatfeli, never made a fuss during the whole service. We had missed two prior baptisms before, once while we were in the hospital, and the other one because everyone forgot to tell us about it (and because we must have slept through the announcements at church). But all's well that ends well!

Youth and Cancer

When I first read the statistics on cancer in Mizoram, I was a little skeptical. I thought they must be a little skewed. To have the highest number of oral cancer in the world is a dubious honor.

But after working in Aizawl for barely a year, I can see first-hand that we do indeed have tremendous number of cancer cases. Cancer is usually a disease of the old, and not to seem crude, it is less shocking to hear that an elderly person has cancer than a healthy-seeming youth. But the young are not spared this deadly disease.

Cancer of the cervix is usually seen in women above 45 years. But you can hear of 24 year olds dying of this disease. Younger women seem to be more prone to this cancer than the old women here. Promiscuity(with HPV infection), poor personal hygiene and pure bad luck are probably the cause.

Breast cancer is another scary disease. We have seen many cases of unmarried women in their early thirties who had to have their breasts removed due to cancer. I cannot even guess how traumatic it is for a girl to have cancer, and have to remove one breast.

I have a rather gruesome picture of a 27 year old girl with cancer of the rectum. The surgeons had to remove her uterus, cervix and ovaries too, because the tumour was invading into her vagina.

Likewise, we have cases of 20 year old male with Nasopharyngeal carcinoma, a 30 year old male with stomach cancer, a 28 year old with bladder cancer. And so on. The cancers I mentioned are all commoner in the old, unlike Blood cancer (Acute Leukemias), some lymphomas, and some Germ cell tumours of the ovaries/testes, which are more common in the young.

So what can we do? Tobacco seems to be the favourite scapegoat. But there are many who totally abstain, and yet get diagnosed with cancer. So even when you are symptom-free, it's a good idea to have routine check-ups. Do self-breast examination, get your papsmear done, if your female. And for everyone, do an endoscopy if you have chronic gastritis, especially if you're above 40 years.

Sweet child of ours

My blog is turning out to be a diary of sorts of Ruatfeli. I am otherwise totally uninspired.

She's 5 months now, and she can turn over by herself. She wants to grasp everything, within or out of her reach. And whatever she can grab is instantly subjected to vigorous chewing. She recently learnt how to blow bubbles, and now it's her new passion.


She's changing all the time, this little baby of ours.

Sign of the Times

Of Babies and bottles

Being a mother has totally changed me, I can only ever blog about babies now. Ruatfeli turned 4 months today. But as a zealous relative told me, I should minus her premature entry and say she's only 3 months :)

I am supposed to return to work early next month, and I am dreading it! What makes matters scarier is that Ruatfeli doesn't seem to know how to bottle feed. She tries sucking it a few times, then she just bites the teat, and if I am persistent with the bottle, she cries :( She looks at me with wide eyes as though she's asking why the hell are we doing this, and I end up feeling so sorry for her. She obviously has to learn otherwise we are all in a big soup. So, as usual, I turned to the internet for help, and there are lots of mothers with the same problem. I hear terms like nipple confusion and bottle carries and learn much more horrible things that can happen to a wee baby. And it looked so easy when my nieces and nephews were sucking on their bottles! I've tried most of their tips and sadly, not a lot of progress so far. I have got the bottle-blues.

Anyway here are some pictures to brighten up the gloomy post.

She has the mohawk-hair style, and ends up being mistaken for a boy all the time. When the weather is colder, we quickly get out a hat for her. She looks more feminine and it's instant weight gain!

Crabs, anyone?

Crabs are one of my favourite food. I love their succulence, their taste, their aroma when they are cooked.

But everyone has heard horror stories of how they are caught by unscrupulous means, with poison or chemicals. But if you ask the seller how they were caught, she'd tell you they were caught with bait. So you are never sure unless you buy from someone you know. That's why we eat crabs so rarely, even though we prefer it to other meat.

Last week, the vendor gave me a brilliant sales pitch, telling me how fat her crabs were, how honest the catchers are, and how she eats them herself. After making her almost swear on the Bible, I bought some, overriding my better judgement.

Well, the crabs were not very fat as claimed, and the worst thing was- they had worms! So we threw the lot. And the worms were really hard to discern among the crabs innards.

Why do tiny things like crabs have to have worms? They are a known hazard with pork and other meat, but crabs? Anyway, for the uninitiated, crab worms can cause a disease with the really fancy name of paragonimiasis. It usually affects the lungs, causing fever,cough, blood in sputum, and other tuberculosis and pneumonia-like symptoms, though it may also affect the brain.

But if you cook your crabs well, you probably won't get the disease. That's why paragonimiasis not that common among Mizos, and is seen more in the Chakmas and other tribes who eat crabs raw, or undercooked.

So, love your crabs, but for me, they've rather lost their appeal.

More pictures

~It's hot.

~A truck put a major dent on our parked car.

~Ruatfeli won't let me sleep nights.

~I am still fat.

So here are some more pictures. They won't make the weather any cooler, the dent won't go away. Ruatfeli probably won't sleep any better, and nothing seems to help me lose weight. But here are some more pictures.Her God-mothers Padma and Monisha sent her a bunch of new clothes and the teddy (named Dolu by Padma). Ruatfeli modelling one of her night-suits.

She's tiny, but she can roll sideways already. And when she's had a good sleep and a full tummy, she brings out her social smile.

Helping her dad out with his work.

She's become chubby now. The before piture was taken when she was still in the hospital. She was a little over 2 kg, now she's a hefty 4.3 kgs :)

To dos

Since I've become a stay-at-home mom, I thought I should put the free time I have to good use. I just have 3 simple goals.

1. Lose weight


2. Study


3. Learn something new.

Losing weight is not as simple as I thought it would be. I put on quite a lot of weight during my pregnancy, and once the baby was out, the extra weight was much more obvious. I get corny comments all the time, like 'When are you having the baby?' or 'Do you have another one hiding in your tummy?', or 'Now you look like your mom'. Well, hahaha!, but it's funny only the first time round, so I thought I'd better do something about it. And like I said, it's not easy. Since I started staying at home, I mostly spend my day watching TV or surfing the net, and eating, ofcourse. The trouble is I like watching cooking shows, Nigella feasts on travelandliving is a favourite. I sit there gaining weight while she mixes cream and chocolate, and butter and brown sugar and whatnot, and I get crazy ideas in my head and end up baking cakes and roasting things. Arghh.

So I thought I'd try some light stretching exercises. I did a session of lunges once, and when I started to huff and puff, I looked at the clock and only 7 minutes had passed! I called up a cousin and asked (begged) her to lend me her treadmill. She kindly let me borrow it, I climbed on and immediately felt pain in my knees. How fit am I, eh? I talked about my problem to my mom, and she told me to simply go for a walk while the baby sleeps. How simple! So I've gone on walks, exactly 4 times, and combining the walks with the treadmill, I'm starting to feel slightly fitter. I hope I can lose enough weight to get back into my pre-pregnancy jeans. That's all I want.

Studying is not my forte, you'd know if you've read one of my previous post. But like I wrote in JOBS, incase the MPSC decide to employ doctors through exams, I want to be ready for it. That said, it's really, really tough reading text books. One can easily watch TV for hours but reading even a few pages take so much effort. I still want USB ports in my head.

Learning something new, or doing anything new is the only way to grow in life. When one was younger, one has more chances of doing something new. There are more new places to see, more new things to try, but as one ages, you get caught up doing the same thing everyday. I thought of trying my hand at knitting baby booties etc but I would need someone to teach me every step, and both my moms are too busy to do that. Learning to drive is also on the agenda. But the only time H and I got up early, we had visitors. Yesterday, we went out for a drive (risking another run in, as it was sunday), and in the middle of nowhere, he stops the car and tells me to drive. I protested, I was sleep-deprived, hungry, mentally unprepared, we had the baby with us in the car, I've forgotten all about gears and clutches, and to top it, it was raining! But he insisted, and it wasn't that hard at all! But I was rounding a turn and a taxi suddenly loomed. I managed to stop, got out of the car and that was the end of my lesson :). I badly want to learn driving, I've tried several times but failed miserably (worth another post). I don't think I have the heart for it. I will try again though.

Under The Influence

H and I saved, scraped, and bought ourselves a new car last December (with a little help from a Chennai brother).

People do buy cars everyday of the week, but buying your first car with your hard-earned money is a sweet experience. Because of the traffic and parking problems, we preferred our trusty bike for work and mainly used the car on Sundays and at night. So the car must have clocked a mere 500 kms even after 4 months.

Anywhichway, this post is about the lousy luck we have with the car.

Barely a month into ownership, we took it out on a Sunday night in January to visit family. We were rounding the corner at Sikulpuikawn, towards Khatla, when a white, hardtopped speeding Gypsy, driving on the wrong lane, hit the side of our car. The Gypsy did not stop for a second. I clambered out of the car, pregnant and all, but it was almost out of view already. We couldn't get the license number, and had only a broken part of its muddy bumper, and a nasty dent on our bumper and along the back door. We were advised by the police and other people not to claim insurance so we spent Rs 6,000/- to get it fixed. We could only assume the driver of the gypsy to be a drunk kid driving his dad's jeep. For days, we eyed all white-topped Gypsy's with suspicion, and looked for missing parts of their bumper. But with time, we got over our first mishap.

Last night, we were on our way to meet some people from work, when a Karizma bike came rounding the corner on the wrong lane. .H braked, the bike swerved, but he managed to hit the driver side of the car door. The biker was drunk, head lolling and speech slurring. H got out of the car but he didn't see the dent immediately. The taxi which had stopped behind the bike pointed out the dent on the car door, at which the biker immediately sped off again. You can see the dent for yourself.

We noted down the Licence plate number this time, and we are going to talk to the owner this time. I am sick and tired of being other people's casualty, especially drunk drivers. We didn't get hurt, but most people in road traffic accidents are either victims of drunk drivers, or are drunk themselves. So, overwhelmed by this impotent rage, here I am blogging about it to let off steam.

I had always thought getting a life membership (of Bible Society of India) on cars and other inanimate objects was frivolous and unnecessary. But after so many mishaps (many, considering the number of times the car's been on the road; and unwarranted, because we were never speeding, or on the wrong side), I am considering the idea of getting a life membership for the car. ..atleast The Society will be using the money to spread the Good Word!

Picture post

This is going to be a jumble of a post.

First, a picture of the newborn star. She looks good even with the tube in her nose.

A more recent picture of her, after gaining around 800gm more. Check out the chubby cheeks.

Last sunday, my cousin brought her daughter, born just 22 days before Ruatfeli. Look at the size difference though. Her head is almost twice the size of Ruatfeli's :( It's a small consolation Ruatfeli was supposed to be born 2 months after her cousin.

A shot of my naughty nephew, Rinzuala.

His older sister, Hruaizeli. She's a really sweet kid, bears her brother's punches silently.. till she loses her temper and just as silently pinches him!

Another naughty nephew, Lawmsanga/Mapuia. This kid is smart as well as sweet.

P.C.Girl's School.... this used to be my playground. I don't know why, of the many schools I went to, this school makes such an impression on my memory. I don't really remember what they taught me academically but I learnt all my cross-stiching, knitting, weaving skills from this school.
You can see they have modernised the main building, it used to be an Assam type when I studied here. I remember standing in lines for Assembly as the teachers checked the length of our nails and our fringe (the eyebrows and earlobes must be visible. Go figure). Then we used to troop inside for a prayer meeting. We used to have missionaries from ramthim as guest speakers. All of us wanted to be missionaries when we grow up. I wonder how many of us actually became one.
The building above remains the same, the tree is also the same. It used to be the classroom for fifth standard kids (the building, not the tree). I remember Pi Saptawni (RIP), the then headmistress, always throwing me out of her scripture classes. I still don't know why, I wasn't that naughty a student!The 'A pawl' and 'B pawl' classes used to be held where this green building once stood. I used to throw a tantrum every morning in 'A pawl'. My mom used to drag me screaming and kicking my legs to school. I had the rather apt nickname of 'tahbelhi' then. Ick!

The heavenly-looking house below is the 'Banglapui' of Synod. I took a picture of it on my morning walk because it looked so idyllic and perfect for morning tea.

Lastly...a picture of my roast chicken. When we moved into our new home, we used to have family and friends over for dinner quite a lot. I was hugely pregnant then and had no maid. So I used to simply roast a chicken for the main dish. The guests used to love it, but I was so sick of it I hardly used to taste it at all.

Told you it was going to be a jumble.

Baby whisperer

Ruatfeli has been acting up lately.


She sleeps through the whole day, and only wakes up to feed. Even if you shake her, she goes on sleeping. My dad asked me if she ever opens her eyes. But come 11 pm, she's wide awake and starts to take an interest in the world. By the time we lie down to sleep, she starts her whimpers. So I nurse her, she falls asleep. I lay her down on the bed, she blinks twice and let's loose a loud cry. The surprising thing about her is that, for such a tiny body, she has the vocals of a heavymetal singer. No one can ignore that cry. So I pick her up, hold her till she falls asleep, lay her down and the whole scenario replays. By 3 am, nothing is amusing anymore, and when she finally seems to tire of the game, she sleeps, and so do I.



This had been happening for the last three nights, so I was feeling pretty tired. I browsed the internet for information and realised it's a worldwide problem. In Japan, they even have a name for nighttime crying - 'yonaki'. Knowing that Ruatfeli had yonaki didn't really make it better but I did read the tips and suggestions. The best point was ' Your baby is not trying to manipulate you, it has no idea what it's doing to you'. I really was starting to wonder if she was doing it on purpose.



H has somehow been relegated to parent number 2, mainly because, you know, I have the milk supply, and also because H has to go to work while I can stay at home and wake up late. So I try let him sleep through Ruatfeli's performances. He's brilliant with kids, he's a favourite uncle to all nieces and nephews, I just never thought he'd know what to do with a screaming infant.



Well, last night, I was dead tired, it was 2 am, I had tried nursing the baby, tried burping it, checked her nappy, rubbed her tummy, but Ruatfeli continued her orchestra. Finally, H picked her up, and I told him I was going to nap for a minute and immediately dozzed off. The next thing I knew, he was laying her down to sleep. The next morning, I woke up refreshed at 7 am. We had slept through the entire night!! This was incredible because we usually have feeds at 1 or 2 intervals throughout the night. I asked H how he did it, he just shrugged and said nothing much.


Guess who's going to put the baby to sleep tonight? :)

Motherhood

Me, 2 weeks before motherhood.

It has been a long month, and I can't believe how the days passed. Let me clue you in.


We were expecting our baby to make its entrance around the end of March, but we realised that the baby had its 'cord around the neck', and with reduced fetal movements, the docs decided to do an emergency Caeserian Section on me. So our baby girl was born at 7 months and 3 weeks on 19th February, weighing all of 2.5 kg.

The operation itself was uneventful, I suffered no real pain, during or after the surgery. But our dear little baby had to take on a whole lot of stuff way before it was ready. So, we were hospitalised for almost a month at Civil Hospital, baby getting oxygen on some days, turning a deep yellow on other days and getting phototherapy, developing fever, not gaining weight, etcetera.

Baby was kept in the Neonatal ICU (NICU) where other preterm babies and sick neonates were kept. I have to say this about the NICU of Civil Hospital, things may not be perfect there, but they do things much better than could be expected. For one, the nurses there are terrific. They are efficient, friendly, helpful and they genuinely care. I say this not only because as an employee there, they were super-nice to me, but they are equally helpful and caring to all the other patients.

They have a strict system in the NICU, nurses wear surgical-type uniforms, caps, mask and special slippers. Doctors on rounds wear the masks and slippers too. And we mothers take off our shoes, wear masks, wash hands, and no males or other visitors are allowed inside the NICU. These are all to secure optimal sterility for the babies. And believe me, they're quite strict with their rules!

Nurse tending to one o the pretermees in a warmer.

They have several warmers, which are really bl**dy expensive, with inbuilt heaters, a temperature probe to attach to the baby, automatic temperature regulation, O2 facility, suction, etc etc. Only 3 of the 6 work, but again the nurses improvise by providing hot water bags for the non-working sets.

There are also several phototherapy units, which are the best treatment options for reducing bilirubin levels in babies (high bilirubin=jaundice/yellowing). These phototherapy units have blue lights which convert the non-excretable bilirubin into an excretable form. Our baby's bilirubin level went down from 19 mg% to 6.9% (normal 1.2mg%) in 2 days. But we were the lucky ones, other babies have to be kept for 1-2 weeks sometimes. The unlucky ones have to get their blood replaced to prevent bilirubin from causing brain damage. Babies in phototherapy have to lie naked (except for diapers) inside these units and they have to wear 'sunglasses' to protect their eyes. They look quite funny really, somewhat like little old men sunbathing :)

Baby inside a phototherapy unit. Tube in the nose is for direct nose to stomach feeds.

Our babies were fed at 2 hour intervals, some babies get as much as 50 ml of either expressed breast milk or Dexolac, some get 5 ml. Tiny stomachs, you see. The healthier babies get to breastfeed. Again the nurses boil all the bowls, spoons and measuring units before each feed. And at night, after 12 am, the single nurse on duty let the mothers sleep and feed all the babies for us, which could sometimes be 15 babies. They also change the babies' diapers for us during this time, also throughout much of the day. Despite all these, the nurses remain cheerful and are never rude - they must be angels or atleast semi-angels. The doctors are great too, but we only see them on rounds as they have their OPDs and other work, so we don't really have a chance to build up much of a rapport with them.

Other moms tending to respective babies. We mothers developed a good relationship - advising, consoling, encouraging each other, and laughing uproariously sometimes. Some babies died, but most were discharged healthy.

A big thing for us pretermers is weight. All babies lose weight upto 10 days post delivery, but pretermers tend to lose more, and when your weight is a little over a kilo or less, every gram counts. Every day, before the daily rounds, babies' faces are cleaned, umbilical stumps sterilized and babies weighed. Our fellow inmates included babies born at 6 months, babies weighing 1.3 kg etc. So before each weighing, you can hear mothers encouraging babies, 'Don't do your potty before they weigh you', 'Intisek rawh' etc. Hilarious really, but their potties can weigh a good 20 gm easily. And we mothers all try to feed the baby before they are weighed. The nurses are so strict, babies are weighed naked, even tiny gloves are removed. We weighed a pair of gloves and they were 10 gms, so being strict was rational.

Our baby lost weighed steadily, despite regular breastfeeds, nasal feeds and spoon feeds. She went down to a minimum of 2.045 kg. Thankfully she never went below 2 kg. If the babes had no other medical problems, they could be discharged at 1.8kg, so you can see why 5 grams mattered so much for patients who have been in the hospital for 2 months.

Weight was the least, and the last of our problems. Our baby has respiratory distress at birth and put on oxygen.Meanwhile, I had all tubes and things going inside and outside of me so I was confined to bed for the first two days (sans food too, I must add). On day 3, they removed some of the tubes so I could finally see my baby and breastfeed her. And believe me, seeing your baby for the first time is an unforgettable moment. But when your poor baby has to be given O2, and has all tubes inserted into tiny veins and even her little nostril, life seems black. She gradually improved, and the O2 was removed. She had two other episodes when she needed O2. Looking at her lying in her cot, her monitors giving off loud alarms really scared me. I wondered at these times if she would survive. I wanted to go to sleep, let someone else take care of her till she was alright. I thought about how we give cars or computers or other things for servicing and people took care of them and we took them out when the job was done. I wished something like that could be done with our baby. I was constantly at the point of tears, and everything seemed hopeless and tragic.

After a month stay in the hospital, she finally started to gain weight, sometimes 5 grams, sometimes even 50 grams a day. When she finally regained her birthweight, the doctors deemed her fit to go home. I was happy, but at the same time apprehensive of taking care of her alone. But we've been home more than a week now, and she's fine so far, by God's grace. But I'm wary of taking anything for granted, and I will probably be a neurotic mother, till she is atleast a year old :)

Prepaid mobile services in Mizoram

With the recent hula-bula created by the MZP about prepaid services in Mizoram and other parts of the north east, let me add my two cents.

When we came back to Aizawl last year, we needed new mobile connections. H went and got a SIM card for both of us. It was done within a day, and he paid some 250 bucks for each. I didn't look that closely at the packet of the SIM card. Some months later, we needed another connection, and this time I went to an Airtel outlet. The lady gave me a SIM card which was again priced at Rs.250. This time I happened to look at the MRP, which was Rs.45. This was more than 5 times the company price. So I asked her why this was so.

The lady explained to me that this card was pre-activated, with someone else's name, that if I wanted a SIM card in my own name, then I would have to go to alot of trouble of submitting a xerox copy of my ID etc. I said I was fine with doing all that, and so to her consternation, I didn't buy her 'ready-made' SIM card.

We went to various outlets, and several places rejected us. We finally found a place in Chanmari where a sweet old couple took our necessary papers and got the SIM ready for us in less than a week.

What I am trying to say is that more than 90% of prepaid cellular subscribers in Mizoram get their SIM card from the 'black' market, using cards issued in God knows whose name. And the worst part is that I'm sure more than 90% of these people are probably unaware that they are paying 5 times the asking price, that they even have an option of getting cards issued in their names, that what they're doing is illegal. The most interesting bit is what part the service providers themselves, AIRTEL, AIRCEL, RELIANCE etc are playing in issueing such large numbers of activated SIM cards into the market. I think this is something the public should be aware of, and what the government should look into. If the authorities from the central government do stop prepaid mobile services in Mizoram, I think we will only have ourselves, our greed and our ignorance to blame.

Chivalry, Manners, etcetera in the local bus

I once read an article by an Englishman about manners. He said that in England, for most things, people queue-up, and wait patiently for their turn. In India too, he said, people do queue up, and wait for their turns. The difference between the two countries is when some rude person breaks the queue. In India, a righteous person in queue would loudly admonish the line-breaker, and the rude person would hopefully slink back in line without creating further ruckus. In England, if someone breaks the line, the other people would most likely let the rude person be. And if someone would admonish the offender, the rest of the people would most likely feel embarrassed and shuffle their feet.

I don't know if the England example is true, but I know the Indian story is. Since I've started working, I take the local bus quite regularly as taxi fares are exhorbitant in Aizawl. The buses here are tiny, barely seating 10 to 15 people. And since all buses are private owned, the enterprising bus conductors stuff people like sardines in tin cans. So obviously, there are always people standing throughout the ride.

In other parts of India, the buses have seats allocated for women-folk. Men can sit on these seats as long as all women in the bus have seats. However, a lady without a seat can always ask a guy sitting in the women's row to get up. Besides this concession, hardly anyone ever gets up to offer their seats, whether it is for the old, the infirm or the fairer sex. And we Mizos would wistfully remember how back home, no senior citizen would stand while there were young men sitting.

Things have changed back home. You see school kids, young abled men and ladies sitting while old men with gray hair stand, hanging on to the railings with their gnarled hands. I know everyone pays for their bus ride, whether they get a seat or whether they are standing. And it's their prerogative if they want to give up their seats. But it used to be a wonderful example of our Mizo chivalry to see younger people showing their consideration for the older generation. As a pregnant commuter, I do get offered seats sometimes, and I have to add that it's mostly by other women. It's true, chivalry is quite dead, and especially among our men-folk. And we shouldn't really complain, because like the English, we probably should just let the unmannered be .