Baby’s Room

Finally, those little eyelids closed, for a precious hour or two at least, she hoped.

His breathing was shallow, a typical baby’s, with small snuffles and grimaces - but as peaceful as it would get. The frown that had creased his forehead was gone too. The little bud-like lips were partially open, a sweet milky smell coming out with each tiny breath.

She slowly transferred his warm weight from her arms to his tiny cot. Her shoulder hit the dolphin mobile as she lowered the baby and the dolphins started doing their merry dance, bobbing up and down. She quickly grabbed it before the bells would start jingling. There, thank God, that didn’t wake him up.

The baby was now three months old, and had a name too - but in her mind, he was still the ’baby’. She straightened up, conscious of the constant ache in her back. Ache that had started gnawing her lower back in the last few weeks of the pregnancy and had still not left her.

The door and the windows of the baby’s room were perpetually closed and the curtains drawn so that room was in a never- ending night mode. A teddy bear night lamp, on all 24 hours, bathed the room in ghostly blue light. She looked around wearily - so much still to do. The room was in a mess. The floor was strewn with baby’s tiny clothes, small bibs, nappy bundles, baby lotions, half open box of wet-wipes and suchlike. Shall I start cleaning up now or shall I try and grab a bite before he wakes up, she wondered.

The baby had been problem sleeper right from the time he was born, never sleeping for more than an hour or two at a stretch. She had tried everything that the pediatrician suggested and the baby-books had advised. Nothing worked. She calculated - he is now 13 weeks old - that’s how long I haven’t had a full night’s sleep either. Add to that the two weeks before he was born, when her lower back was in almost constant spasm.

And something happened after the bay was born. Since that day, she had retreated into some private space in her mind, populated only by her baby and herself. Nothing existed, nor mattered in the world but her baby. She refused to take him out of the room, and made herself a virtual prisoner. Never coming out even for meals or for spending some time with the husband. Let alone any guests, even her own family hardly allowed to see the baby.

She was so tensed up at all times that there seemed to be no joy in her. No matter how much the doctors assured that the baby was just fine, she was not convinced. Only here, in the closed, hushed, darkened room, she felt safe. The husband and now the bewildered new father, tried whatever he could to draw her out, but she was like the baby’s room - closed doors and windows.

’Post natal depression’, her doctor had said, shaking his head, giving no indication how long it could take. Wisely keeping it to himself that some women took years to come out of it.

She decided to straighten the room before getting something to eat. She worked methodically, and soundlessly - darting frequent looks at the baby’s cot, expecting his howl at any moment. Folded dozens of little clothes, packed away the half opened nappy bundles. She was extra careful picking up the baby oil bottle, one had slipped from her hand a fortnight ago, waking him up as it shattered in a oily mess on the floor. There, that was done too.

Now she was so used to be moving around in the darkened room with its permanent blue night lamp, that the sunlight outside actually hurt her eyes. Whenever she went out of the room into the house, she had to shield her eyes first.

Next, she stepped into the bathroom. There, in the dim yellow light of the bulb, she put the soiled nappies in the bin. Her toiletries had been pushed from the counter into the cabinet to make space for the baby’s things. Baby shampoos and soaps, plus the special ingredients that her grandmother had sent to make a herbal paste for rubbing into him before the hot bath.

The small bathroom felt stuffy. She cautiously went to the window to open it a bit - praying that no noise from the outside would get in to wake the baby up. A small breeze wafted in and caressed her flushed cheeks. Then, with a whirring sound, something else flew in, and her heart went ice cold.

She knows the sound, it is a flying cockroach!

It had missed her face just by inches - she remained frozen, hardly daring to turn around. All was quiet in the bathroom, and she hoped feverishly that it was a moth and not a cockroach. Turning around slowly, she scanned the small room. No sign of it. Could she have imagined it? Her breath escaped in cautious relief.

Better to close the window - maybe indeed something could fly in otherwise. Her fingers fumbled as she pulled the shutter close again.

She turned and took few steps towards the bathroom door ...and stifled a scream, for there it was, almost blending in with the dark wood of the door.

As she watched in horrified revulsion, the cockroach scuttled at an incredible speed on to the white tiled wall. Even in the dim light, against the glaring white wall, details of its hideous body came in view.

Long restless, quivering antennae, hairy legs, large flat eyes and the wings! She almost gagged at being so close to the insect. Her reactions to a cockroach were well known in her family and friends. Even on seeing a dead cockroach, she was known to walk out of room. And if she ever came across a live one, all hell would break loose as she would scream and run about wildly.

Once, during a lecture in college, a flying cockroach had landed on her desk, She had to be led away, sobbing and blubbering, completely hysterical. Later in the evening, she developed a high fever and was in bed for almost a week. Afterwards, she could not even bring herself to look at that particular bench, let alone touch it.

That was when the family got seriously concerned about her cockroach fear. Of course many people are scared of cockroaches, but her fear bordered on phobia. Something had to be done. There was some talk of taking her for psychological counselling, an uncle also suggested seeking help of a hypnotist. Ultimately though, time passed and nothing was done.

Now, here she was, trapped in a small space with a large and extremely agitated looking specimen. She held her breath and tried to look around without daring to move her head to see where the creature had gone. She could see nothing at first, but by moving her head a little, she saw it darting around on the closed bin of the baby’s nappy bucket.

Baby!

Her mind suddenly registered this new dimension of the horror. Her baby was barely a few feet away in the room from the revolting creature. Her skin crawled as a scenario involving her baby and the cockroach horrifyingly unfolded in her mind.

As if it somehow it read her thoughts, the cockroach abandoned its crazed exploration of the bin and took to air. She ducked instinctively as it buzzed past her through the half open bathroom door and landing on the blue teddy bear lamp.

She stumbled into the room, her mind agonized as she sought a solution. Could she take the baby and run out, and get someone to go in and kill it? Then she remembered that there was no-one in the house today. No maid, and no husband - he was out of town. Could she go to the neighbours? But across the landing lived only Mrs. Palkiwala, about a hundred years old. The apartment downstairs had been empty for a few months now - no one there to help her either.

Her heart thudding painfully, She looked at the baby’s cot. Still sleeping, he had kicked away the light cover and his little foot was exposed, looking a surreal blue in the light. Not too far from his cot, the cockroach now had finished looking over the teddy and was climbing over the various lotions and medicine bottles that she had just kept away. Every hair on her body stood up and a whimper escaped her.

The thoughts ran around in her tortured mind - what to do...... what to do? Then the cockroach dropped down from the medicine cabinet onto the cot, looking large and menacing on the pristine white wooden railing. It was obvious that in its frenzied exploration, it would not leave the baby alone.

Her baby! Something tripped in her numb mind.

An exclamation of outrage escaped her and her face became flushed with a sudden injection of adrenaline. Mindless of the strange sounds coming out of her throat, she banged her palm across the switchboard, flooding the room with brightness. The baby’s eyes flew open and the little lips trembled in preparation to a plaintive cry.

She did not so much as even look at the baby now - all her attention was on the vermin. It had frozen in the sudden bright light, on the top bar of the cot, just inches away from the baby.

She whipped the rubber bedroom slipper from her foot and advanced on the cot. Her arm swung fast and hit out at the cockroach, catching it just before took flight again. Her slipper swiped it, but not forcefully enough. It flailed about before toppling onto the floor with an audible plop. With another cry she was on the floor, on all fours, eyes flashing, hunting for it under the cot. There it was, weak from the swipe, but still trying to crawl away under some cover.
She paused this time - judging the distance and aiming carefully before striking.

SPLAT! Hard came down the slipper, landing flat against the floor..

In the silence that followed, she became aware that baby was mewling pitifully.

She let the slipper stay there for a moment before slowly withdrawing her arm - there it lay on the floor, dead. Its slimy innards had split open with the impact. She sat on her haunches for a minute, looking at the gruesome mess on the floor.

Dead, it looked revolting, but not terrifying, not terrifying enough for years of tortured nightmares. She looked at the bedroom slipper in her hand - it was easily ten times bigger than the cockroach.

She got up then, and laughed out aloud, her laughter drowning out the baby’s cries. As the baby heard the alien sound of laughter from his mother’s familiar voice, his cries dwindled to a whimper.

She strode into the bathroom and washed out her slipper under running water. A broom came out from under the washbasin and the pathetic dead cockroach was swept away. A wet mop smelling of pine disinfectant went over the floor, removing all traces of the massacre. The baby had fallen silent - his little head turned this way and that, looking at the unfamiliar objects revealed in the bright light. The tears were drying on his plump little face and his eyes became bright with curiosity.

Humming now to herself, she swept into the room and marching to the window, threw it open.

A fresh cool gust of wind rushed into the room, stirring lazy dust-motes. The dolphins in the mobile danced merrily and the tiny bells jingled along. In the garden below, children shouted, their high fluty voices drifting in. Somewhere not too far a dog barked a joyful bark.

The large leafy tree outside waved its branches and the afternoon sun threw a laughing beam of pure gold into the baby’s room.