CHENNAI : Do you have young children? I mean really young children? Babies. That’s the word I was looking for. Or maybe you’re the parent of a young toddler. Wait, what’s an old toddler? A four-year-old cynical about how much deep learning happens with Fischer Price toys and jaded by the same old navy dungarees that are ‘in’ every fall?
Let’s start over! Do you have offspring under the age of five who require extra clothes, diapers, extra-extra underpants, wet wipes and back-up wet wipes, snacks and back-up snacks and back-up snacks for the back-up snacks, and toys, and a book, and a sippy cup and a blanket every time you step out of the front door with them, even if it’s only to take the trash out?
May be you have a fancy diaper bag with more per square foot area than a 1 BHK in downtown Mumbai. Perhaps it has enough zips, side pockets and expanding bottoms that it reminds you of a Spice Girl’s cargo pants from the 90s.
Maybe it’s emblazoned with logos or made from sustainable hemp that you can cut into small pieces and smoke up when the pressures of modern-day parenting get to you. I once had a bag that was a mix of all the above. It had everything I needed to step out with my kids. It held Lego and Pokemon cards and whatever book we were reading on loop and industrial strength bum wipes. It smelled of hope, desperation and milk that was just about okay to drink.
It was my life and it went with me everywhere. Once when it set off the alarm at airport security, and I was asked to empty the contents in a tray. I remember waving the pair of Thomas the Tank Engine underpants that came tumbling out and promising ‘These aren’t mine.’ Neither was the plastic gun that had set the alarm off in the first place. The kids weren’t even travelling with me.
And then the boys grew up. I didn’t need a giant bag anymore. I didn’t worry about someone throwing up on a long car journey, so who needed the extra outfit that was always packed ‘just in case’. Also, over the years my nose has become so immune to the smell of vomit and farts that I am no longer offended by them. In the last few years, I have enjoyed the wonder that is stepping out with a bag that can only hold your phone, charger, keys, wallet and a book.
And then I got a puppy. And somehow I’m back to square one. I now carry doggie treats and doggie wipes, and an extra set of clothes, because, what if he pees on me in the car? I carry rolled-up newspaper and a fake bone and a squeaking dinosaur.
When I look for something in my bag, my fingers get coated with kibble crumbs. I was waiting for a taxi the other day and my neighbour’s dog stopped to smell my crotch because yes, I had half a milk calcium bone in my pocket. The upside? I am no longer explaining the presence of fake firearms and train emblazoned underpants to airport officials, and I always have something to snack on. Kibble anyone?