It's a wonder how babies learn how to do what they do regularly. For instance, putting fingers into the mouth. And when they are told that they did all this when they are capable of understanding things later on, they laugh it off.

B simply grinned when she was told that she had a baby sister who is naughty. And she didn't know how to react when we were talking about her days as a baby, when she was mischievous herself.

Is it a sudden event which induces a practise and is followed diligently? I don't know. But, it's wonderfully amazing to watch and learn.

on B's birthday...

I so wanted to see B. I guess, it has been a month since i saw her last.

Thankfully, i got to talk to her this time.

Three years ago, and i never could have imagined that i'd become attached to her. At all. Her mother R is a cousin of mine, and was is close to M. Who knew that, come time, i would wish to see her grow, learn new things every minute.

I wonder, laugh, whenever i hear a brand-new word emitted from her. When she scribbles on paper with pastels, when we play catch on the terrace, when i read to her, when she requests me to seat her on my lap, pulling an all-winning smile at the same time.

She is a mischievous kid, and i'm sure, we all loved her acts. I should be grateful to her, as she installed the much-needed patience in me.

Hope the all-overcoming grin lights her path for all time to come. And her gushing laughter provide her all the energy that is required.

Inshallah!!

constricted cognition

We give a name to everything and anything. I know, what i am to say might sound silly. Well, it did sound absurd to me. At the same time, it made me think.

A particular thing is associated with it's name. Absolute chaos reigns when the names are interchanged. One does not understand what the other is trying to say.

B blurts out the names of colours at any given point of time. In fact, she corrects us to the T. 'Red' to her is the bright shade of red. Orange is the colour of a delicious orange(the fruit). A slight variation in the shade, she immediately disagrees with us.

Kids are taught various things. My opinion that asking them to picture that object for that specific name restricts the mind of the child. The broad channels of different thoughts are narrowed to a single stream. Mind you, this is an everyday phenomenon. Thousands of such processes occur in the mind of the child.

All of us, thus, are allowed imagination, only within the confines of whatever we've learnt. In turn, learning is constricted to quite an extent.

To re-initiate those broad ways of cognition is time-consuming and a tedious process. But, it is hardly done.

What is your take?

a change for the better

As time passes, there are some changes in us, our environment. Some changes are of the preconcievable type, while the others are not.

Most times, i am trapped to think that a present situation will continue forever. Be it that which brings a smile on our face. Or something which induces tears in our eyes. I often forget that we live in a very dynamic world. That which changes quite rapidly.

It's quite stagnant, that way. We crave for things to differ a little. For the better. With regard to the oh so wonderful! things that fascinate us.

On the other hand, it's fine for variety to be present. It helps us in becoming flexible, to learn new tricks. To face and survive a wide range of conditions that poses before us, every other day. To let things happen, to gain joy from it.

B had come home the other day. I was quite strict with her. 'B, don't touch my pencil, my books.' She quite respond to my demands. I, later, told her the same things, with a smile on my face. The response was instantaneous. How i regretted my sternness.

I still love the infant B. Her laughs, her confused words. Those days are past me. But, i look forward into the future, trying to imagine her in the coming days. Again, innovations occur, both in me and in her. For the better, of course. Modifications takes place. I should get used to them. I would like look forward to them.

All the best for the approaching New Year! May pleasant modulations take beautiful shapes!

Inshallah!

When i decided to go to Mysuru, i feared that B will forget me. You know, she's young and all that. Young minds, i assumed, tend to forget things easliy.

Thankfully, she hasn't forgotten me. I did test her a few times, with successful results. Man, was i happy!! Then, mother told me that, she will not forget me very easily, as she is pretty old. Moreover, she's spent almost three years in my company.

When she is at home, and is informed that i've come home, she runs into my arms. Surprisingly she does not sguiggle when she's being carried by me. She usually does not fancy anybody carrying her. Lucky me!

Inshallah!

an attempt to come back

I didn't know that i'd be back this early! I had assumed that these pages will go into oblivion for all time to come. And i'm not joking.

Everything about Mysooru(did i get it right?) is new to me. I'm still adjusting to the new environment. It's difficult, being homesick and all that. But, it's a part of the package, isn't it? I should get used to it in the coming days.

It's nice to have a hometown. I told this to S when i was studying at MCC. Isn't it wonderful to tell somebody that you have a native place. A place that you are familiar with, where you would long to be. I was asked to shut my mouth then, not to mouth any more rot. I understand her now. It may appear fancy on the outside. On the other hand, it's disappointing.

Excitement filled me when i alighted the bus. Sighting father, who was waiting for me. Mother's beaming face... it's lovely!

I so wanted to see B. Coincidently she's home today. I asked her to plant a nice kiss on me. She refused, the stubborn kid that she is. I told, 'Sweety, i'll buy you pani-puri.' A fantastic kiss was granted. A shower of kisses drained on me.

Bribing helps at times, you see.

one last time...

How i wish to pack all things wonderful, in some fancy glitter paper, and take them where ever i go. They would surely last me many years.

B's vocabulary - which seems to be growing day by day, spending long hours chatting with M and friends, eating chaat with cousins; while it's pouring outside, squabbling with mother on petty issues, talking about anything with father, reading novels late into the night seated on my rocking chair.... I'm going to miss all this and much more.

I am mesmerized with The Secret Garden. It makes me want to go back to it again and again. The same with The Wind In The Willows. The latter is more adventurous in nature. But, both will put a soft smile on your face, many a time. I'm sure about this.

Another extract from The Secret Garden. One of my all-time favourites. Here we go;

'I shall stop being queer,' he said, 'if I go everyday to the garden. There is magic in there - good Magic, you know, Mary. I'm sure there is.'
'Even if it isn't real Magic,' Colin said, 'we can pretend it is. Something is there - something!'
'It's Magic,' said Mary, 'but not black. It's as white as snow.'
They always called it Magic, and indeed it seemed like it in the months that followed - the wonderful months - the radiant months - the amazing ones. Oh! the things which happened in the garden! If you have never had a garden, you can never understand, and if you have a garden you will know that it would take a whole book to describe all that came to pass there. At first it seemed that green things would never cease pushing their way through the earth, in the grass, in the beds, even in the crevices of the walls. Then the green things began to show their buds, and the buds began to unfurl to show colour, every shade of blue, every shade of purple, every tint and hue of crimson. In it's happy days, flowers had been tucked away into every inch and hole and corner. Ben Weatherstaff had seen it done and had himself scrapped out mortar from between the bricks of the wall and made pockets of earth for lovely clinging things to grow on. Iris and white lilies rose out of the grass in sheaves and green alcoves filled themselves with amazing armies of the blue and white flower lances of tall delphiniums or columbines or campanulas.....

.......'Then something began pushing things up out of the soil and making things out of nothing. One day things weren't there and another they were. I had never watched things before, and it made me feel very curious. Scientific people are always curious, and I am going to be a liitle scientific. I keep saying to myself: " What is it? What is it?" It's something. It can't be nothing! I don't know it's name, so I call it Magic. I have never seen the sun rise, but Mary and Dickon have, amd from what they tell me I am sure that is Magic, too. Something pushes it up and draws it. Sometimes since I've been in the garden I've looked up through the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something were pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breatyhe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of Magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us. In this garden - in all the places. The Magic in this garden has made me stand up and know I am going to live to be a man. I am going to make the scientific experiment of trying to get some and put it in myself and make it push and draw me and make me strong. I don't know how to do it, but I think that if you keep thinking about it and calling it perhaps it will come.

PS: This is to be my last article, till i-don't-know when. I will not be blogging henceforth. I'm shifting to Mysore for further studies. You can always mail me. I'll be very happy to hear from you.

I hope to come back soon(wishful thinking, i know), rejoin the blog-world, to visit your pages, and write on my own. Till then, all the best, with whatever you do!

Inshallah!

going back in time

I enjoy every moment spent in B's company. I've learnt quite a lot in the process. The hide-and-seek that we play, or the pleasure that i obtain when i carry her in my arms.... those unforgettable moments.

My parents treasure her. At times, i feel that she recieves more love than what i get. They've seen many a child grow up, at close quarters. This is my first. Folks at home say that B and i resemble, to some extent. In our habits and characteristics.

At times, after having played with B the entire day, my parents go back in time. They start recalling events, incidents when we were small. Like the way my father used to give us rides on his shoulder... or the trauma that my mother underwent when M and i were sick.

Today, i place B on my shoulders' and tour the house. I visit a neighbouring shop with her, knowing that she'll be gifted with sweets. Perhaps, i used to be petted in the same fashion.
I prod my parents to tell more stories from the past, when M and i were young.

The story-telling will continue for some more years to come. As and when my parents are reminded of a little act that took place twenty(or more) years back. Reminded by a smilar act preformed by B before their eyes.

It's wonderful, to know of your childhood. To be told of all the innocent happiness, freshness, enthusiasm, wickedness that ruled our minds then.

I see a twinkle in my parents' eyes' everytime they go back in time. And the joy with which they guide B is immense.

Inshallah!

her voice

I want to listen to that voice.

A voice which is shrill, loud and yet sweet. That voice which calls out to me, when she comes running to me.

It shakes me from a peaceful nap. In case i don't stir up, the tone just gets boisterous. Untill the purpose is served. Resulting in a sweet conversation between her and me. Pulling me out of bed, making me run behind her.

Many a times, both of us mount a talking expedition. While we prove the other weak. Invariably, i win. It does not leave her hurt, it only makes her smile and laugh.

I want to hear the gushing chuckles, accompanying a full-throated laughter. She giggles oh so! pleasantly. She's been doing that since she gained perfection in the respective art. She always has an enchanting grin on her face, some lulls playing a never-heard tune. That which makes me go weak in my knees. That which makes me want to hold her in my arms and cuddle her.

She longs for comfort when she wimpers. A slow one which ascends high scales of frequency jarring one's ears. The secure feeling when she knows that i'm beside her, she longs for that. A scream, any time, is so indicative. She's probably bawling when she's forced to do something that she does not like, or when she's being fed.....

That high-pitched tone, which heralds her appearance.... a pleading note, when she begs for something.... a wimpering her, craving for affection.... those soft notes that spill out as lines from her favourite song, the excited tone that informs of something interesting she saw... a soft 'coooooo...' in my ears when i ask her to call out to the cuckoo.....

B, can i hear your voice tomorrow? Please, sweetheart.....

Your voice fills sheer bliss in me.

being responsible-a brighter outlook

The other day a cousin of mine helped Bruthi eat her peas. B is fussy with her food, so we let her eat what she fancies.

I thought he was being very strict with B. Later, he told me that it's our responsibilty to guide children. And that this was the ripe age to guide children(B is two years and two months). Surprisingly B didn't make a fuss. Anyways, she shouldn't have created one, simply because, she was eating something she liked.

All of us play responsible roles in life. Responsibility comes in different shades, a daughter, an aunt, a sister, a neice, a grand-daughter, a friend...... These are some of the roles that i play.

It is packaged in such a nice way that we fail to realise the weight of it. Most of the times, the happiness, joy that we obtain from it overshadows the magnitude.

Helping mother with soiled dishes... assuring father that i can pay a bill...... assisting B when she learns to associate a new word with a novel item..... wishing C on the day of her exam.... consoling a friend at college... supporting my grandma, when she climbs down a flight of stairs....

All of it appears to be mundane, yet under obligation. An obligation that we should learn to enjoy, start to derive freshness out of it.

eyes that haunt me

Dark, black eyes adorn a face.

Dark irises which lend enigma to pink, tender lips. Set against fair skin, they attract everybody. Filled with rheum, they dance to the tunes of an unheard song, they shine with the glitterness of quicksilver, they laugh at a fluttering butterfly. Trying to capture it, they seem to protect it, in it's realms.

A photograph is bagged. An attempt to preserve the euphoria. I get hooked to those eyes again, that which is printed on glossy paper.

Innocent eyes that long for kindness and happiness. From sugar crystals to everything beautiful in this world. Eyes which demand immediate attention. They crave for fame, transient and yet enchanting. I hardly see them. When i do, i can stare into them for hours together.

Searching for something new. They seek happiness in a mundane lifestyle. That which spots charisma in a flower. That which long to play with sunbeams. That which is fascinated by shadows.

Captivating. They trap me. In an alluring grip. I find it difficult to free myself. A seductive trap. Thick eyelashes which accentuate the effectiveness.

Sometimes, they refuse to converse with me, irrespective of the amount of pleading that goes in. Most of the times, they abound with chatter, that which can never be accomplished by an ever-moving pair of lips. A communication only between the two of us. Secretive.

I close my eyes, and they instantly appear. Haunting me. I dream about meeting those eyes again.