The Bun In The Oven

For its latest installation, Hermès picked a potent combination of fashion and music that’ll never go out of style

- Anisha Rachel Oommen

When I found out I was pregnant, the one question I was always asked, perhaps unsurprisingly, was: “What are you craving?” I suppose the answer everyone expects is pickles and ice cream. But for me the journey was anything but predictable.

As a Malayali with a hardwired predilection for fish, I was off to a rocky beginning. First-trimester nausea meant that I couldn’t share a table with anyone eating seafood, let alone enjoy a good fish fry myself. In fact, it was over dinner at a Portuguese restaurant, when the aroma of delicately cooked fish sent a cold wave of nausea washing over me, that I first suspected I was pregnant. Nothing else could explain this aberration in my palate. Sure enough, those two pink lines on a stick confirmed my suspicions. Interestingly, this was also the trimester I learned about desire and abstinence; I was ravenous those first 90 days, but tragically unable to eat anything more exciting than toast, because everything else made me want to hurl.