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I would like to call it as a malicious and inhuman joke when someone addresses maternity leave as a vacation or break. Even though I was a doctor with lot of knowledge about mother and child care, when it came to pragmatic reality, I realized that it was not my cup of tea.
All hell will break loose if a matching necklace and a pair of danglers goes missing. Their critical eyes will look at you and gauge the amount of your mascara, lip lines, lip shades, lipsticks, eyeliners… or the lack of them.
As we were growing up, sometimes I would be in the kitchen as my mom would not be well. She used to send my brothers into the kitchen, "Go and help her, and you also cook, no point sitting in the room and watching TV."
My mother was the first driver in the household. Whispers of shock, awe and surprise had gone around in our middle-class neighbour when my mother first drove in with a red Maruti Suzuki 800.
Nisha, my friend, broke up with her boyfriend. She was devastated. While I tried to comfort her, I often wondered about the futility of love and relationships with the opposite sex.
Their walk was almost always on a circular route around their own white house. A house that waited for them always. Where those who had raised them, prayed for their safe return all the time, each day. But even before they could turn left, things took a grotesque turn.
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