So, on a very pregnant Spring Festival trip to a Chinese coast, my wife spoke sense: "I think it'll be better if I fly back to Delhi for the delivery."

It was perfect - hospital bills (which almost never give you a heart attack) covered by medical insurance, hospitals that could be mistaken for five-star hotels, and doctors who spoke English.

Truth be told, I wanted a break from the futile efforts to save money, from the irritation of dealing with my irritable pregnant wife, from the fear of being a father. Escapism, too, comes naturally to me.

April 9, 2009, 3.15pm (Indian Standard Time): Wife, as pregnant as they get (Lord have mercy!); baby, not in position, but must come out; me, the "man of the house", pacing the labor room, blank, terrified.

In walk an army of masked doctors, along with an intern at the hospital, who must "get used to the delivery room". Thanks a lot!

In the next 40 minutes it became quite clear our baby had enjoyed her stay in her mother's womb. She refused to come out without a fight.

I was already panicking. My wife had literally given up trying to "push her out". But the experience had to be drastic (story of my life) - in goes a vacuum device (they use those to pull some babies out!), didn't work, and then forceps.

Wife (screaming): "What all in God's name are you putting inside me?"