Like Father, Like Son

Bombay 1979 / Vancouver 2011

6 years

When you get older you have the ability to look back on times in your life and realize that certain small events, little things that you didn’t know at the time were some of the most important moments in your life.

During my first year of University I was living in tiny dorm room at school that I had gone to not knowing anyone. Part of my nightly ritual was to call my high school friend living in a similarly small dorm room at the University of Edmonton. Almost every night for a whole year we would share the sordid details of our 19 year old lives; school, friends, boys, awkward moments (there were many) weight gain, nearly everything. She was my reminder of home, my sounding board, someone to share dreams of the future with.

A few years later we met up in our hometown when I was back visiting my parents and she had moved back after a teaching stint. We drove around aimlessly, went to the places we used to hang out in high school and talked about life since University. It was during that drive that she told me that she had applied to a program to teach in Ghana. I used to have daydreams where I talked her out of going and everything ended up different, but of course I didn’t and things ended up the way they did.

Now it has been 6 years and so much has changed. The hardest part isn’t that just that I miss, although I do and it is that she would have been great at so much. She would have been a great mom. She would have been a great wife. She would have done so many things if given the chance. I remember the dreams she told late at night all those years ago and it isn't fair that she never got to act on them

And I miss those calls, my goodness do I miss those calls.

The Death of Cool

There was a time (well maybe only a two week period) where I was cool. I stayed out late without hesitation, drank, smoked, travelled to exotic off the beaten path locations and had ample free time to pursue random slightly ridiculous hobbies (the banjo, vegan cooking, Portuguese, capoeira) If someone mentioned a band of course I had seen them, a year ago at a club that was now closed for selling liquor after hours. I bought vinyl, organic, free trade and read the New York Times. And then I had a baby.

Now I have known a lot of people but none of them have ever said to me “you have to meet my mom, she is so cool.” I am coming to the conclusion I will not be the exception. It is a popular myth now that you can become a parent and at the same time maintain your old lifestyle, at the risk of freaking out future parents I have to say you can’t.

I remember in my pre baby days giving myself a high five after being out late the night before only to show up at work the next day early and productive. After months of interrupted sleep I can’t think of any social engagement that I would prefer to some quality time with my pillow. Even when I am out late in the back of my mind I am always thinking of when it would be acceptable to duck out. I can’t remember the last time I smoked and it annoys me when people smoke on the sidewalk around me. I always assumed that the reason why all my dad’s favourite music was from the 70’s was because that was a golden era in music now I understand that was probably one of the last times he had the spare time to seek out new music. Unless baby wearing is suddenly featured at New York Fashion Week I doubt anything I wear would be considered in style.

So I am no longer cool. Maybe I never was. Maybe all those late night, exotic trips, and poorly practiced hobbies were just ways of filling up the space and time which is now occupied by people.

My Son, my sun

Kayan turned 6 months old a couple weeks ago, I have been putting off writing about it because I think I am in denial that he is growing up so fast. The last 6 months have gone by so quickly and yet at the same time my life before we were the three of us seems so far away. I can’t imagine not having him here. My childless friends often ask me what having a child is like? It is hard to put into words, to make proclamation and promises. I am not the type of person to really claim to know a lot of things, I avoid straight forward answers and tend to respond to direct questions with a simple “whatevs” I can however say that from the last 6 months I know with certainty a few things about parenthood

You never realize how much your parents love you until you have your own children. No matter what you do, say, become or don’t your parents are proud of you. Even if you are grown and have lived away from home for a long time, even if you have kids of your own, even if you feel you may have disappointed them, you are the first thing they think about when they wake up and the last thing they think about when they go to sleep.

You can be better than you think you are. You can be more patient. Kinder. Gentler. Funnier. Happier. Stronger. Even if you have never done it before, you can rise to the occasion.

You can find your place. A girlfriend asked me the other day if I feel overwhelmed by the sheer responsibility of taking care of another person. I am by nature a bit of a free spirit, I married a man that allowed me to continue to be so long after other girls have been told to grow up. There is a certain thrill in finally growing up, in saying this person is my responsibility and i am proud and grateful for that opportunity.

You won’t miss your old life. Sure there will be the occasional moment when someone will mention something you used to do and there will be a feeling of nostalgia but it will be filled quickly with a larger sense that you are where you should be, with the people you should be with. I had a great life before Kayan, i traveled, i went great places, i loved it. But if force to choose i would give up all of it, for just an afternoon with my son.

Finally, you will be happy. My son makes me happy everyday, really can’t ask for more than that.

Bye Bye Bombay

We are making the long trip west to New York tonight, while two flights with nearly 17 hours of flight time is far from appealing at least I can look forward to the attractive and gracious crew on Etihed airlines. I am old fashion when it comes to flying, I still dress up, I expect my food to reflect the region that I am traveling to and to be woken up after a long flight with latte and hot towel. It is these last little luxuries that I require before arriving in places like India.


So long Bombay, my adoptive country by marriage. When I was a child I am not too sure how I imagined my life but I am pretty sure it did not entail going living in India and returning there every few years. The country and more specifically the city is one that I love to hate, as city who’s faults and flaws make her equally as exasperating as they do lovable.


Goodbye to the heat and humidity that peals the paint from walls and leaves the city and its people sweetly sticky. Goodbye to the pungent air, a mixture of exhaust, manufacturing and incense, where religion and industry mix. Goodbye to the noise, the chorus of a thousand cars honking, the singsong voice of the bread man, the constant high pitched complaints of the upper class housewives. Goodbye to the decadence and the despair, of luxury cars parked next to sleeping street children. Goodbye to 3 bucket showers a day in lukewarm water. Goodbye to lazy street dogs that seem harmless enough during the day but should be avoided at al costs at night. Goodbye to the idols placed tenderly and with care in every shop, home, even seemingly at random on the street reminding me that at its heart India is a deeply spiritual place. Goodbye to the wide eyed foreigners wandering Colaba causeway, I was like you once overwhelmed by the all the tastes, sounds, smells and humanity of the city, for better or worse a city like no other in the world a city that sinks into your pores and draws you back.

One Foot in Front of the Other

Years ago when I was living in Bombay, I was taking an early morning train to work staring absent mindedly out the window as it rolled by one of the slums when I saw a young foreign man emerge from one of the modest houses. Had I been a more day dreamy mood I may have spent the rest of the train ride making up his reasons for living there, but on that particular day I had missed my coffee, it was hot as hell and if I remember correctly the person beside me was sitting too close for comfort so instead I thought to myself “well, that is stupid”


About a month before coming to Bombay this time I received a message from a local friend of mine inviting me to join him on his six mile runs along the sea. I replied immediately that I was “definitely in” and started to have populist fantasies of me running along the water, passing slight Indian women in colorful saris and laughing brown eyed children who would cheer me on and blow me kisses as I ran effortlessly by.


Well, it started well enough although just before we began I noted to myself that it still seemed to be about 40 degrees even though it was 7 in the evening. At first as we ran I chatted back and forth with my friend but not long into the run decided that maybe I should conserve my breath and just concentrate on running. Soon sweat began to drip down my forehead and into my eyes and I was breathing in deeply the hot pungent air. If you have never been to Bombay let me give you a word of advice, you DO NOT want to breathe in deeply that dirty polluted air, it is gross and no doubt I drastically shorten my life span by doing so. On our second pass even after having stopped to walk for a moment I was feeling dizzy, every breath I took only seemed to bring in more disgusting and indistinguishable smells. I briefly considered jumping in the sea for some sort of respite but wisely decided not to. Where were my laughing, cheering children? Instead all I saw as I trudge passed was general confusion and pity. Earlier in the day a friend of Mehernosh’s had described Kayan as “so cute, all chubby and pink” I realized at that moment that that would be the best possible descriptor that could be attributed to me now.

As we neared the end (after many walking breaks on my part) we passed a foreign couple I had seen earlier in the day, briefly our eyes locked and I knew without us talking what they were thinking as they gazed upon my bright red face, clothes dripping with sweat, the defeated look in my eye “well, that is stupid”

The Benefits of Baby Onboard

Kayan does not look like a terrorist. His little self has been our ticket to bypassing security lines and baggage checks. Had I known that a baby was the secret to jumping the queue I would have subscribed earlier, well, ok, probably not.

This small bundle not only allows us to skip tedious lines but he seems to be the key to getting the best seats and service on the planes. He also allows us the moral superiority to outwardly express the inconvenience caused when someone decides to stand still mid aisle as they contemplate their life. Since arriving India the benefits have continued, the taxi and rigshaw drivers who usually drive as if with a death wish seem to have calmed. Merchants usually obsessed with selling me a pashmina or giant balloon are too distracted by his blue eyes, eagerly waving, smiling and making all manner of noises to get his attention forgetting for a moment their salesman persona.

One thing that has not changed, because of course it can’t is the young children or young girls with babies asking in tired voices with hungry eyes for money or food but really some magical way out. This was never easy, and is less now. I can’t imagine being born into a life where nothing is ever easy, clean, safe or comfortable. The co existence of my world and theirs is a reminder that life isn’t fair. Surprisingly these children, these women with hungry babies have been most kind to us, smiling and happy to see us, maybe we are a reminder of a small possibility that someday things may be different