A True Account Of What It Is Like To Be A Man In The Delivery Room

My older daughter turns four this Thursday. Which means almost exactly four years ago, she was being born in a hospital in Mumbai.

Firstly, the date: 10/11/12. There’s a date that comes once every hundred years.

We kind of picked that date since we (Note: all further ‘we’ references are for means of support only. Of course ‘she’ did all the heavy lifting for nine months and beyond) had to go in for a C-section because of the baby’s position in utero. At this point, we didn’t know the baby’s gender so we had two names picked out. It was my duty to ensure we had text messages with either name on the ready to send out at the first possible chance. I’ve always been thankful since that I didn’t inform people that we’d had a son named Agastya in my excitement.

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