La-D-da

Dearest D,

I know, I haven’t really written much about you in these spaces. And this is no special occasion either. You are 15-running-on-16 months old. And I always believed I would never do justice to describe something I feel very strongly about. But some day I would love you to look at this and realize what a little darling terrorist you are turning out to be. Terrible twos are christened with a reason, I guess. In your case, I can easily move it to a year earlier.

I remember the day that you were born when I saw you in half-conscious delirium after a 16 hour marathon labor. And what I remember distinctly is, barely a few minutes old and you were all eyes-wide-open and looking around curiously trying to figure where your cramped, dark, familiar confines in mommy’s tummy had vanished. I had never seen a freshly born baby even attempt to open the eyes for more than a second or two. And you, after the initial bout of cries and checkups, were ready to take on the world "Ok! I am finally out and packed into a parcel with funny noisy things hovering over me, poking me, touching me. Now what next?".

And that attitude is still so evident in you and I see it everyday. You manage to make yourself at home wherever you go, whether it is in the cozy confines of your crib or a rickety bus ride to Guruvayoor or in extreme heat or extreme cold. All that needs to cheer you up is the option to go odi-odi (odi - run in tamil) and favorite bottle of milk. Sometimes I am put to shame with the amount of stuff you put up with and just take it in your stride. Of course you are also a touch-me-not of the highest order. You have a rather complex assessment process on whether the person is worth being friends with or not. And it is strange that you seem to bond with people I bond with and are indifferent to people I don’t care too much about and I have no hand in trying to influencing you in any way.

Its nice to see you developing as your own person. Especially, knowing what you want and when you want. Even if it is about wanting mummy to sing London Bridge or Yankee Doodle while putting you to sleep or whether you want paa (milk) or kanji (porridge), whether you want to do tachi (sleep) or odi-odi. I have a lot to learn on that front from you.

I like the way you conduct yourself with people close to your age. Most kids actually hide themselves from you out of shyness while you go out of your way trying to be friendly and shake hands or coo papu papu (baby baby) into their ears. But that never stops you from not wanting to try to get their attention which is typically by pulling their turned-away face towards you almost telling them. "Hey you! Look at me. I am speaking to you".

I also love the way you give me a cold shoulder when I come back late from work or when I give attention to other kids your age. I have never seen you cry or throw a tantrum. But I have seen you silently watch me, trying to ignore my presence by not wanting to acknowledge when I call out for you. You are so little but know perfectly how to protest silently and make a statement, which your mummy lacks completely.

You do me so proud when I see you correlate the objects you are taught in books or otherwise with what you see in real, when you just shrug and carry on with something else when someone takes away a toy you were playing with, when you run to check yourself out in the mirror when you wear something new, when you just take things in your stride whether it is about not getting your food on time or getting too much food at a time, or not getting to go for your favorite walks or having your thatha-paati or appa or mummy leave you and go away while you sleep. And you do me proud for being the most precious thing my life.

Love,
Mummy
(Which you adamantly insist on calling me even when you know you are expected to call me amma. And I love you for that. :-))

Alive and itching to kick

God! I missed this space! I really, really know I did.

I missed writing! I missed the friends I had made along the journey. And I know I have probably lost them the same way.

Today I was going through some of my old posts. Some absolutely cringe-worthy, some that made me want the earth to open up and devour me instantly, some nice and lighthearted and some loads of crap. But nonetheless, they all warmed the cockles of my heart. Every post had a story, a background, a frame of mind, a mood behind all the fonts, templates, labels and headings - a trigger that made me want to rant/write/joke about it. Some of which I could remember distinctly and most, given my "gifted" memory, I couldn't. But this discovery was something I thoroughly enjoyed as I read through.

I don't want to go overboard and make vowing speeches about how I'll post something everyday and so on. But yes, I am hoping that this is a start. A resurrection of sorts to the most neglected part of my life.

But since we techies always want quantitative data to support our allegations, I'll hope to get to at least one post a week.

Amen!