Morning joy...

Do you remember your very first waking recollection from your babyhood? The stir of that first memory which has imprinted on your brain, back from those days when everything else is woozy and you just have to take your parents' word on the kind of baby you used to be...

I remember mine. And it is a memory of milk. That first cup of morning milk. Or to be more precise, that first bottle. I must have been around 3 with a head full of dark unruly curls, and yes, I was still on the bottle and as memory goes, blissfully so. We lived in this tiny tiii...iiiny 1 room flat, where it was just the living room and a tiny kitchen off to the inside. And it was on the upper floor of a big house, which had been sublet to us. The rest of the rooms and the rest of the house belonged to the homeowner and her large family.

I remember waking up one morning, and making a sound of communication to my mother in the kitchen. Asking for my milk. If I remember right, all I really said was paal...out loud like that, in just that single word. And my mother signaled that she was making it. I remember how I was lying down, on my back, knees up, feet on the floor, with one leg swung over the other, probably my arms crossed under my head, waiting....waiting....for that blessed feeling of warmth to go down my throat. That day, the wait was extending. Maybe the milk was too hot and she was trying to cool it down. Maybe it was taking a while to boil over in the first place. Maybe, she was attending to others things too, in between. I don't know. All I remember is that torture of waiting, and terrible impatience to get it in my hands and into my mouth. I may have even murmured my disapproval when it finally did. But it was soon dissolved in the feel of the warm liquid, creamy, sweet and flowing in a steady suckle into my mouth. That is my earliest memory of heaven.

And today, I see it happening right before my very eyes, every single morning. Thambi takes after me completely in enjoying this little pleasure to the max. He will walk his way down the stairs every morning, each footstep a thump thump, signaling his descent. Some days, he is full of cheer and smiles, popping his head  into the kitchen saying boo! Other days, he is groggy, grumpy and stretching himself this way and that to work the tiredness out. On those days, I will hear just that monosyllable....paal!, with a bit of a whine preceding it and following it. On the good days, he will hug my leg and say...Can I have paal Amma?


Good day or bad day, I always always give him the white glove treatment and ask His Royal Highness to go take his perch on his throne. I know the 'need' of that morning joy, you see. And he will always sit in this one precise chair in the living room. It won't be on the sofa, it won't be on the dining chair, it won't even be on the chair next to it. It just has to be this chair. I'll tell you why I think why, in just a bit. And he will wait. Patiently. With a ear cocked to all the sounds coming from the kitchen. He knows the sound of the dishwasher coming open, as I hunt for his cup; the sound of the fridge door as I take out the milk; the sound of the beeps on the microwave dial, as I punch in 4-8, then 'Start'. In the meantime, I would have busied myself with something else that caught my attention. 48 seconds later, the beep will come on signalling that it is done. Some days I get to the door with alacrity, eager to service my little master, with that perfect touch of perfection and timing. Some days, nay, many days, I get sidetracked with another chore. And that's when he reminds me. Not right away. He will still wait patiently, for about 10 seconds, before he decides that a reminder is called for, for his errant mother. He will stand up on that chair, and from that vantage point, he can see both me as I stand over the sink and the microwave, and now you know why it is that chair and not another. It took me a few days to figure it out for myself, this mathematical calculation on his part. :)

On the bad days, he will whine some more in reminder. And I will get to it, pronto pronto. On the good days, he will be lucid with words....Ammaaaaa, paaaaaal! The 'Ammaaaa'....a sound of fond impatience. And when I reach him with the blessed cup (it is cup, and not bottle thank you!), he will lecture me, on how I have to do it right after the beep and not a moment later. When I tell you to give me paal, you have to give me paal, okay?....his eyebrows raised, a note of firm discipline in his voice. Yes Kanna. I understand. Only. too. well. :)

Every morning, as this cup of milk exchanges hands, the energy of that early memory from some 30 odd years ago, fuels it. And isn't he lucky that he will not have to summon a lot of brain cells to reconstruct the fragments of this early joy, this pleasure of the morning. That he has all these words here, to do that for him, filling in pieces, adding colour, maybe even a quiet enchantment to this act of security, of assurance, that he is loved, and all is well this morning....