Noori fell off the bed on Monday. It was around 9 AM, and she was playing on the bed in our room, and Amma, Sravani, and I were going through the wardrobe and discussing gifts from the previous day's Satyanarayana Vratam. Then, still engrossed in the topic, we moved, all three of us, into Ammamma's room and a minute or so later we heard her bawling. We rushed to see Noori crying on a little pile of clothes, a faded yellow plastic cover next to her. I picked her up and handed her over to Sravani, but the poor thing couldn't stop crying and screaming, even refusing to be calmed or fed, but eventually after a long minute or two, she stopped to realise that her mother was holding her, that she was now safe, and she sucked deeply, trying to calm herself more than anything. We felt like shit, all of us, and Sravani kept repeating to her, "Amma's sorry, its completely Amma's fault, Amma's sorry". We then checked for swellings, bruises, and even though there were none and she seemed back to normal in a few minutes, called Athaiya-Mavayya and went to see a paediatrician in their apartment. She told us she was fine, told us to let her know immediately if she vomited, and sent us back with reassurances.
Then we came back home, I wore her in the carrier, put her to sleep and dozed off myself. Around 2 PM Sravani woke me up because she was hungry and Noori then woke up too. So Sravani quickly gave her milk, we put her on the mat, and sat next to her to eat while she played. But as she's wont to these days, when she noticed us eating, she stopped playing and started staring at us with an unbearable longing, saliva forming at the ends of her mouth. That look has been making us feel uncomfortably guilty for eating without feeding her on top of which we were in a much more pliable mood because of the morning incident. So I went into the kitchen, and on not finding carrots in the fridge, peeled a cucumber, cut it into long quarters and put it infront of her; A homemade teether Sravani has been giving since a month-ish. So she continued lying on the stomach with a cuke piece in her hand, still looking at us, but now being able to put something in her mouth as a distraction. It went well for a couple of minutes at which point Sravani said, "Aditya she's bitten a really big piece". I looked at her to see her looking at us, dishevelled hair falling on her forehead, chewing, saliva dripping off her mouth. She kept on chewing during which time I asked Sravani if I should pick her up but she told me to wait in case that action might make her involuntarily gulp. No sooner had she finished uttering that line, suddenly, the next moment, Noori made a hair-raisingly shocking rasping sound at which point Sravani yelled, "She's choking". The sound of her sucking for air and Sravani's use of the word Choke had such a strong impact that the next few minutes are a blur to me. I dropped my plate to pick her up and stuck my finger into her mouth trying to hook out anything I found. I found nothing and I saw Noori's eyes widen- either because of the suddenness of my actions or because she couldn't believe she was finding it hard to breathe. I think I screamed, "Noori, Noori", before thrusting my finger into her mouth again. Still nothing. That's when Sravani yelled, "Aditya she's turning blue, she's turning blue" when I believe I had an adrenaline explosion and I, involuntarily, unthinkingly, held her by her legs, turned her upside down, cupped my palm and started slapping her back. I don't know if I was yelling at this point. I probably did this for a couple of times, and I remember faintly hearing Sravani say, "I am calling an ambulance". Then, without knowing what I should do or could do, I ran with Noori to bang on Amma's door, and screamed, "Amma, amma" to wake her up. Before Amma could come out, I opened the main door and ran out into the corridor with Noori, bellowing, "Doctor, Doctor". After I'd taken a few steps I came to the stairs and my brain paused to ask if it should take me downstairs or to a neighbour's house in case someone knew what to do. During that pause I heard Sravani say, "Its okay, she's crying she's able to breathe, she's able to breathe". I turned to look at Noori and she looked absolutely bewildered, crying but otherwise hail and healthy.
Sravani called Mavayya asking him to come so that we could go to the doctor again. During the 20-minute car ride both of them tried to engage me in a conversation and I could hear them and understand them but any response seemed too hard to give. It felt surreal, like being stoned, both too visceral and distant at the same time. I kept looking back to see Noori playing in her car seat, I wanted to hold her and cry but tears wouldn't come. The panic I'd felt, the images my mind produced of her asphyxiating, even during the long moments of me running with her, refused to let go. My mind knew she was okay now and yet it was as if the rest of my being lagged in realising, in responding. Anyway, the doctor told us she'd be fine, asked her to keep an eye on her breathing in case the particle had passed into her respiratory channel, warned us from feeding in certain positions, and I was able to talk to her, to ask questions, yet I wasn't there a 100%. The dread took a long while to subside. Even that night I kept dreaming that I was going to turn onto her and she wouldn't be able to breathe so I kept waking up in a state of sudden shock to check on her. It's taken till yesterday evening to be able to articulate the event, to venture into that terrible place to recreate it and, hopefully, learn from it.
When I was younger, from maybe 16-23, I feared becoming a father because I thought what if I don't develop any attachment towards my child, what if, like my father, I wouldn't find the need or the capability to form a relationship with my child- that sentiment is beautifully captured in a line Rhia said a few weeks ago, "Most men become fathers, only a few become dads". That worry subsided slowly as I got older, was replaced by more abstract worries, probably because I learned, and was reassured by women close to me, that I did have the capacity for genuine love and care. Our pregnancy was a glorious chapter of my life, I cherish it immensely. It prepared me for fatherhood. Then Sravani's long labour, the anticipation, the nervousness, seeing Noori for the first time dispelled any notions of 'distant fatherhood'. I want to do everything with my child, be an integral part of every important event in her life, this became an axiomatic truth. Yet there's always this little voice in the head, that asks if all this is genuine or if I'm training myself to become a good father despite not feeling it really really. If you love her, why don't you think of her 24x7? If she's so important to you, why do you feel the need to pursue other interests, responsibilities? If she is the most central thing of your life now, how does it happen that you don't think of her for hours when you're engrossed in something else? Questions like these, including most recently, Will she be Out of Sight-Out of Mind for the 3 weeks when they're in India and I go back to Australia? I'm glad that those fears exist lest I take my responsibilities for granted. But I'm also glad to know that during those moments when I felt my daughter's life was endangered, I felt a fear, and the courage to do whatever was required to protect her, so deep, so intense that I don't think these feelings were mostly me fooling myself. This is as real as anything I've felt. I wish Noori didn't have to go through the pain, and I really hope she's never in danger again, atleast for as long as I'm alive, but the silver lining's that I now know for sure that I love my daughter and will go to great lengths to protect her.
Interestingly, during those moments of panic and anxiety my primary feeling was my responsibility towards her- "Noori's safety and well-being is my responsibility as her father"- that was the core belief that seemed to be guiding my actions. And funnily enough, I always imagined myself to be cool-headed, calm, and rational in these kinds of scenarios, but it was Sravani who was able to take a deep breath, assess, and act (Take 5 as they taught us at SES) while I screamed and ran around like a headless chook.
For someone who's tried to run away, almost comically so, from anything that looks like responsibility, especially if it pertains to others' mental or physical well-being, I find it hard to believe that the nature of my love to my daughter takes the form of duty. And weirdly, but also clichedly, it feels right and freeing, unharassed as it is by the relentlessness of my deconstructing, questiong mind. I'm liking this new kind of love.