Every movie I have planned, shopping mall I have visited or flight I have taken, a bawling baby has tested my patience more than my relatives’ constant question of ‘shaadi kab ho rahi hai?‘
Don’t get me wrong. Babies are cute, they laugh at anything, they play with anything and literally can eat garbage if you threw it at them…
… until they decide to test the power of their lungs, the moment they are in a public space.
Because that’s when the Devil takes over.
Let’s face it, no one likes a crying baby. Not even their parents.
They are everywhere, those little suckers are out there to ruin your movie date, shopping spree… everything.
I mean, I get it. I get that babies can’t help themselves. I get that I was that age once. I get that if I so desire, even I may turn into a parent one day. But I can’t pretend to be patient when the little sucker is on the floor of a bookstore, not letting me leave with my Avenger memorabilia.
They really test your patience.
If I had a penny for every time a crying baby ruined movies for me.
And obviously, I am not a fan of how right at the moment the climax is going to be revealed, the baby decides that it has something to share with the hall.
When that baby decides to erupt right at the moment of taking off and doesn’t stop till the plane lands.
Also, every flight I take, there is that precise moment when I’ve just settled in the too cramped airplane seat, and my favourite track is about to play, that I hear a loud bawling.
And I know, I just know, that this bawling will not stop throughout the journey.
My heart goes out to the parents because I know that not only are they helpless, they are also at the receiving end of too many silent curses, in too little time.
In fact, they do try every trick in the world to get the little bugger to calm down. Hell, it must have taken them ages to plan a movie outing, and they even end up missing the movie at times.
And I completely understand that babies have no control over the moment they pick to scream bloody murder.
It’s true we were all babies once, and our parents also had to handle stink eyes, evil glares, and exasperated sighs at one point in time.
But till the time I make the transition to carry my own crying, vomiting, tiny bundle of joy (and no I don’t mean my ex-boyfriend), I can sympathize with those parents, but I sure as hell don’t want to be in their position, or honestly, even be near their positions.
Which is why, for every public place where babies are welcome, I wish there was a silent zone where we could escape.
To parents, hang in there because when your babies grow up to be teenagers who think they know best, you’ll look back at this time with joy.
And lastly, to people who bring their babies to a club late at night, there is a special place in hell for you!
