by Anupama Krishnakumar
01 July 2013
I have been meaning to tell you this, but I have been putting it off because I keep wondering if you will understand. Maybe I am underestimating your capabilities, for, something like an intuition tells me that you will grasp it as effortlessly as the soft mud patch out there that soaks up the gentle morning drizzle. Five, your age, is mere number, for your thoughts are profound in ways unimaginable, so are your questions. You seem to see through human inadequacies and shameless expectations with a piercing eye and an unbelievable simplicity that makes me shiver dreadfully sometimes.
So today, I decide to tell you what I have been thinking. Or what I have been dreaming about of late? I am not even sure if it is a dream. Well, dreams are thoughts too, as the more intellectual among us would say, they are evolved thoughts deeply seated within our subconscious that are spun out in colourful threads when we hit the pillow. This, what I am talking about, is a carefully thought over fragment of a life event that is embellished with my writerly imagination, and, needless to say, with tiny revisions done over and over till the scene satisfies my sometimes insatiable quest for perfection in life. Then, there is music that I hear in the background too. See, I am not so serious as people make me out to be. I have a childish side too that even those who are close to me are hardly able to fathom. And this manifests in these small playful ways. I know I am deviating. Let me stop and tell you what I have been thinking.
I see you waiting. Waiting with your father and grandparents. And I see you smartly dressed – in your school uniform which I love. I can’t see your books bag and your lunch basket but your shoes are on. You are not really holding on to anyone’s hand. You are sitting quietly on one of the chairs, looking around, making a note of the strangers in the room and absorbing the quietness that hangs in the air. Your father asks you something and you shake your head and whisper something into his ear. You both smile for a brief moment and I think I see a wave of anxiety pass over your face which is suddenly replaced by a mix of expectation and curiosity. You rock back and forth for a few seconds, stare at your little fingers and look via the glass door eagerly.
You were one of the first few to know. I remember your father and I sat you down and told you about how there’s going to be another baby in the house. You rolled your eyes innocently – I knew for sure that a sibling wasn’t an alien concept, for most of your friends do have little brothers and sisters at home that they casually spoke about in their conversations with you at school. Even your school prayer has a line ‘Bless my brothers and sisters’ which you quite didn’t find relevant in your context.
It took you a while to understand what was happening around you, particularly with respect to me – schedules changed, there were doctor visits, new terms were thrown in. And then you picked up words like ‘scan’, ‘appointment’ and ‘delivery’. Over a period of time, you grew so sweetly responsible, helping me around in little ways and asking me to ‘be careful’ when I sat down and got up or when I bent down to pick up your clothes. You began sharing with me your dreams of being the elder one and all that you would do for your little brother or sister. You began telling those who asked you that it didn’t matter if it was a brother or a sister; your maturity brought a smile to my face and so did your innocence when you unquestioningly accepted my explanation to you on how the baby found its place in my tummy. Yet, for all the acceptance of the reality of the situation, you, still being a child, would come running and cuddle and sleep in the nights alongside me, sucking your thumb and also insisting that I bathe you, put your uniform on and help you with your homework.
And then I see you looking through the glass door eagerly. I somehow only want to vaguely picturise within my head what I am going through in there. It’s always a blur and definitely not pleasant, this whole process of giving birth because I felt just that way when I delivered you. All I want to think of now is the end of the process when you see a tiny little figure wrapped in a white turkey towel, sweet little eyes wide open and staring at the world and you – the little big brother who is waiting to share his small world with another little human.
I haven’t really told this explicitly but I am sure you will understand as time goes by that love is perhaps the strongest bridge that would help you cross the toughest of obstacles in life and there’s no better place than the family that can nurture this beautiful and strong emotion so that you find it limitlessly, no matter the time and situation. And a sibling is just the perfect person to grow up with, sharing life and love, and as you become adults, the perfect person to fall back on.
It’s with this dream in my eyes that I look into the future or more precisely, the next few days…
♥♥♥
02 July 2013
I have heard many people say that second pregnancies are often not as closely followed or to use a stronger word, not really ‘observed and enjoyed’ in as much detail as the first one. The first thing I want to tell you is this: for me,this wasn’t the case. I have looked forward to you and watched every little milestone of yours with as much zest and spirit as the first time and in fact, more attentively and with greater awareness for I have already gone through the process once before.
And let me tell you a secret – I had hoped deep within my heart that you will be a girl – a girl bold and daring and clear-headed, ready to lead, spirited and full of life.
And guess what, you have arrived. My little girl, just a day after I wrote what I have written for your brother and on the day I began writing my first ever communication to you – the one who was yet to be born.
It has all been a blur, the way you arrived; it wasn’t very dramatic to begin with, only the culmination was – the moment you emerged crying and dazed and I planted a tired but firm kiss on your pink and fresh and fragrant forehead.
And now your Dad and I are churning up dreams after dreams just like we did for your brother, who is now waiting to live his own set of dreams with you.
Let me not burden you with too many thoughts – we will all tell you things little by little – for we have waited for you with bated breath and now, you have finally arrived to complete us…
Anupama Krishnakumar loves Physics and English and sort of managed to get degrees in both – studying Engineering and then Journalism. Yet, as she discovered a few years ago, it is the written word that delights her soul and so here she is, doing what she loves to do – spinning tales for her small audience and for her little son, bringing together a lovely team of creative people and spearheading Spark. She loves books, music, notebooks and colour pens and truly admires simplicity in anything! Tomatoes send her into a delightful tizzy, be it in soup or rasam or ketchup or atop a pizza!
A lovely piece, straight from heart.