Even though I have participated in raising my siblings’ children, all of whom are transforming into brilliant individuals, I find myself frequently ignorant when it comes to the basics of caring for a newborn. Being in a totally different context from where I come from is significantly responsible for this ignorance. For instance, I hadn’t imagined that while buying a pram we would have to consider the mountainous nature of the landscape we inhabit, and therefore seek one that could glide uphill as well as on flatter city ground. Had my in-law’s not offered to buy us a new pram, I would have gladly made do with either a second-hand one or none at all, given how daunting the prices are. I couldn’t even imagine using a pram on Mumbai’s uneven roads.

Beyond the pragmatic, a huge part of my difficulty has been at the level of the imagination. I am simply not able to visualise how dramatically my life will change in a matter of weeks, that I will no longer be singular, that there will be this person whose needs will have to take precedence over many of my own. Because I arrived at the decision, or rather, embraced the decision to be a mother only two years ago, it is genuinely frightening for me to think about how my time will no longer necessarily be mine, or how my attention and consciousness will be perpetually inhabited by thoughts of another. As I attempt to innovate strategies for coping with the inevitable loss of a degree of my solitude, I have found myself relying on the nuances of hospitality as a method for embracing the unique exhaustion that I am told awaits me. What could it mean for me to submit myself wholly to this vocation and not try to do anything other than allow my body to provide sustenance to our infant? What might it mean to surrender myself to every demand this calling doubtlessly involves?