Episodes 4 : Baby Shower & Family Advice

As Anya entered her seventh month, the gentle swell of her belly became undeniably prominent, a beautiful curve that cradled the growing life within. With this visible change came the preparations for the traditional Indian baby shower, the Godh Bharai. Both families, brimming with excitement, insisted on hosting a grand celebration, a joyous occasion to bless the mother-to-be and shower the unborn child with gifts and good wishes. There was a palpable buzz in the air, a collective anticipation for the new arrival.

The Mehra residence was transformed into a vibrant wonderland for the occasion. Marigold garlands, their bright orange and yellow hues, adorned every doorway and window, their earthy scent mingling with the aroma of incense. Colourful drapes softened the light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the bustling hall. The air hummed with excited chatter, laughter, and the clinking of bangles as relatives arrived from near and far. Anya, adorned in a beautiful silk saree in a soft peach and gold, her hair intricately braided with fresh jasmine and marigold flowers, sat on a specially decorated swing, looking radiant. Rohan sat proudly beside her, a wide, unwavering smile fixed on his face, occasionally squeezing her hand in a gesture of shared happiness and support.

The ceremony itself was a kaleidoscope of ancient rituals, each steeped in tradition and meaning. Female relatives, one by one, approached Anya, taking turns applying kumkum (vermilion) and haldi (turmeric) to her forehead, offering heartfelt blessings for a healthy baby and a smooth delivery. Songs were sung in melodious voices, ancient prayers chanted for prosperity and well-being, and traditional sweets were distributed, symbolizing the sweetness they wished for the new life. Anya felt a profound sense of warmth and belonging, overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and good wishes from her extended family.

However, with the blessings came an avalanche of well-meaning advice. Every aunt, every distant cousin, seemed to have a definitive opinion on everything related to pregnancy and childcare, delivered with the conviction of absolute truth.

"Anya, dear, you must drink more saffron milk every night! It will make the baby fair and healthy." A plump aunt insisted, pressing a glass into her hand. "Don't lift your arms too high, it's not good for the baby's position!" another cautioned, her eyes wide with concern. "Make sure you only eat home-cooked food. Restaurant food is too spicy and unhealthy for the baby." "You must listen to classical music; it makes the baby intelligent in the womb."

The advice came in a relentless torrent, often conflicting, sometimes bordering on the superstitious, and delivered with an urgency that left Anya feeling dizzy. She and Rohan had been diligently reading up on modern childcare practices, consulting their doctor regularly, and trying to make informed decisions based on scientific advice. The sheer volume of unsolicited wisdom was dizzying, making her head spin.

Her own mother, Mrs. Sharma, who had traveled from Bangalore specifically for the ceremony, added her own set of instructions, delivered with gentle but firm authority. "Anya, remember to massage your belly with pure almond oil every night to prevent stretch marks and keep the skin supple. And don't forget the ghee in your diet, beta, it's essential for strength during delivery and for your recovery."

Anya felt a pang of frustration, a familiar tightness in her chest. She knew everyone meant well, that their advice stemmed from love and experience, but it felt like her body, her pregnancy, and her future parenting choices were suddenly public property, open for endless commentary and instruction. She glanced at Rohan, who caught her eye, a knowing, empathetic look on his face that instantly eased some of her tension.

Later, as the guests were enjoying the lavish feast prepared for the occasion, Anya found a quiet moment to slip away with Rohan, seeking a brief reprieve from the overwhelming attention.

"I feel like my head is going to explode," she whispered, rubbing her temples, a weary sigh escaping her lips. "Everyone has an opinion! And half of it contradicts the other half, or what our doctor said!"

Rohan gently put his arm around her, pulling her close. "I know, love. It's a lot. They just mean well. It's their way of showing care and excitement for you and the baby." He paused, his gaze thoughtful. "But remember, it's our baby, and ultimately, our decisions. We'll listen, we'll thank them politely, and then we'll do what we feel is right for us and for the baby, based on our research and the doctor's advice."

He then subtly steered the conversation with a particularly insistent aunt, diverting her attention with a well-placed question about her own grandchildren's latest achievements. Anya watched him, a wave of profound gratitude washing over her. He wasn't dismissive of her feelings, nor was he confrontational with his family. He found a way to support her, to create a buffer, without causing offense.

As the joyous day drew to a close, Anya felt exhausted but also immensely loved. The Godh Bharai was a beautiful tradition, a powerful reminder of the supportive community that surrounded them. And while the advice had been overwhelming, Rohan's quiet, steadfast support had been her anchor. They were a team, navigating not just the physical journey of pregnancy, but the intricate social landscape of family expectations. With Rohan by her side, Anya knew they would find their own path through the labyrinth of well-meaning advice, ready to embrace parenthood on their own terms.

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