Indian Samurai इंडियन सामुराई

Ah 2015 ... Thank you! Thank you for the discoveries: the joy of motherhood, the sleepless dazed state, the horror of falling hair, the joy of short hair. All this on a background of great travels, in Switzerland, France, Sikkim, Kerala and Corsica (all this with the baby). But of course there was a stain in the painting : I had to experience the inconsistency of the Company (at least mine*) claiming they want more women managers and then let them drown without lifting a finger when the transition back to office of the said women managers is not as smooth as planned after a long break.         

For me, the beginning of the end started in February when, two months after the birth of Baby Samurai, I received a message from my boss who wanted to shorten my maternity leave (I had a six month leave, as per the policy of the company, or so I was told since I was 6 weeks pregnant).           

By the way, if anyone imagines that a maternity leave is anywhere close to a holiday (like me before the baby’s arrival) I am sorry to cut the dream: it is ANYTHING but a holiday. There is of course a kind of workaholic mother who buys a pump at the third month of pregnancy, gives birth with her Blackberry in hand, hires a nanny right out of the hospital and works from the house the first week. But the common mortal has non-functioning neurons (it’s hormonal) for a while. And since a baby, even the coolest one on Earth like mine, eats every 2-3 hour, there is a good chance that any videoconference be interrupted by a feed – in which case the only solution is to mute the mic,  adjust the webcam and pretend to care about what is going on in this meeting on increasing wages, a topic that usually fascinates you (or not) but that is completely beyond you right now.        
And apart from the fact that they feel completely disconnected, there are mothers who want to focus on their baby and just don’t want to switch on a computer. A lot of them are in their thirties, educated, ambitious and hard-working women who become breastfeeding champions who suddenly have only one thing in their mind: survive and feed their baby. Fierce, they do not let go; to set the tone, sometimes they even reach the point of screaming (inside) from pain and cry (silently) while applying cream and plasticky breast protectors on their cracked nipples but nothing will make him miss a feed! In the process they will not hesitate to continue breastfeeding after the six months prescribed by WHO; even after a year, let's be crazy ;) They can also secretly take the baby and the grand-parents to a seminar in France to continue breastfeeding smoothly.

And well, these warrior-mothers, they believe they deserve to be left them alone for a few weeks, if only in the name of all the extraordinary efforts they have made for years (and even up to 8.5 months of pregnancy) to prove that they are as capable and bankable for the company than a man.            
That may be a bit pretentious to say so, in these times of crisis and job insecurity, but there is no way to put it otherwise, they won’t take any shit. They are like that, they have the power – even if sometimes takes a coach for them to realize it.              

So when you are pressurized to reply to mails during your leave (mails? What mails? But it takes you a week to gather the courage to cut your nails so imagine switching on a laptop. Now you understand... that mails... well...), and to get back on top of your game – but it doesn’t work, there is nothing to do, you understand nothing, you can’t even remember whether you have taken a shower in the morning. You can only try not to cry and hope that better days will come… And they do come, when the hormones finally calm down, or just that the storm has passed. But you find it difficult to swallow that bitter pill, even when you regain your self-confidence and manage to reach the objectives. You quit. And they call it a “motherhood crisis”, a crazy move that I will quickly regret.          

And there is very likely some truth in it. Perhaps, in my case, this difficult return from leave was the cherry on the cake, in a context where, to be quite honest, I was very tired. But leaving a company that taught you everything and a boss that taught you everything, developed you and made you feel “talented” is not so easy. Luckily I was helped by my new company which contacted me a few weeks after I got back to office. A couple of days after I burnt my breast pump. I was enjoying a break from the baby (who was sleeping, for quite a long time) and fully absorbed by the preparation of a seminar, I forgot the pump which was being sterilized in the pan. This incident is quite important since the company in question makes... breast pumps!  

* Doing some research, I found out that only 25% of new mothers go back to the office after work. And by the way, India ranks 115 (out of 128 countries) on « Empowering women at work ». So when they get pregnant they get fired or demoted or their salaries get cut. And if not, same things happen when they come back. They are however some companies who really go out of their way to retain or hire women who have been on a long break (they had to look at these pool of talents as they anyways find it difficult to recruit women here):

This is called the “Back to Work” programme though I personally prefer “Back to Office” as being a stay-at-home is really a job, according to me!

Cartoons from: http://www.awesomeinventions.com/doodle-diary-of-new-mom/   

On a cold winter night, in the streets of the small town of Luzern, while the snow gently spreads its flakes, an Indian man and a French girl are walking and conversing cheerfully. Our as much as nature allows: while her teeth are chattering, his jaw seems to be completely clenched by the cold... 

Suddenly the man interrupts the conversation: “So, are we gonna play it Indian style or Swiss style?” The time the message reaches his colleague’s brain, and she wonders what the heck he is talking about, she realizes that he is no longer by her side. So she turns to see where he might be and... he is by the signal, pressing the button for the red light to come. She then looks around her and realizes that she is... in the middle of the crosswalk! And the signal? But what signal? In these empty streets it didn’t even cross her mind to look for a signal! 

It’s the world upside down, almost! The Indian one crossing wisely like a (German) Swiss and the French one wildly like an Indian. Well, ‘almost’ because one needs to know that Parisians actually do not care much about signals nor crosswalks – and all that would actually be the drivers’ fault!* 

Thus the Parisian is better prepared to India than the Luzerner or the Hamburger (or any German). This being said, nothing really prepares a non-Indian to street-crossing in the chaos of Indian traffic where pedestrians have to compete with animals, cars travelling in the wrong direction, buses that never stop. The best (safest) way to cross is to stick to an Indian (and in a way that he would get hit first)... (sticking to a cow also works but it can take a long time because they often decide that the middle of the street is in fact ‘the place to be’...). 

* “When it comes to cars and pedestrians, all Parisians know that a car won’t stop for a pedestrian. Especially at a pedestrian crossing. A car which actually stops at a pedestrian crossing shall be honked at and its driver immediately suspected of homosexuality. Knowing that they don’t belong at pedestrian crossings, Parisians cross the street mostly randomly. So it’s only logically that Parisians cross the street whenever they feel like it or whenever there is a break in traffic.” Source: http://www.o-chateau.com/stuff-parisians-like/crossing-the-street-in-paris.html

The simplest solutions (and less expensive) are often the best, and Indians know it. Where a French doctor cuts you to drain an abscess of its pus and leaves your leg with a hole that takes weeks to scar, my Indian cleaning lady applies an onion... And when I mentioned the said onion to the said doctor (found this to be interesting small talk while he was butchering me), I replied “well, and why not a banana while you’re at it??”*. Which brings us to... 

... if you have something stuck in your tummy (for example a piece of stolen jewelry), the most effective way to get out is to eat bananas until you burst. It is recommended to down at least 48 fruits to get the desired result. So here is what happens from time to time to Indian hungry thieves (source). But be careful! If you read this post and are suffering from constipation, wait a minute before jumping on the first banana you see! It is indeed necessary to choose a very (or even overripe) one; otherwise it will just make things worse as not ready bananas have a constipation effect... 

And to get back to my French doctor – whom I almost believed when he mentioned bananas but who was actually “kidding” – bananas do have virtues for the skin*! You can brush yourself with its skin to treat shallow burns, nettle and mosquito bites; make a dressing of banana peel to cure warts (in which case you must also be armed with patience since natural remedies being effective slowly but surely, it takes 3 weeks); use the inside of the skin to remove black spots, and its flesh to make nourishing masks for the face (and the hair, then mixed with olive oil).

And it’s an anti-depressant! But be careful! If you read this post and suffer from acne or/and depression, wait a minute before jumping on the first banana regime you see! Indeed, you should know that bananas contain a lot of sugar (two bananas would bring a sufficient caloric intake for a 90-minute effort) and so one a day is enough – at least according to my gynec who, while I was discovering by myself the anti-nausea effects of the fruit during the first trimester of pregnancy and ate almost only bananas, was discovering (with horror) the kilos piling up... 

* I will get back in a future post to this crazy adventure of my abscess... 

** Source: http://www.savemybrain.net/v2/2010/10/25/la-banane-un-produit-miracle-15009423/