Author - Jui Purohit.

  "Eww, I don't want to touch the fish. I hate the smell. I won't wash them", I used to say to my kaki. "But you love eating it", she would counter. I loved the fish fry my kaki made. I developed the taste at her place. But washing the cut fish, the thought, would get me jitters. I never accompanied her to a fish market too. "It smells awful", I argued. But now, at my place, every Sunday I cook fish for lunch. My kids relish it. I visit fish markets. I cut the fish, I peel the prawns. I marinate them. I watch new recipes on YouTube. And I fry, steam, curry cook and try various methods to make it more delicious. Once you become a mom, there's no choice left with the smell and odour. When you can clean the poop in the bedroom, kitchen or anywhere it is, and in any form it is, what more could possibly smell worse? Change the poop filled diapers, in cars, in malls, right after you've had food or right before you start cooking. I guess you can m...

 "I need to catch on some sleep", I said to my mom, releasing the heavy bag from my hand at her doorstep. "Hey! You got the driver this time. Didn't you sleep on the way here?", asked my younger sister. "Yes, I didn't drive. But how can you sleep when you travel?", I rolled up my eyes. "Look who's talking", my sister laughed. "It was a 6 hours journey and you couldn't catch a nap? Don't act to avoid the chores, as soon as you step in", she gave a sly smile. She was right, it was a 6 hours travel. But I genuinely couldn't catnap, not even for an hour or half. "Hey, you two. Stop it. Don't promptly start squabbling now. Atleast say a proper hello, hi. Aren't you meeting after months? Come here baccha, give me a hug", my mom lovingly hugged me. I stick out my tongue and tease my sister. She sticks her hands close to her temples, curls her fingers and teases back. Suddenly we both go back to the pre...

  "Is the pressure alright?", asked the massagist from the Spa. My muscles, tissues, bones, hands, legs, back, shoulders screamed for more chirapsia indeed. "Please do a deep tissue therapy for me", I insist. Later, she kept calling me, "Ma'am, can you turn over?". But this Ma'am literally dozed away during the massage. You know how the Spa rooms are, dimly lit, with that angelic, soothing kind of music in the background. There's this refreshing and incredibly relaxing fragrance everywhere. I kept staring at the beautifully decorated earthern pot, right below the massage bed. It was exactly underneath my vision spectra. Filled with aromatic water and flowers floating atop. As my body relaxes to the rhythmic rolfing of her powerful pummel, I go into trance. "This is bliss!", l say in my mind. I know I am not into any physically draining line of work, like masonry or playing sports or kneading dough in a bakery. But I am a mom, don'...