Opposites Attract

When we talked about coming to India, we knew that we would have to quarantine for 14 days after landing. And thankfully, Kapil's family has two homes in Bangalore that we could do that in. There's Chetul and Hebbal. Chetul is the older home and Hebbal is newer. Both locations were quarantine safe because everyone works from home and this country takes the number of covid cases very seriously. They are not afraid of passing curfews, lockdowns and ticketing people who are not following mask mandates. It's a nice feeling to know that no matter where we would be, we'd be safe.

Chetul is where Kapil grew up with his brother, mom/dad, his five males cousins and their parents. It's...a big house. Three stories, 8 rooms and 6 bathrooms and rooftop terrace. It's where his parents currently live along with his dad's aunt Didi, Kapil's brother Raunaq, his wife Vipasha and their one year old Asmi.

Hebbal is the newer spot. Kapil's dad and his 3 uncles got together around 15 years ago and bought the property and built up the place to be a freaking condo for the extended family. Four floors, each floor with two 3 bedroom 3 bath apartments, elevator, basement parking garage and HUGE rooftop terrace. Each son in the family was 'gifted' an apartment for their future family whenever they were ready to make that move. Currently, two of the four families reside in two of the eight condos. 

So when we talked about quarantining and staying here in India for an extended period of time, we always thought we would be at Kapil's Hebbal apartment (201). This was Kapil's gifted apartment and would eventually be our home in India when we traveled to visit or stay for extended periods. We figured might as well start making it home as soon as we landed. Especially with the monster coming in a few months. In fact, up until we landed at the airport, I was confident that was where we were heading. But what wasn't communicated to me was that apartment 201 was completely empty. Like, nowhere to sleep, no appliances to cook with, no wifi, no where to sit and watch endless tiktoks on your phone. And after spending the last 4 years renovating our townhome in Durham, it was our plan to use this India trip as an opportunity to save our money for a new home in 2022/23. 

Moving into Hebbal 201 would mean spending money on food delivery, furniture, appliances, utilities; we'd pretty much start from scratch. Now, I love a good project but this isn't the land of Home Goods, Lowes or Pottery Barn. If you want a new couch, a set of shelves, or a fridge, you're going to have to spend 2-3 times longer looking at options and finding carpenters/delivery/install people. India is a custom-made, all-service country. This is not the DIY America where I can walk through Lowes, buy some wood and put a set of shelves up in the pantry in a weekend. For a daughter of an engineer and contractor, this is extremely frustrating.

But it is what it is, so we spent our first month at the Chetul house in India. Fully furnished, comes with homemade meals and snacks whenever we need/want, extra hands for laundry and cleaning. Sounds like a dream. Although, I couldn't help but feel like it was at odds with what we originally planned. Yes, we planned to save money and Chetul supported that. But we also planned on building our home bit by bit in Hebbal...which Chetul did not support. 

Two steps forward, two steps back. 

Fun fact, Kapil can read frustration on my resting bitch face three days ahead of me blowing up. And it felt like that first month at Chetul was a daily communication struggle between the two of us. I kept trying to internally rationalize why our plans diverted while also trying to make the best of the situation even though I had hoped to 'nest' at Hebbal. The amount sitting in my amazon wishlist was overwhelming. 

On top of that, I've spent the last year living in a bunker with Kapil. I've gotten accustomed to my own space and own time. Eating when I was hungry and making meals when I wanted. And while the change from Durham bunker to Chetul was easy for Kapil because it was what he grew up with, for me it was a challenge to my independence. It came off as ungrateful, and it made for some heated discussions between us. Second fun fact, when you're 8 months pregnant, heated discussions mean impromptu sobbing. 

It didn't help that the day we flew out my mother sent us an email sharing her traumatic birthing experience in Lebanon and claimed that I would grow to hate the cultural differences of giving birth in a foreign country. To the point that it would drive a permanent wedge between Kapil and I, the way it did between my mother and our Lebanese family. That email wedged itself in both our minds and with every detour we had to take from our original plan the mother-shaped wedge would sneak it's little head out just to whisper "this is it, this is the thing that will break you and bring you back to me where I can control your every action."

The hell it will. 

Long month short, I'm writing this sitting at a plastic picnic table inside our Hebbal house. We bought a bedframe, a memory foam mattress, a set of sheets, a work desk that we're alternating working at until we can get a carpenter to build the second one, and there are shipments of kitchen appliances/supplies coming in each day. A carpenter came a few weeks ago to update the bathroom fixtures and tomorrow the carpenter is coming through to hear all my ideas for shelves and furniture. 

The post today has silver lining. It took us sometime to wrap our heads around how we'd make it work, but we are making both our plans work. We are saving money, we are spending money, we are building our Hebbal home, and we are spending time at Chetul (before night curfew kicks in) with family for snacks, meals and Asmi play time. And today I built an office chair without calling an install person. 

Hurry Home

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Hurry Home....or Hari Om if you're being proper. It's what is said when you greet others as you enter and leave a room. A phrase used several times daily when living in Bangalore.

You've read correctly, living in Bangalore. It's been, several years since I've written in this blog. So here's a quick update:

• Got married - three times - to the same person (courthouse, India, Florida ceremonies)
• Bought a town home in Durham, NC and renovated it completely
• Held my position as Training Program Developer for 5 years and counting
• Became an ambassador for DE&I at the company I'm employed at 
• Pushed pause on writing/performing music
• Had three miscarriages
• Survived a global pandemic
• Got and stay pregnant (we're at 32 weeks currently)

Those last two are technically still in progress, because 1) people are selfish and won't make small sacrifices to change their behaviors for the overall benefit of humanity and 2) pregnancies last 40ish weeks.

So, how did we get here - in Bangalore?! 

Slowly. 

Kapil and I always talked about starting a family. And while I thought getting off birth control was the scary part, dealing with back to back miscarriages was a lot worse. Sometimes I was happy it happened because the idea of actually being pregnant for 9 months and doing that thing where you endure a lot of fucking pain for several hours with no real end in sight was terrifying. Other times I was really upset and sad that I couldn't fulfil the dream of us starting a family. I know there are always other options. But those were always back burner conversations. 

"Let's try one more time before we..."

"What if it was just the two of us..."

"Financially, we just aren't ready..."

"Let's run a few more tests..."

But then it happened. We got pregnant and stayed that way. We didn't tell people because we knew what happened before and we didn't want to have to back peddle and have to have those back burner conversations with anyone else. It was our lives and our plans and everyone else would just have to watch from the sidelines because well, this wasn't their game to play. 

And when it happened, we thought back to those first conversations. How when we started a family, we didn't want to stick around the US for them. Both being born outside the states and having overseas families, we wanted to keep that honor and tradition going. We wanted our first born in the father's home country, the second in the mother's and the third in the home we made for us - India, Lebanon and the US. 

Now, I'm grateful we're getting to start that family and I'm not so sure we'll make it to three kids. But it was a plan and it was something we still felt was possible to follow as long as...well...the world didn't explode. 

Cue the global pandemic.

It started small, like all science-fiction movies do. An outbreak overseas that was passed through travel and touched down far enough to still not really scare you. Then it grew closer and closer until you couldn't leave your house. 

Having groceries delivered. Keeping hand sanitizer on your person at all times. Wearing face masks and shields, trying new recipes from ingredients that were running out, ordering amazon packages just to feel something and getting bored binge watching shows. The first few months of lockdown were a learning curve. But after a while, it was fine. Like living in a bunker with your best friend. 

But like living in a bunker with your best friend, the rest of the world still turned. New family members are born, some of them die and all you can do is spend time with them through a screen. Hoping to show them that you still care even though you can't physically be near them. Can't hold their hands and let them know you exist. Those times were tough. 

Even tougher when other people are not being careful. Going out to eat, getting their routine hair and nail appointments, attending parties and large gatherings, traveling domestic and internationally because they were bored. Probably tougher still knowing that these people were your own family members who have all been infected and have likely played a role in the spread of the disease. 

The lack of shame and guilt they continue to hold for their actions infuriates me and has fueled a great deal of my actions in relation to this pregnancy.

"What do you want us to do - never leave the house?!"

"We can't all have jobs like yours!"

"You have to respect our choices just like we respect yours."

"You never spend any time with us!"

"I can't believe you're not coming for Thanksgiving/Christmas!"

"It's not like this is HIV or AIDS or something."

"Why is it so hard for you to come visit!?"

"So-and-so comes down almost every month!"

"Can't you work remotely from down here?!"

"You know it's just a matter of time before everyone has been infected."

All actual phrases shared with me by my family members. All phrases I could spend hours discussing. But the reality of the situation is simple:

For as long as I can remember, my family has only cared about themselves.

And for as long as I can remember, I have never felt the same way. It has been a cornerstone of who I am - caring about others - and I will continue to keep that a reality through my actions. Even when those actions are putting up strict boundaries between my family members and I. .

Like waiting 7 months before telling them we were expecting a child.

They weren't happy.

We thought about telling them at Thanksgiving. Then again at Christmas. But every time we talked to them it was more and more apparent that if they knew we were pregnant, that they would request to spend time with us. And we couldn't take that risk. I mean, we talked about it. Talked about what it would take to visit safely with them. And it wasn't a lot to ask:

1. Get tested for covid
2. While waiting for results, quarantine to avoid nullifying those results
3. Once a negative result presented, drive directly to where we can spend time together
4. During that time together, do not interact with the public to avoid infection (ie. ordering take-out or food delivery and any activities would have to be outdoors in fresh air fully masked)

And every time we tried approaching the conversation, it was held off because... 

"You will not believe the cutest lunch place we went to today!"

"Finally got a chance to have brunch with so-and-so INDOORS - can you believe it?!"

"Got my hair done at this new spot, I don't think I like what the lady did."
"The flight from A to B was so crowded! I guess things are going back to normal."

"Ugh, I can't keep wearing masks like this, I'm getting mask acne!"

"Did you see the photos from so-and-so's shower? I loved the décor and the catering was so good!"

"Your sibling is going to state/country to spend time with their friends for the week."

...it was obvious that they couldn't handle 2-3 days of self quarantine to see us.  

So we went through all the milestones of the pregnancy quietly together; not telling our friends, our family, our co-workers. Going through the medical issues like placenta previa and genetic testing quietly in our bunker. Not committing to any pregnancy purchases because we didn't know how long things would last. Not getting excited about potential names. Avoiding posting anything on our social media platforms that would make it look like we were expecting anything to happen. Creating Plan A - C in spreadsheets with dates before making any decisions about where the baby would be born and how we would share the news. Having the same fight over why we were keeping things to ourselves. And you know, all while successfully avoiding infection. 

And slowly time passed. Those dates in those spreadsheets started to roll by and soon we started to see a path before us. My placenta was no longer in a dangerous location. Kapil got a new job that paid 40% more so the option of getting a new home in a few years was becoming more of a reality (even though we just finished renovating our perfect bunker). I got a pretty decent salary bump and approved for maternity leave. Work approved both Kapil and I's remote working plans for India for the next several months. Doctor's in both the US and India provided written approval for us to travel until my 34th week of pregnancy. The few friends we told about our pregnancy were more than happy to help take care of our plants and our home while we were away. And everything fell into place. 

So we booked our tickets on a Wednesday and left on a Saturday.

It was one hell of a week. Right after the hell of a week that was telling my parents we were pregnant. Yup, we went from Saturday of one week having the conversation:

"Yay, we're having a baby!" 

To Monday getting everything cleared with work

To Tuesday getting everything cleared with the doctors

To Wednesday buying our tickets 

To Thursday five days later telling my parents:

"You can't see us until after the baby is born because we'll be in India for the next 6-8 months"

To Friday spending all day packing and donating our perishables and getting all our affairs in order for the trip on Saturday. Plan A worked out perfectly for us. 

And as predicted, we were met with angry, hurtful conversations

"You really don't want us involved in your life, do you?"

"Ever since you married Kapil we've seen less and less of you"
"Is Kapil the one who is pushing you away from us?!"

"I don't understand how you can be so careful this whole pandemic and then turn around and go to a third world country to have a baby"
"You know I wanted to commit suicide when you were born in Lebanon"
"You're going to regret ever having this baby over there"

"How is this a healthy decision!?"
"What's the name of your doctor - I'm suing him"
"Why do you keep referring to the baby as them? Are you having multiples!?"
"How can you do this to us!"

"How long did have you been planning this?!"
"You're still just a liar, always lying to us about your life"

"We're never going to see you again"

All of these conversations over 24 hours followed by three weeks of silence. Not a text, not an email, not a phone call, not a returned phone call acknowledging our existence. I would say I was sad about it, but honestly, this was all predicted. This is how they always behave when they don't get their way. Freeze you out to make you feel guilty until you give into what they want. And sure, if I was still a child, I would probably feel some form guilt about all of this because that's what you conditioned me to feel. But I haven't been a child since I realized how little you care for anyone but yourselves - which was somewhere between age 6 and age 13.

Yesterday was my brother's birthday, two days before that my fathers. I sent some flowers and chocolates. Then I was told to call my mother and talk to her. I guess she's thawed out by now when she realized that this baby isn't traveling back to the states until it can hold it's own head up. And, like previously predicted, her conversation with me was as if none of the hateful, angry, hurtful things she said above were ever uttered. Swept all under the rug along with the years of verbal abuse that preceded. 

A living example of how not to raise a child.

So, we've gotten caught up. Here in Bangalore, India until I pop and deflate. This will be likely be one of two heavy entries on this blog (the next one being the popping). Thankfully the entries after this one and before the monster arrives should be fairly tame. Much appreciation for you sticking around and reading all of this. It was a nice reminder realizing that writing makes me feel good. I thought I lost that. Hari Om.