A GIRL LIKE ME

New born baby makes me feel more beautiful.

- Sneha Sharma

I had just hit Britney's 'One more time' in my Youtube playlist 'Back to College', when I hear the doorbell ring. The song belonged to the era when I was a collegian; a time which now seems to have gone too soon, you know, as if it were a crackling, hissing sizzler platter looking more alluring at the neighbour's table, when all I could do is yearn for it and wonder, why did I order for a pizza in the first place? I am 34. Trisha is my first child. A case of late motherhood, a few years save of geriatric pregnancy.

'FOCUS TINA, FOCUS!

' I muttered. 'Why do I need a booming distraction, like this doorbell, ringing for the third goddamn time, to bring me back to the present?' I hustle to take the door.

'The moron, whoever is on the door, must not ring the bell again, lest Trisha should wake up!' I curse the untimely visitor under my breath.

We are staying in our rented flat, me and Aneesh, with the child of course.

Mom had to go back to Hyderabad when Trisha was a month old, to look after Papa - he is old and dependent. I am young and earning and expected to sail through.

"Tinki-Shinki! I know you can manage baba. Don't cry!" Mommy had said before leaving.

I was crying! Can you beat that!! I did not cry when I went to the US and was commuting alone in an altogether new city at 13 and got my first period in a public subway in New York.

I was all game about joining my new high school there.

"Your return parcel ma'am?" I remember I had a bra to return. I rummage the drawers by the bedside where the baby sleeps and find the grey package.

The guy throws a quick glance at the item he slides out partly from the grey package and hurriedly shoves it back in as if he's dealing in narcotics.

"Won't you check for the tags?" I inquire, curious.

"It's okay ma'am..." he doesn't look me in the eye.