CHAPTER 2: THE MOMZILLA

There are a total of just 11 kids in my daughter’s class, majority being boys with just four other girls, all mainly from Chinese or Burmese backgrounds. Those familiar with the typical South-East Asian kids are well aware that they usually run a rather tight study schedule. School is often followed by Math & Mandarin tuitions, piano lessons and art classes leaving them with absolutely no time for playdates or playmates. 

My daughter and I had officially been banished from the mommy and me playgroup and planning any kind of after-school activities with her classmates had almost become impossible considering their hectic timetables. It was  only then a new expat family moved into the estate. My daughter and I were beyond ecstatic because this family had a little girl just my daughter’s age. And they weren't Asian which meant no Chinese tuitions, Kumon  classes and harsh after-school schedules. 

I wasted absolutely no time in inviting them over and giving them a taste of my Indian hospitality comprising ginger chai and my famous bread pakoras. Very soon we were meeting every day. Her daughter spend almost every evening with us and most of weekends too having sleepovers and enjoying pajama parties. It didn't even bother me one bit that they hadn’t invited my family over even once. I didn't care and wasn't going to let something so petty come in the way of our wonderful and meaningful friendship. ‘It’s just a different culture.’ I (The same, me who created that whole drama over women not taking turns to host their share of playdates) justified to my daughter when asked why she wasn’t ever being invited over for a playdate at theirs. “There are no such formalities between close friends,” I told her. 

I was happy. My daughter was happy and that was all that mattered. I was laughing again, being myself and lounging around by the pool with my new found friend sipping Mojitos while our little ones splashed around. Even our husbands got along well, which was rather rare. 

I don’t even remember the number of mutton chops grilled and wine bottles opened to entertain our new found friends. Unfortunately the romance vanished almost as quickly as the bottles of cabernet in our mini bar. It all started to go downhill when my new found friend made a plan to go to the zoo. Yes the zoo and who knew something as harmless and innocent like a trip to the zoo was going to be the reason for my months and months of severe migraine and sleepless nights. A few of the other kids too got included in the plan and a sunny Sunday morning was decided as the D-day for our little picnic. 

Just a day before the big day, the other kids-mind you on their own, got chatty about their little picnic plan and suggested it was better to go to an amusement park instead. They all had been to the zoo and the thought of rollercoasters and bumper cars sounded way more fun. My daughter too got excited and said she too would prefer the amusement park instead.

And I did what any other mom in my place would have done. Send a text asking if we should change the plan to go to the amusement park as the majority preferred it to the zoo. Now like they say… hell hath no fury like a mother scorned, my seemingly harmless suggestion got this momzilla to completely flip out. I was told off immediately for crushing her daughter’s dreams. Somehow we became the traitors who screwed them over for a better offer. Though I knew I had not done anything wrong and that my daughter would be heartbroken when I told her we weren't going to the park with the other kids, I did what I do every time to get out any sticky situations, I apologized my way out of this one too. I packed the best possible picnic lunch, Pinterest style, consoled my sobbing daughter, promising her that I would take her to the rollercoasters another day and set off to the zoo. 

However me showing up with my best smile and my best cheese and ham sandwiches was just not enough to pacify this momzilla. She was pissed and my 7 year old constantly trying to sell the amusement park idea, despite my constant eye-rolling and head wobbling didn't help ease the situation either. There was even a time when the lady got so livid, she asked her driver to stop the car and asked my little one to get out and get her own ride to the amusement park. That should have been my moment, to put all that ghee, I had been consuming since I was a little girl to some good use and slap that smirk right off her face. But did I?? No I didn’t.

I continued as if nothing had ever changed between us until one day, the eventful day I would like to call the final nail in the coffin. I received an email from the same momzilla regarding a minor altercation between the girls. Now these two were best friends and just like any girls their age, they too had their share of good days and bad. They too had their share of laughs and drama. A normal mom would probably leave it alone and let the girls figure this one out. But oh no! Not the momzilla. So what does the momzilla do…?? What she does best. Be obnoxious launching lame threats at me and my little one. Apparently my daughter had made fun of her child's missing tooth and you would think that my constant apologies and assurance that something like this may never happen again would have settled the situation. But this momzilla was on a rampage and their was no calming her this time. 

My seven year old was called a bully and I was called a bad parent for not teaching my kid some good manners. She went on and on. What she did not probably realize was that I too was a mom and that a momzilla in me lay dormant somewhere deep within. There was only so much of her bad-mouthing my little one, I was going to take at this point. Now I would have liked to walk up there and give her a sneak-peek into how dreadful the momzilla within me could be but instead I did the next best thing. I deleted her from my Facebook and my life. An online adieus was all I need to shut this one up once and for all. 

CONFESSIONS OF AN EXPAT HOUSEWIFE

Prelude

The idea of this blog came a few days ago when I was at the gym. The stats on the elliptical showed that I had already burnt 150 calories but I had barely even noticed it. Possibly cos I was busy chit-chatting about a certain someone and her infamous fb posts. I had sworn that come 2017 and I wasn't going to utter a word about anyone behind their backs. I was going to be a good girl and I had sworn that there was no way I was going to end up like the other  kitty party aunties that I had encountered, back in my Delhi days. ‘No more gossips & no more tittle-tattle,’ I had told myself. 

But for anyone who has been a stay-at-home expat wife, knows very well that, that is something, almost impossible to do. First and foremost we, the so called expat housewives are all scrunched up into a location where there ain't much to do. (Let's admit it, there is only so much of pagodas and local markets one can see in a lifetime). And secondly most of us barely even need to lift our own grocery bags let alone do our own laundry or wash our own dirty dishes. We all are blessed with a minimum of at least two helpers and who are we kidding here with all those 'oh- I’m so busy with all my charity work' (or in my case blogging) nonsense. Let's just kiss that aside for a second and admit once and for all that we, or at least most of us are completely jobless. 

Still I wasn't liking that a considerable portion of my day was being spent talking about people who barely had any role to play in my day-to-day existence and the second half feeling guilty for speaking out the same. Moreover I was only 34…way… way too young to fit into the kitty party aunty club anyway. So that’s when the idea of this blog popped up. This way, it will no longer be gossiping/ back-bitching or whatever it is you may call it  cos well now it's all out in the open and secondly I will somehow be paying homage to all these wonderful characters who have made life for me highly entertaining here.   

Statutory warning 

All characters and plots appearing in the next couple of pages are so not fictional and are as real as it can be. (Though few might have been exaggerated a tad-bit for amusement purposes). Any resemblance that you may feel is probably because you must have been in the exact same situations or you, yourself might have been ‘it’. I understand, that just like every other story has a different side to it, I am sure my version has one too. Unfortunately this is my blog and I am the one writing it. That being said, I sincerely apologize in advance if this ruffles a few feathers the wrong way. Idea is not to hurt, condemn or criticize. This blog is purely for fun and should be read/shared for entertainment purposes only. 

CHAPTER 1: PLAYDATE PANDEMONIUM

 

‘Play date!’ A concept I was no stranger to. All thanks to my two year stint in Washington DC. One of the easiest ways to get your little one to make  new friends while slowly building your very own social circle. So I was only more than happy when one of the ladies next door introduced me to a mommy and me playgroup. Voila! A way to keep my little one entertained and my ticket to making some new friends.

Playgroups or this particular one I was introduced to here were a tad bit different from the ones I was used to back in DC.  While the ones in the US needed to be planned and noted down at least weeks prior, in ones calendar  and included a child being dropped off and picked up just a few hours later, these once were fixed, recurring and way way more elaborate. Every Tuesdays & Thursdays, a group of 7-8 ladies along with their helpers and minimum of 2-3 toddlers per mom, taking the toll to a shocking 32 members, met up in a designated house apparently decided by a specific and well-drawn out roster. And that was not the only extensive part, the menu drawn out to feed these tiny-tots itself were more elaborate than I had ever seen in any birthday party back in the US, where a plain margarita pizza and few cupcakes were all that one needed for an epic birthday bash. But not here amidst the elite expat housewives. 

The long teak dining tables were adorned with home-baked butter croissants, freshly baked banana muffins, extensive fruit bouquets cos apparently just dumping it all in a bowl is so bourgeois and star shaped blueberry pancakes (coz God forbid if you serve them in the cliched circle-shape). I felt glad that I still had a few weeks before my shipment arrived. ‘Enough time to master the art of baking, learn to create at least one fruit bouquet and skillfully organize the perfect play date, Yangon style! I would do just fine.’ Or so I thought. 

Now I will be honest, one of the main reasons why I even decided to be a part of this playgroup despite my (then) 6 year old constantly reminding me that she was way too old to be hanging around with a bunch of three year olds was coz I was desperate to make friends. After moving three locations, I was well aware that it was the only way to survive any posting.  Now you would think that since you are meeting these women every Tuesday and Thursday, a total of 8 times in a month and 92 times if you take a year (More time than I spent with my parents annually), you would assume it would soon blossom into some kind of a meaningful friendship where we will all become besties and form some kind of an unbreakable bond of sisterhood and what not. This was going to be magical and ‘oh-so easy’ especially for me cos I was good at making friends. If I could make lifetime friendships with complete strangers while waiting for my train at the metro station or on the road walking to my daughter’s school in a place like DC, charming these Myanmar ladies was going to be a piece of cake. Well not quite!

Despite our frequent rendezvous I was amazed that our conversations barely went beyond how was your day to are you liking Yangon and the tedious air kisses* (*the art of kissing someone without touching mainly to avoid smudging of makeup. More on it in the following chapters). I doubt if anyone even knew which part of India I belonged to and how I pronounced my full name. There were also times when it was only me, a bunch of nannies and whiny toddlers at these playdates as the moms were busy with other social commitments. 

It was in one of these occasions, the very first playdate pandemonium erupted. The Tingyan holidays were on and many had travelled to their home countries for the long ten-day break. I being a complete playdate amateur assumed since there was hardly anyone here, I wouldn't have to host the playdate although the name in the weekly roster, had mine written on it in bold letters. I conveniently cancelled and decided to take my kid to the pool instead. When I returned what awaited me was an array of Whatsapp messages from one particular mom, the only one apart from me that hadn't gone away for the holidays, telling me how I had not followed the roster and that it was extremely impolite of me to have cancelled at such short notice. The email didn’t end there. Somehow I had hurt her three year olds feelings as the little one was so looking forward to it all week to visit her Aunty Ash and what not. I could have sworn that the kid barely recognized me when I saw her cycling just the previous day and is it even possible for a three year old to know exactly what day of the week it is and that it is her so-called Aunty Ash’s turn to host when she can barely tell her alphabets apart? Boy! That kid sure must be some kind of a genius if u ask me. Anyway after a few really shallow apologies…(my one stop solution to get out of any dramatic situation) we air-kissed our way through this little bump and moved on.

The second drama unfolded rather soon, courtesy me, yet again, when I  decided to add a few friends of my daughters age to the playgroup. If  I was going to go through all the trouble of frying pakoras and baking cookies and hosting playdates for kids my girl hardly even played with, it was only fair that I add a few of her real friends. So that’s what I did and our group got a little bigger with the addition of a few 6 year olds. Now remember the roster, the one that thou shall not dishonor, come what may. Apparently following the changes, the moms designated in the first place to uphold its integrity, slowly decided to back out from their hosting responsibilities. Now don’t get me all wrong, they still ended up coming to every single one hosted by me, devouring my aalo samosas and savory pakoras with the same intensity and vigor. They simply refused to host when it was their turn. Now I had upgraded from being a playdate amateur to a more permanent member or even a veteran to some extend and when you are amongst a handful of the newly added moms hosting every Tuesday and Thursday, it gets a bit much. 

So I too send out the mandatory email calling on the other non-hosting pakora-devouring moms asking them to host as well. And that’s what lead to playdate pandemonium number 2 aka the grand finale. What followed was a series of never-ending chain mails. Some suggesting that they though absolutely unemployed till only the previous week had somehow, all of a sudden become bombarded with way too many social commitments leaving them with absolutely no time to host the little munchkins and others complaining that their 4 bedroom luxurious villas in the estate were way too small to host the 6 year olds. To cut a long dramatic email short, the group was split. The little ones & mommy group and the 6 year olds & Mommy stinker group. And out went my dream of forming long-lasting bonds, friendships to last a lifetime and what not. In short what a utterly and complete waste of my bread pakoras…

CHAPTER 2 (Coming soon)...THE MOMZILLA