When you introduce your baby to the world, there’s some fanfare, most of which naturally dies down as time goes on. So for me, the real pleasure has been introducing the world to my baby; the sights, sounds, smells, textures, tones… Like announcing the morning with the sound of the blinds being drawn and letting the sunshine pour in, the pungent smell of cumin frying in ghee, the sizzle of onions, the difference between the texture of the blades of grass and the bamboo leaves, velvet cushions, feather boas, shiny plastic and cold metal, traffic noises, crinkly paper, a luxurious cat, a wet doggy nose, gentle English rain, Indian songs… very ordinary things that he’s discovering for the first time and making sense of, and hopefully storing the memory of in his little brain.
Creating my Scout
Soppy as it may sound, it’s absolutely joyous to watch him process a fresh experience, or watch with unblinking concentration as his Papaji shaves, or loads the washing machine. We’ve snubbed story books for the time for colourful Sunday magazines – I read aloud snippets of lots of features while turning the pages, as he looks at pictures of glamorous “uncles” and “aunties” – and we discuss whether they are old or young and how many colours they are wearing.
I am fervently hoping that like Scout in To Kill A Mockingbird, my baby will automatically learn how to read by the time he’s 5 or 6 – and he will not remember a time when he couldn’t read. Don’t laugh, this isn’t as mad as my wish to have twins so I could have it all done and dusted at one go.
Worry-Worting
I used to fret about all that’s disappearing from our world: wildlife, forests, kindness, tolerance – and having a baby has amped up the fretting if anything. I haven’t become a saint overnight – but I’m bleddy well trying to do my bit, while disconsolately reading about all the animals we are slowly and steadily killing off – from starving polar bears to displaced Indian elephants – all they have is my useless tears… not sure yet what else I can do to help.
My wildlife-y gallivanting brother has kindly offered to take Littloo trekking to show him rivers and forests and birds “before they all disappear”. And when I get too morose, I bury my head in the sand and carry on with the job at hand, that of entertaining and distracting The Boy. Convenient, yes.
Here we come, India!
The right kind of stimulation is a key ingredient in creating little geniuses and who am I to deprive myself of a potential Einstein of a son! So in order to give Littloo a rich diet of “life” as a friend put it, I’m decamping to India. In London, a lot of it is contrived – playgroups, activities etc aren’t exactly spontaneous, whereas in India, I imagine you’d have to impose quiet time for your baby to calm down for a breather, for all the “life” that’s always happening.
At least that’s how I’m selling my two-month long India trip to Darling Husband. That, interspersed with indignant “but my family needs to meet him!” The tickets are booked, the passports and visas sorted. Darling Husband isn’t coming along. Littloo and I will be trapped in a pressurised tube for 8 hours, hurtling across continents – and I can hardly wait!
(Simrat Ghuman is Head of Communications and Marketing at Anthemis Group in London. A former TV journo, she made a discovery this summer that she was making a baby. She is chronicling her experience in a series of blogs, titled Dealing With Being Preggers, for The Quint.)
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