independent together

Daivik was reporting the Independence Day celebration they had in his school recently. “The teacher unfurled the flag, flowers fell from it, we sang the song and then there was party”. As I was listening in, I started wondering what his concept of independence might be. “What is independence day, Daivik”, I asked him. “Appa, that is the day we became independent”, he said. “But what is independence?” I persisted. He explained it with eagerness, “It is being able to do what you want to”, and if that was not clear enough, he continued, “see, if you want to go somewhere, like the street corner, you can just go. So you are independent”. Okay, that was clear enough, I said to myself. But he was in a mood to continue and changed the direction a bit. “But I cannot go wherever I want to, so I’m not independent”, he was saying. Hmmm, this was reaching an inflection point with multiple possible trajectories. Which way was it going to go, should I do some pre-empting? Turned out, Daivik knew exactly how to steer it.  “Even though I cannot go wherever I want”, he continued, “I can tell you where I want to go and you can take me, so we are independent together”,  he finished.

That phrase – independent together – stuck me and instantly offered multiple interpretations and threatened to drag me down its bountiful possibilities. We were in a bus at that point. I laid my arms around his shoulders and let the rhythms of the wheels take over and reveled for a few moments in the awesome simplicity and the pristine beauty of that phrase.

We were together at that moment, and definitely independent !

aliens and oxygen

“What is this”, asked Daivik, pointing to a cement mixer. When I told him what it was and explained the purpose of it, he got into a mood for fun and said, “Appa, cement mixer is made of grass”. I gave a surprised exclamation, which seemed to satisfy him and we got into a game of what things are made of.

“You are made of plants too”, he said.  “You know Daivik, plants and me are the same”, I said, partly in jest. Perhaps this put him in some confusion, he became quiet. So I explained, “Actually, both plants and me are made of the same thing called Carbon”.  “How”, he asked and I gave an explanation of the different elements, which seemed to satisfy him. The game continued, now including the names of some of the elements. “Moon is made of carbon”, he said. I said that it was actually it is made of various elements. We then started thinking of what other planets are made of, and I was telling him that only earth has oxygen and other planets do not and that is why you do not see life there.

I thought by now he was in a listening mode. But the mention of lack of life outside the earth triggered something deeply personal. “No”, he protested with a vehemence that was both instantaneous and spirited. “There is life outside earth, there are aliens”. Then, as if to defer any further doubts on this matter, he added, “They are all my friends”. “Okay Daivik, of course there are aliens. But how do they breathe?”. He made an imitation of how they might be breathing. “But what about oxygen?”, I asked. “If there is no oxygen, they cannot breathe. There is no oxygen in other planets”. “Appa, you don’t know. They need oxygen to breathe, but they don’t need lots of it. A little bit is enough”. “So, how do they get that little bit?”. “Oh, they come to earth. You see, after you drop me in school every day, I actually take a rocket, go to other planets, bring the aliens to my school so they can take some oxygen and then they take the rocket back to their planet”. “Who is sitting in the class and listening to the teacher then?”. “Appa, I don’t sit in the class, I tell my teacher I want to play outside and then I actually go to other planets”.

Hmmm…have to check with his teacher.

Our time, our place

Overtime, a little ritual had evolved between Akshara and me. We found a cozy corner in the kitchen where we would snuggle up for a few minutes before beginning the rigors of the day. It involved the following steps: I will sit on the floor with knees bent. She will come running, climb on the knees, find her way to the lap, hug me and give a very warm smile. The whole thing was so natural and matter-of-fact that it had not even registered.

I happened to be away for a few days and hence the ritual had lapsed. I came back late in the night when Akshara had already slept. The next morning, I was sipping coffee when Akshara walked in, all sleepy eyed.  She saw me, gave a smile of recognition and without a word held her hand out in a very purposeful manner. I set the coffee aside and grasped those little fingers. She quietly led me to our corner.  I was pleasantly surprised as remembrance of our ritual dawned on me.

So, I sat down and bent the knees in the usual posture, this time consciously and with anticipation. It was only after seeing me sit that she relaxed and allowed a faint smile to adorn those lips. She had missed our ritual and was obviously waiting for it for the last days. So, she must be full of excitement. I fully expected her to come running and jump right in.

I was not prepared for what happened next. Is this how personalities evolve, or are you born with it? Here was an event that is evidently much looked for, you have missed it for a while, and here it is again. What do you do? She had wordlessly reminded me of our ritual, she had got me into the regular pattern, and now it was her turn. But she did not jump in. She did not even smile. What was going on here? She quietly turned around, her back to me, took the few small steps backwards and sat on my ankles. Slowly, so very slowly, she rested her head on my knees. There was no giggle, no smile, no words, no sound, no nothing. It was just us, and that moment. It lasted for several seconds, it lasted for several centuries.

When she decided it was enough, she got up as wordlessly as she had sat down, and started walking away, leaving me flummoxed. I was staring at her back dumbstruck when she turned and gave a its-between-us smile. Then she called out for her mummy.   

small things, big things

For some reason, Daivik’s backpack caught Akshara’s fancy and she insisted on carrying it. Convincing Daivik to let her carry the bag was not too difficult (“But she has to give it back to me, promise, appa?”).  So, Akshara sat on her seat with the bag on her lap. I was focusing on the road. Somewhere along the way she started whining. These whinings have a certain signature to them. Overtime one gains a deep understanding of these signatures and learns – through trial and error, mostly error - to interpret them. This whine was persistent, but low intense. Okay, so something is bothering her, but it is not alarming.  Has she removed her gloves again? Was she feeling a bit cold?  

“Akshara, are you feeling cold?”

 “No”.

“Shall I put your gloves back on?”

“No”.

“Is the belt too tight?”

“No”.

My repeated failures must have frustrated her. The intensity of the whine increased slightly, so very slightly. But the new signature said : this demands a solution.

“Have you dropped the bag?”, I asked. The mention of the bag triggered something and she notched up her whine quite perceptibly. Breakthrough! It’s something to do with the bag. I turned to her and asked, “Don’t you want the bag?”. “No”, she said again, and the whine became a proper cry.  The double negative momentarily confused me. But I sensed that I was closing in. “Shall I remove the bag”, I asked, reaching out for it. “No”, she said again and raised the cry up another notch. Tears started welling up. So, that’s not what she wants. 

My hands were almost on the bag when I noticed that the bag had flipped and the front smiley face was turned away from her. “Shall I turn the bag?”, I asked. Her eyes lit up immediately. “Yes”, she said, still crying. I did the simple task of flipping the bag, she could see the smiley again. Her eyes declared, yes, YES, that is exactly what I wanted.

In an instant, happiness poured into her whole being. And then out of her. Those little droplets of tears were still hanging in those twinkling eyes, the chillness of the winter had decorated her cheeks with a natural rouge, her bunny teeth were sparkling in the morning light, and she started laughing…peals and peals of laughter, marvelous glorious laughter.

Who would have thought that that single bag, that simple act, can release so much of happiness? Or, is it the other way round: simple acts, small things can be portals to a universe of happiness.  And that we, the non-children,  close those doors with alarming efficiency as we lose the child in us ?