The Pregnancy Diaries: The Cookie Monster

Did you know that when you're pregnant you mysteriously turn into the cookie monster? I lived in denial for a few months but when my doctor told me that I needed to go on a diet, that too while pregnant, I had to admit it. On the pretext of "cravings" and "I have to eat for two people now", the cookie monster demanded chocolate chip cookies at midnight and BLT Sandwiches for breakfast; of course it all depended on what the baby was asking for at the time, I couldn't ignore that could I. Now if you think the cookie monster was just being a complete ravenous pig and randomly stuffing its face, you're wrong. There were phases, like on some full moons the monster had to have its steak 'blue'.

Up until two months I had no cravings at all; well it was already a month before I found out I was preggers and the month following that the fact that I was preggers was just sinking in. So when you're starting your 3rd month it's perfect for cravings because now everyone's been given the "good news" and with the hormones working full time everyone's just better off doing what they're told i.e supplying the monster food everyday.

It started one day with a bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut, which was innocently picked up during grocery shopping. The next day another one mysteriously found its way into my handbag; it must've hopped in at the bakery while I was not looking. These bars then started showing up at my house and to destroy all evidence of its existence were promptly devoured. Then when I would run out of stock (these bars sometimes got lazy and just stopped showing up) the husband would get a call to pick up some on his way back.
This phase lasted about 3 weeks and then I went cold turkey on the Fruit & Nut bars; no more chocolate for me, it was time to bring on the meat. In the month following the Fruit & Nut phase, the demographics of domestic herbivores reported a sharp downward trend. Before 'Vegetarians R Us' and PETA could stage a demonstration in front of my house I switched to Biriyanis, mostly Chicken but since the fowl was also consumed with huge amounts of rice I didn't look so bad. I didn't eat the biriyanis everyday though I wanted them. One night I had cooked soggy dal for dinner, yet again, (When all you want to do is sleep after getting back from work, soggy dal it is. I didn't sprout an extra pair of hands that looked like ladles when no one was looking) and of course one look at it made me crave for my new found love, biriyani. So hubby gets a call to pick up biriyani on his way back from work. So while he was eating the soggy dal that I had so lovingly prepared I was wolfing down the biriyani. I did save him some leftovers though.

If anyone knows what you want to eat when you're pregnant, its Mama. Without my asking I would receive parcels of the yummiest Mangalorean food. She would generously send enough to feed even my neighbours, but we all know where that went. There were 'Garios', fried balls made of primarily jackfruit pulp and rice flour; 'Patholis' which are steamed rolls that come in two versions, one out jackfuit pulp, rice flour and coconut and the other out of jaggery and coconut wrapped in a rice flour paste. Also, Mangalorean preparations of Pork and beef were sent my way every other week; there was PETA ready to strike again. Everyday the cookie monster religiously raided her fridge and made sure that these parcels of love (and loads of calories) fulfilled their purpose.

But all of your pregnancy cannot be one huge gastronomical party. Enter the husband. Though I was taken out for gelatos (double the cost of an ice cream but healthier and less fat you see) at night and Italian whenever I heard Pavarotti on the radio, I was made to eat my fruits. Now bananas and oranges are the low maintenance ones, you take the whole fruit to work, wash, peel and eat, done. I had no qualms about these, these I would put into my lunch bag with a song. And if you're thinking what else can piss off this old gal, I'll tell you, its the Pomegranate. For everyday of my pregnant life I have eaten on an average two pomegranates, not because I loved them but because my husband made me. And no, he was not the one painstakingly peeling the damn things and packing them into the tupperware. One morning I went to work with what I thought was my pristine white shirt, not realising that my shirt looked like it had got the measles, there were pomegranate juice squirts all over it. After that I had to wake up an hour earlier than normal because you have to peel these things with either no clothes on, which would prompt my maid to run away from the job with no notice at all or at a meter's distance which made the peeling process quite impossible. Almost everyday I had nightmares of a giant pomegranate shooting its arils (yes thats what the things inside are called) at me in a white shirt. At the rate I was eating this fruit there was a slight chance that I would be giving birth to a baby covered with arils and would have to later explain them as birthmarks. That year pomegranate sales were at an all time high and my local fruit vendor apparently built a mansion and bought himself a Harley.

You'd think a person can eat only so much and I probably broke records which I didn't know of. But what better time to do that without feeling guilty eh? Now if I ask for ice cream at midnight it'll be received with an incoherent mumble and a possible kick in the shins.

Cricket Fever

Last week I caught Cricket fever, I was definitely running a temperature, couldn't eat (now that's a lie), couldn't sleep and most definitely that week my blood was blue; just that week, I am no princess. So obviously I had to ignore my blog and concentrate on the eleven men, 22 actually, playing the game.

What is it about India-Pak matches. The energy is different, the tension is super high and no matter what, your team cannot lose. You're thinking, "They can't lose this match man!", no one ever says, "They have gotta win this one".

I was at the stadium when India played Pakistan in 1996 at Bangalore. I was 16, (ok I would turn 17 that May, but till then I was still 16), cricket crazy, in love with the Indian cricket team and when my Dad told me that he had tickets to the Quarter final I did back flips and somersaults followed by what can only be described as an ancient tribal dance to please the god of love. This is all figuratively speaking of course, I don't know how to perform somersaults or back flips.
Two days before the match Dad tells me that he has to be in Madras for a meeting; who the hell schedules meetings when India is playing Pakistan in a World Cup! I thought what a jinx, I probably overdid the tribal dance bit. But I was not going to go down easy, I told Dad (and the god of love) I am going to watch the match no matter what (even if I had to dance naked). I assured Dad that he had nothing to worry about, I was capable of taking care of myself and if anybody tried anything funny I'd pummel him to death with my Coke bottle (the cola drink that is, not the illegal substance). To remind you, that year the official drinks sponsor was Coca Cola, though I don't think anyone remembers that; Pepsi was still on top after the "Nothing official about it" campaign they ran.
So on the 9th of March 1996, a zitty teenager with a limited fashion sense sporting a beret (I needed a hat didn't I), a summer dress and a pair of shoes that looked like work boots, (the guy who sold me those said they looked chic, the ruddy illegitimate offspring of a spurious father), was all set to watch India take on Pakistan in a World Cup quarter final. That day was surely something special. We cheered the Indians and booed the Pakistanis, empty coke bottles were used as percussion instruments, I hugged strangers because that's what I do during world cup matches and was just short of performing the tribal dance again. And yes, India won the match and it looked like the whole stadium needed to be sent to the loony bin and when I walked out of the stadium it seemed like the whole of Bangalore needed a trip to the loony bin as well. This is what I'd call a crazy atmosphere; people dancing on the road, some semi nude, fire crackers being burst right in the middle of the road with ongoing slow moving traffic and swarms and swarms of fans screaming their heads off, nothing intelligent, just screaming, most people couldn't get over the shock of India winning the match. Among all this, I was floating. It was surreal, there was frenzy everywhere and I was smiling like a damn fool (I must've looked pretty darned stoned) and floating.

Nothing much has changed since that world cup to this one, except that I am not a teenager anymore and I lost the beret right after that match; the work boots were mistaken for dinner by my dog one day, and since I hate wearing shoes with my heels and toes showing they got thrown out. Other than that I am still a cricket crazy girl and was bordering on delirium when India took on Pakistan once again in the World Cup. When the Indians came on to bat we were cheering and screaming so frantically, Kicky thought that her aunt and Mom had gone quite insane; but after we showed her the hand routine that follows a 4 (yes, the char run ka ishara) she joined the madness as well.
Towards the end of the match however my nerves were a ruddy tangled mess; how do these players manage to look so calm. I just couldn't watch the last few overs of the match and nearly had my t-shirt for dinner. The things these games make you eat! But all was well in the end, India ruled once again, my t-shirt just seemed a tad chewed on and I screamed so loudly out of joy that my husband still can't hear out of his left ear.

If that's what a semi final could do to me, then the final would have to send me to a hospital. I chanted the rosary after a 15 year sabbatical and the virgin probably said a hail mary herself. After the first half I had a headache from all the tension and praying and needed a cup of tea. The praying was resumed after the break and when it seemed like it was not working I went back to chewing on my clothes. I guess the chewing worked because India won the cup. I guess I'll keep my chewed on clothes as a souvenir, it could be the lucky charm for the next world cup.