I gave a birth to my daughter at a hospital of Kolkata in October 2008. My husband and I lived in Kolkata for two years until the end of March 2009. I want to share with you the atmosphere of Kolkata through our experience with pregnancy, delivery, and raising a child.

　When we went to see a doctor for the first time, we noticed at the hospital a sign saying “sex determination is prohibited by law”. Moreover, every time I took an Ultrasound Test, I was asked to sign a sheet to ensure that I will not ask the doctor about the baby’s sex. I thought this might be because of the dowry practice which is still deeply rooted in Indian society. Preferring male babies, there are cases where parents choose to abort when they get to know that the baby is female. I hadn’t had any hesitation to give a birth in India until then, but the sign reminded me where I really was. At that time, I suddenly got a bit nervous, to be honest. To distract myself, I headed for the washroom. Well, what I found on the door of the ladies’ washroom was an image of lady in saree; very much India again. I thought I had to accept and face where I was.

　Since finding out that I was pregnant, I had become more sensitive than usual, not just in my own body, but also towards the environment surrounding us. Walking down the street in Kolkata, I came to realize that people gave me neither special attention nor care! I also found that there were many people who had great bellies like pregnant women whatever their age or sex. (Maybe due to rich, heavy, and tasty Indian foods?) We used to be confident that we knew what pregnant women look like because we often observed them at the hospital. But when we saw a woman with a big belly on the street, it was really hard even for us to tell whether the big belly was because of pregnancy or fat! This got me wondering whether they didn’t care about me as a pregnant person, or just didn’t recognize me as one. Over the entire period of my pregnancy, I had the experience of someone giving up their seat for me just twice.

　At first we looked for nursing homes or mid-wives who encourage natural delivery including delivering at home, but we couldn’t find any such options within Kolkata. Instead, we heard that Indian people tend to prefer caesarian section over normal delivery, at least in urban areas. (In Japan, I believe it’s the opposite.) Then I talked to some of my Bengali friends who were of similar age, and many of them preferred scissors. Why so? Some believed that c-section is less painful, and others said it maintains the shape of the baby’s head better. I hoped that at least the doctors were not encouraging it! We got a bit nervous because we preferred normal delivery as far as me and the baby’s physical condition allowed.

　Our doctor was a big-mama type lady who was straightforward and warm. Her examination room was always crowded with patients, and when you were called to be ready as the next patient, you could hear what the doctor and patient were talking about because there was only a thin curtain separating you from them. There was no concern about privacy at all, but speed and efficiency was paramount in handling the heavy patient load. Though I didn’t have any specific problems, it was not a nice feeling to overhear various sensitive consultations of other patients such as urethral infection, over-weight, the date of c-section and so on. These were discussed in English, Hindi, or Bengali, and I couldn’t help hearing through the curtain.

　The doctor’s advices were not far beyond our imagination, but still, few things were definitely different from Japanese practices. For example, all pregnant women had to get Tetanus vaccination which is never suggested in Japan, and I was instructed to take one litre of milk (or dairy products) every day! Moreover, I was supposed not to have any street junk foods, pineapple, or papaya which I loved a lot. But I made up my mind to simply follow these instructions after all.

　Time really flew. I was in the delivery room three weeks earlier than the due date. In the room, there was a big delivery bed with a raised footrest at the centre of the room, and doctors and nurses in sarees and white coats were in a bustle. I saw some other people who didn’t look like doctors walking in and out the room. When I was lying down on the bed, I could see another woman on a normal bed writhing in labor pain. Since there was only one delivery bed, she had to wait until I was done. While managing my own labor pain somehow without making any sounds, I could hear her scream with pain. She was shouting in Bengali, “O Baba! Ore Babaaa!!” which means “Oh my god!!!” or “Ouch!!!!” in this context. I didn’t know why but her typical Bengali shouts calmed me down and made me realize that I WAS giving a birth in Kolkata. Realizing that I was handling this huge pain noiselessly in this noisy room, I somehow felt like laughing.

　Wading through my labor pain our tiny guest came out very naturally and peacefully.

 “Weren’t you scared to deliver a baby abroad?” This has been the most common question that I am asked, but I wasn’t really. This was my first birthing experience anyway, so there was nothing to compare to. Except for a few culture shocks as mentioned earlier, I was neither tense nor had any special concerns. But I do know why I could be so relaxed: there were local friends who we could depend on and ask anything, anytime and my husband who had been taking care of me and all the household chores. I think my English, Hindi, and Bengali did help as well.

　During pregnancy, my daily commute to work was by metro followed by a walk. Though Kolkata was still hot and humid after the monsoons, I enjoyed carrying my belly which became bigger by the day. Though my Japanese colleagues used to worry about me a lot, I loved walking. It was good exercise too. Vibration of cars and auto-rickshows made me sick towards the end of my pregnancy, so walking was the most comfortable way anyway. By walking, I could observe people on the street, and I came to realize that one of the reasons why I was not noticed or given special care as an expectant mother was due to women’s fashion. In Kolkata, most women wear either saree or salwar and camiz which pregnant women can also easily wear. The same is true of underwear; there is no special maternity underwear, but women simply go for bigger size. Well, maybe it’s not true that pregnant women get less attention, but its existence is just not that special. Carrying a new life seems really natural and a part of life in that society.

　After the delivery, I had a comfortable stay at the hospital. Most of the nurses were from North East India, I don’t know why though, and really friendly to me. (Maybe our oriental features were similar?!) Thankfully my body recovered very fast. As many friends of mine said, the overall quality of the hospital was high, as was the cost. Food was very good, too; you could have Bengali, South Indian, Western or Chinese. After a four-day stay, I went back home with my husband, carrying our daughter by myself.
　In India, where plenty of babies are born every day, we also welcomed a new family member, It's nothing special, but it is clear that she gave us a strong bond with India, which hopefully will get stronger in the future.