One week on Indian soil….
One week of being with family and meeting relatives…..
One major discovery….
Oh My GOD!!!! Dhruv is so lean!!!!
Kitna kamzor hai (he is so weak) and all the nani-dadi’s melodrama attached with a lean (read: kamzor) child (read: khandan ka chirag).
I am well aware of his picky eating habits, his non-existent relationship with milk and any milk preparations and his persistent usage of the word NO to any request, instruction, order or coaxing for tasting anything new. I have connived all sorts of plots for pushing veggies and dals down his system employing the means of thinly chopping, grating, shredding and pureeing into his chapatis, rice meals and pastas.
But all these attempts never showed up any visible traces of muscles adding to my little boy. And then I settled myself with the thought that I have an active child with a high metabolism rate.
Did I realise that all this peace pact will only last till the time I have nobody to show me the real picture for I had stayed all alone far away from my extended family?
Cut to the present.
Nobody seems to understand the concept of metabolism. However, I do understand the reason of their ignorance which is rooted in our culture, which is about ‘hatte-katte bachhe hote hain achhe’ (fatter looking children are good and healthy). This cultural paradigm was duly supported by the lab experiment in which Dhruv slipped twice within a 15 minute duration thus putting a seal on his frailty and an end to meta-seta-zeta-bolism.
Since none of my attempts of providing explanations worked, I considered better to acknowledge that yes he is weak. My acknowledgement further strengthened their urge to offer key weight management consultancy. Even my Presswali had tips for me as how to drain milk down his throat straight into his tummy. I now wonder if she is a fan of Aamir Khan too for the perfect demo she rendered about the procedure transported me into the flashback 20 years ago when how we used to forcibly open the mouth of our sick pet dog to push down medicines inside him. Thanks but sorry I could accept only the ironed clothes but not the well-meant advice because I had money to offer in return of her service.
Another form of dadi-nani love is to let the lean and the weak and the frail child eat whatever he likes in whatever proportions he likes for the fact that he does not eat much. ‘Whatever he likes’ could range from chocolate biscuits and chips to cashews and raisins to sweets and laddus.
I have to feel lucky that nobody noticed or had the courage to bring into my notice the expansion I have gone through by all the overall pounds addition linking it to Dhruv’s lean frame and holding me guilty of stealing and eating away his food.
What am I thinking here? Off course nobody would be thinking that way. A lean child doesn’t make a mean mother.