Wednesday, January 22, 2014

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.   

Monday, January 20, 2014

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 ?