21 January 2021, Comedy Republic, Melbourne, Australia
One of the definitions of ‘new’ as an adjective is
produced, introduced, or discovered recently or now for the first time. This of course made me think about firsts. I’ve had many. So I thought I would share with you two significant firsts tonight.
Of course when you say ‘firsts’ there’s THAT first that comes to mind. For most people anyway. But growing up in a fairly conservative Indian, Muslim household THAT was never a topic of conversation. So you can imagine what a moment it was for me when at the age of 20, on the eve of my first arranged marriage, my mother sat me down to take me through the birds and the bees. So instead of a story about my first time, I thought I’d share with you the first time my hijab wearing, devout Muslim, Indian mother talked to me about sex. The conversation went something like this.
Ammi: Tumareko maloom hai? Do you know about sex?
Rana: Of course mum…
Ammi: You’re getting married tomorrow. I have had this talk with your sisters. Even your sister in law. And I've had the talk again after the wedding night when they come back confused and worried. One of them, I won’t tell you who had no idea what she was doing, and it was very hard for her. Difficult. She needed support. She kept coming back to me for months actually. She wanted the baby you see. I told her you’ve got to have some fun too. She worked it out eventually. So, don’t make that face. This is the time. Let’s go through it. Trust me, you’ll want to know.
Rana: Yeah but mum...I know already, I’m fiiiiine
Ammi: No one told me! You’re lucky you have a mum like me. I’m a doctor too you know…
Rana: Yes mum. I know. You’re a doctor, we have met before.
Ammi: Don’t be rude. Trust me. Please, let’s just go over it.
Rana: I’m 20 years old. I didn’t grow up in Hyderabad in whatever ancient time you did. I know about sex.
Actually I didn’t know about sex. Not really. Also, the idea of my very devout, Muslim mother, willing to give the birds and the bees talk felt titalating and loving at the same time.
Ammi: Now you know the man’s penis, goes into the vagina-
Rana: Yes. I know that.
Ammi: Do you know where your Vagina is?
Rana: Of course, seriously mum…
Ammi: Do you know where it is?
Rana: I mean, I know there’s the hole you pee out of and that’s not it….
Ammi: No. Ok I’m drawing you a diagram
Rana: No! Mum! I don’t need a diagram
She drew a diagram.
Rana: I mean, if you think it’ll help…
Ammi: Here, that’s your ishi (wee) hole. That’s your clitoris. Lots of women need that to be stimulated to help them along. You can ask him to touch that for you. It might help. If you keep going along here….that’s it! There! That’s the hole you want.
Rana: I...yep. Oh, ok.
Ammi: Look, it’s all in the position really. I think the best thing to do is… she begins drawing again.
You place your legs like that. He enters you like that. It should go in easy. As long as you’re relaxed. I know it’s not easy, but try your best to be as relaxed as possible. The more tense you are the more it will hurt. They’re all muscles you see. So if you make them tight, it’s just going to hurt more when he pushes through. You want his penis to slide in.
Rana: This is already quite painful thanks mum.
Ammi: Yeah, it’s just one of those things you have to get through really. No pain, no gain. It gets good. It’s all in the practice. Keep doing it and you’ll find it can be good.
Rana: Sorry, I don’t get that diagram, where are my legs-
At this point Ammi lies down on the bed and positions herself on her back with her legs spread and bent at the knees.
Rana: Oh mum! You don’t have to… Ammi is lying on her back and smiling.
Ammi: This is what I did
Rana: ...Oh yeah
Ammi: See how my legs are naturally spread, I’m making myself as wide as possible. I mean the only other way is if you’re on top, that’s good for the first time, because you’re in control. But I don’t think you should do that one. You’re not ready.
At this point my father walked in. Saw the two of us my mother spread eagle and said
Abbajaan: Ahhh, yes. Listen to her. She knows what she’s doing.
That was the birds and the bees by Mariam Hussain - as mortifying as that was I will say it’s not like I haven’t thought about those diagrams since… I wasn’t going to share this but today I called my partner and read out what I was going to read today to all of you…
Anyway it proved to be a successful chat really because years laters I fell pregnant which brings me to the other first I wanted to tell you about. I wanted to tell you about a first I had with my little girl. It was Day three of our life together as mother and daughter. I was amidst what is called the day three blues but should be called Day three hormone induced torrential flooding from the eyes. Day three after having a baby for me was like waking up on the other side of the looking glass entirely separated from the rest of the world. Dropped in a new jungle that I had to wade my way through, very much alone. On this day I was alone. My partner who I wouldn’t let out of my sight for two days had to in fact leave my side and so I was to be alone with my child for the first time. I had a C-section and was having trouble feeding and I was booked an appointment with the hospital’s in house lactation nurse.
If you haven’t seen a lactation nurse it’s basically a process of being coached on how to breastfeed your child. Something you assume is going to be some kind of magical, seamless process your body just can do the minute you become a mother. But in fact no - Some of us need some help. And on day three of being a mum I needed help. Already stressed that my body wasn’t doing what it should, that I couldn’t feed my baby, me and my painful C-section scar shuffled along the hospital corridor. My daughter was in her hospital crib and we arrived at the nurse’s office where two women were already sitting with their new babies and new mum boobs out in all their glory.
Now while Day three was truly an horrendous day. It was also the day I had decided to pull out the sweet little onesie I had bought in my pregnancy bliss a few months earlier. It was grey and little and had a tiny hood and I thought it was the cutest thing ever. I couldn’t wait for the day I got to dress my little baby girl in that onesie with the little hood.
“You’re late” said the nurse. “Sit here. Get your boobs out. Get your baby out.”
With that warm welcome I began to unwrap my little girl from her swaddle as carefully as new mothers do. At this point the nurse came over took one look at my daughter in her cute onesie with the hoodie on and said
“Urgh, that is just so unnecessary. She is a baby. She does NOT need to wear that. I understand you have a culture but she is a baby and she will overheat. You are a mother now and you have to think about that” she then tut tutted like the champion tut-tutter she was, rolled her eyes and turned her back to deal with one of the other new mothers who wasn't late and in her eyes wasn’t forcing religion on to their child at the age of three days old.
New. Introduced or discovered for the first time.
This was the first time my daughter experienced racism. This was the first time she and I experienced racism together. The first time I felt shamed for a choice I made as a mother. And while this was all very new, some of it was familiar too. With her assumptions about me, the bitterness with which she spoke to me and her unwillingness to see me or even pause for a response from me, also ignited a flipboard of muscle memory inside me. A lifetime of words spoken in the same vein, headlines splashed over newspapers, suspicious glances, utterances, assumptions directed at me. I knew it was my job to step up at that moment for my daughter. Defend her. Defend myself. Call it out. Be the change I wanted to see in the world. But I had nothing. I was tired. I was scared. I felt alone. This was the first time I felt like I truly failed as a mother. Because I sat down. Took my boobs out. Took my baby out.