Nini aa ri hai

Little V said his first sentence today. In a language we understand, that is. He has had his own language for months. It consisted, largely, of tiny little mutters interspersed with familiar words, like "cup gaooneedad pink aa rrrreeee haaa haa". Which is probably tribal for "I can't imagine how you guys bought a pink cup, ha ha".

Still, his first audibly clear sentence was "Nini aa ri hai", which means he wants to go sleep.

Of course, the experienced parents among you know that he means nothing of the sort. He means, look, I'm bored of the living room, all right? So take me to that a/c bedroom, and we can spend the next two hours of our lives talking non stop on the bed, while you and mom can get both exasperated and fascinated by my sudden revival of energy. Because, let's face it, you guys give me full quality time when you're trying to get me to do nini.

The day he actually says that, will probably be when I'll hand him the keys to his car and I'll be doing nini far before he comes back home. For now, though, I will be one of the masters of his universe and revel in the glory, until he realizes I'm just a fat, old father.

He now can say one to five, in English, and uses his pointer fingers (both of them) to demonstrate one, and like everyone in his generation, is in too much of a hurry and goes straight to five fingers while saying two, three, four, five! Then at six, he ponders. What should I do? I can't lose the symmetry - he's using both hands, remember - so, ah, junk it, let's go back to, "one!".

And yesterday, he repeated one to ten in Hindi and of all languages, German. Zurückbleiben bitte. (That's the only sentence his dad knows. We're sorta kinda a one sentence family at this moment)

He's a little darling. Varun, I mean, not his dad. Though we would welcome contrary opinions. But I digress. So Varun is being this parrot nowadays and we're petrified of using any rude language when he's around. At this point, V will probably adore me for this, I will not reveal the really cute thing he does, because you never know where they're storing the internet nowadays and if any of his future girlfriends discovers this blog, I will be one dead parent.

Like we haven't embarrassed him enough already.

Smelling the roses

In so many ways, Varun is beginning to teach me stuff. He isn't two yet and yet from him my restless self has gained so much, especially in the last few tough weeks. In these last weeks of ill-health when all else seemed bleak and I was mentally pacing up and down (mostly down) - he taught me to slow down, and take it easy.

I take him down for a walk most every afternoon now that the winter sun is so balmy and the breeze so cool. I did it in the evenings earlier too, but then the hurried me (though I have no idea what I was so hurried about) never just enjoyed being with him, never just enjoyed the hour.

Now, when the two of us go down for our daily walk, Varun goes off on his little exploration expeditions - stopping to touch the side lights on a car parked near the garden, or chasing behind two little sparrows or pigeons and watching them fly to their next sitting spot if he ventured too close, or stand on a manhole and wonder and look questioningly at me, or come back inside the colony through the side gate and want to make sure the huge gate is closed behind him (even though it is always open - so, the closing ceremony is watched by the guard with much amusement), or point to the trees when asked where they are and smile, or have this absolute urge to go jumping over the sleeping stray dogs whom he calls "boo, boo", or walk barefoot on the warm grass in the garden and really feel it by digging his feet in and enjoying it.

Everything that he does on this our daily venture is so full of the moment. I love it. I love going with him. I love it when he walks a few paces alone, ventures a little further away from me and then comes by my side and offers his hand up for me to hold. Today, I just lived the hour with no other thoughts of hurrying back up to do this or that. I just let it be. I wasn't worried he would be hungry. I wasn't worried I had to do something else. And I had such peace. Such as I have never felt before. Such as it helped heal an ailing body and a starved mind.

So Coote!

Mama: What is Varun?
Varun: very slowly, after a thoughtful pause as he considers the question and then with a smile on him Coote!

Mama: Varun kal kidhar gaya tha?
Varun: Mo!

Mama: Mo se kya leke aaya?
Varun: Daee! (Dahi)

Mama: Daee leke aake kya khaya?
Varun: louder, clearer and with 'obviously' written all over it Daee!!

Mama: What's my baby's name?
Varun: Nanun!

Mama: Is your diaper loose or tight?
Varun: Tight!

Mama: Is the lift going up or down?
Varun: Daoooon!

Mama: Is the light on or off?
Varun: owppf! (sometimes 'onnn!')

Mama: Makhan!
Varun: Dahi!!
Mama: with a lowered voice Makhan!
Varun: with an even more lowered voice Dahi!

Mama: What happened to your teddy?
Varun: Tut!

Mama: Tota!
Varun: Taatu!

It's been a while ...

... and lots has happened in between. For one, we often find Varun sitting on top of chairs and ... yep, even the dining table. Yeah, I shake my head as I think of it ... but a few days ago, D and I were hanging out in the living room when Varun trotted out very casually. A few seconds later D walked out to find him playing with a newspaper on top of the dining table. Needless to say, the chair was the first rung of the ladder and our man didn't even bat an eyelid while his parents were standing aghast and telling each other with popped eyeballs that he was sitting where he was (as if it wasn't there for everyone to see anyway!).

Anyway, now, of course, he doesn't need help when he wants to get to something formerly out-of-his-reach - it's just a simple matter of pulling out the chair, somehow scrambling up while holding on to the sides for dear life, standing on the chair (which makes mum's heart skip a beat), and simply hopping up on to the table.

He knows the bathroom is for nhai-nhai, and will often go stand outside it insisting he needs a bath, guising his real intent of transfering water from the pail to the mug to the other mug and back. He tries this with his glass of milk as well, to fairly disastrous results, since he wants the milk to keep pouring out endlessly and doesn't stop when the glass he is pouring into is full.

He is connecting associated things. He was lying on the floor and I was absently asking him what he was doing to which came the reply 'oonight', 'tati'.

He knows which of his toys are broken and where (as a result of his new-found love for hurling things to the floor and enjoying the sound they make when they hit the ground. This experiment has been tried with most all his toys and his small steel milk glass - which has a dent). He picks up a particular plastic toy teddy to which he says 'hi!' and picks at the area where it is broken and says 'tut'!

He has started climbing the first rung of the ladder in the park, where he loves to go every evening. He is beginning to enjoy being with other kids and I believe loves the fact, there are other people his size. I know this from the twinkle in his eyes when he sees older kids running about in the park.

He surrenders himself to the joy of being cradled on Daddy's legs and can never get enough of 'dadu'.

He hangs out with the phone at his ear making fictitious phone calls. He will pick up the receiver with one had and dial numbers with the other like a pro.

He used a dirty shirt of his and got a pail from the bathroom and set about mopping the floor as if for real, dipping the shirt in imagined water inside the bucket and bringing it out and mopping the floor.

He stretches his arm upwards and says 'uppa' indicating the arrow on the lift display. He also says 'nine' (the floor we live on) - whenever we get into the lift.

He loves the IDBI bank ad. where the little girl with curls who comes sobbing with a broken tooth then sows teeth and says "main sone ke daant uga rahin hoon, kyunki aapke racing car ke liye paishe ban jaayenge". He will come running from anywhere in the house when he hears the distinctive music on the advertisement and he will watch it through till the very end.

He says a "Beee" to an "A" and a "She" to a "B" and a "Deth" to an "X,Y ..."

He has little rabbit teeth that he grits and flashes all the time ... that I absolutely adore.

He is a year and nine months and every bit the apple of our eyes ...

The MEEEE experience and Parents Know Best

Yet another new funda. We used to say:

"Varun, I...love..."????

and he would spring to attention, and with a cheerful and knowing face, say :

"gung!!!"

Which technically means "you", but is said in a language only we understand. He could say anything like "light" and we would still say it means "you" because, let's face it, we are parents and understand exactly what he means, even if it makes us look silly to other people.

Now we go to graduate lessons and say:

"Varun, I love you. You...love...????"

and he goes:

"MEEEEEEEEE".
"mee, mee, mee".
"mee, meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, meeee, meeeeeee, me"
"meeememmemmmeeeeeeeee"

and so on till he finds a fly running around on the floor. Which he points to and looks at us, and in that knowing, cheerful look say, "DADDY!".

And we know that he has said, in his language that only we understand, "makkhi".

The world I know

I read somewhere that small children particularly toddlers are acutely aware of their size compared with the 'giants' around them and may have fears springing from their imagination which are associated with this difference in size. I was reminded of this when one day D and I, forgetting that it was a Sunday (for we never head to those mad places called malls on weekends), went to what was effectively a congregation of the whole world and its family at a city mall.

This was also the day when, while dressing Varun, I was telling him where we were going in an attempt to make him wear his clothes a little faster (just the knowledge that he is changing to go out makes him react a little more favourably to the act. Read: he becomes a docile kitten). So, in the midst of wiggling and scurrying away the tenth time, he suddenly became absolutely still on hearing the word 'mall'. He lay still and observed my lip movements while I slipped on his t-shirt. While I was wondering what had brought about this miracle, he sprang it at me.

"MO!", he said! And since then he curls his lower lip inward very consciously and brings out both lips in an exaggerated pout to reproduce the syllable which delights us so. Now, all this is very nice till he decides to say this lovely word at midnight when we are trying to get him to sleep or have taken him for a drive since he is not sleeping. Small formalities like time of day or night barely matter and he decides that it is time to 'tata' and 'mo' (get out of the house and go to the mall). In fact, he even remembers many days after when asked, "Where did you go to the other day, Varun?" Pat comes, "Mo!". It doesn't matter that 'the other day' we went to the local market, or to the doc., or to the grocery shop, or for a drive. That is the place 'he' went to since that is the place with so many lights!

So, on this one day when we accidentally landed up at the world's congregation in the mall which is just about capable of accomodating all the citizens of Liechstenstein, Varun reacted not with fear but with complete curiosity. He refused to let us carry him and was insistent that we let him down and that he should run around in the madness - which he did for a while, with us on his heels for I was quite sure of a stampede in this shopping mecca. I wondered what he thought of this land of 'giants'.

He was quite clearly not intimidated. In fact, he had a ball. He didn't have a care in the world about bumping into someone or knowing where he wanted to go. He just wanted to run. He managed to weave his way around all the huge figures around him, with us following close behind. It was then that a very tall lady brushed past him and nearly made him stumble and fall. I was temporarily irritated by her lack of not just caution but also courtesy. She was tall and was only looking straight ahead unaware of the little figure close to her heels. I caught a momentarily shaken Varun take a long look up to see who had nearly kicked him out of the way.

Watching from the sidelines, looking down to where he was standing looking up at and walking away backwards from the woman who had scared him a little in his trusting walk through the giant world, it struck me how, at times, I see only what's on our eye level, preferring to live in the world I know, occasionally forgetting to slow down a while, bend on my knees and take a peek into Varun's world - from where he can see best.

The outdoor fantasy

Going out of the house is now an eternal desire. Varun wakes up, can barely open his eyes, and when I've held him up he rubs his eyes and looks at me lovingly, like I am the perfect person to have this conversation with right now, and says "udhar".

Which technically means anywhere other than here; "here" meaning this house. And if you take him to the door, which has hidden mysteries behind it every single day, he will look at you and say, "tata?".

Nothing to do with the Indian multinational family named business; the sum total of his interest in business is about what ingenious ways he can get us to play his rhymes. Note that these are not just rhymes anymore. They have pervaded to the very interior of my subconsciousness, such that when I'm dreaming I dream of Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, and ring-a-ring of roses; all in that silly tune that plays itself over and over again in my head, causing my brain to turn to jelly. Which explains the endless rambling in this post, but hey, what do you care, you've already read till here, haven't you.

And rhymes are bait for anything. Food. Iron drops. (which S will soon remember I forgot to give yesterday) General sit still for five minutes entertainment.

In the end, when he's so tired he can barely stand, and he's now sat down and looked at his rhymes book (of course there's a rhymes book) and torn a few more pages, played with his fingers, analysed the stars out of the window and such major winding down activity, he will stand up and look at us with copious amounts of love.

And smile. And walk slowly, and surely, towards me or S. (who am I kidding. Mommy is far more important) And say the words we have learnt to absolutely adore.

"tata?"

Varun's version ...

... of "Johnny, Johnny" "Yes, papa"

Me: "Johnny, Johnny ...?"
Varun: after a ten second pause "... aapa"
Me: "Eating sugar ...?"
Varun: a very pleased and a very sure - with the stress on the long vowel "... aapa!"
Me: "Telling lies?"
Varun: running out of the room "aapa!"
Me: running behind him "Open your mouth!"
Varun: "huunn" (his way of filling in the blanks where he knows the word exists but cannot utter the sound yet)

... and of "Hickory, dickory"

Me: "Hickory, dickory ..."
Varun: "... huunn"
Me: "... dock!" "The mouse ran up the ...?"
Varun: "... huunn"
Me: "... clock!" "The clock struck ...?"
Varun: "... huunn"
Me: "... one!" "The mouse ran ...?"
Varun: "... huunn"
Me: "... down!" "Hickory, dickory, dock!"

It wouldn't be so much fun every time but for the finger he keeps in his mouth through this along with that naughty grin because he just loves to play games like this one. And of course we love the game too (after all, it's also one of the ways to keep him from wiggling away long enough to put that diaper on, or to slip on that t-shirt!)

A small step ...

Even though Varun has been communicating with us in so many ways - an affectionate look, a weepy face, asking questions by pointing to the picture of the object he wants to know the word for and saying 'uh?', generally squealing in delight and running with his arms outstretched when he is happy with his world, gritting his teeth and hugging his teddy bear or his mum and dad to express his love - today, it really hit home for me.

He said his first half-sentence. I closed a door and he said a crystal-clear, and perfectly pronounced (except for the incorrect consonant) 'bung kar de' (close it). This is so because I keep telling him to close cabinet drawers, doors and other things that he has opened to pry into. This time he got his own back. Even though it was after I had completed the task.

He had been trying to say this for a day or so with 'bung-kede' and similar sounds. The fact that he got it right brightened his eyes and mine too. He was darn pleased with himself and I was struck by the realization that he and I were really on the way ... not just towards talking with each other but hopefully talking the same language.

So, this one is just so that, when you grow up - if sometimes - you don't understand my words and I yours, I shall remember that we have come a long, long way from the time we both took that first small step ... and how it felt to know what you wanted to say.

Things that Mama forgot ...

... to put in the list of things I say, other than 'udhar' which daddy has already reminded us about.

"कीधर"

"इधर"

"boo, boo" (doggy, also an answer to 'doggy says ...?')

"oooo" (ouch, i got hurt, or 'i fell, there was a chance of getting hurt' or 'i dropped something, it broke and by implication 'it' got hurt)

"थी, छी" (the dirty mop that I so love to play with, the diaper dustbin and other things labeled 'dirty')

"hoon, hoon" (cars - derived from the sound that my remote car makes)
"that"
"bite" (bat)
"जी, जी " (potty)