The one who is an experience...

Sigh. Also the one that is hardest to write about, for how do you write about something that is a living, moving, evanescent experience..futile to pin down to a few hundred words, with a few choice adjectives strewn in? You can't. Yet, my maternal heart longs to write 'about' him, and the ever-cheery playfulness, that is the essence of his being. So maybe, I can content myself by writing of him w.r.t things that happened, words he spoke, smiles he wrought, as also his sometimes ruthless disregard for what I lay down as the law. Its all a big big game with him.

He is cheerful about most everything. Though he has also perfected the fine art of whining, in his rather high pitched voice, which acts like a super sonic laser beam, slicing through layers of muddle and thought, and disturbing the very air around you with shrill vibration, such that you are jerked out of your reverie of peace, and forced to listen. Right now, in his stage of innocence, all it takes to woo his worries away are a few well rehearsed sympathetic clucks, a rubbing of his back, and a warm hug. Why just yesterday he told me this very thing, where he sagely explained that he feels happy when I tilt my head sideways and say...awwwwwww. So just when I thought I had gotten away with the whole act, he in fact tells me that he sees right through it, but appreciates it anyhow. And that's how it always is with him.

He sees through most things, but plays along anyway. He gets into the act of most things, but retains his sense of humour about him. Its the Bhagavad Gita all over again, rewritten by the tender hand of an ageless heart. He is Joy cloaked in an Old Navy blue jacket, his eyes locked into mine in a direct gaze.

There was one day, not too long ago, when my spirits were very very down, and I began to weep. No moment was lost as he came over to my side, abandoning his play, climbing into my lap, to ask me....with a steady manner and that heart to heart expression on his face. What happened Amma? Why are you crying? Tell me. What happened?


And when someone asks you with such an air of self-assurance and comfort, you lean on that shoulder, no matter how small it is. And I did, with him. I rested my head on his lap and told him all my woes. He listened, his hand on my face, my hair, and repeated whatever I said back to me, in a questioning form, as if to confirm his understanding of it all. I nod all my affirmation, and then comes his advice. It is just what I need to hear, and several degrees more than what I thought I needed to hear. And it took me and shook me by shock. For no one could have said anything else to me then, that would have healed my heart as absolutely as he did with me. Our children are not who we think they are. There are unseen forces that mold them and enable them to be mediums of expressive truth. Until they begin to fill themselves up with the world.

And then there is his quiet absorption with little lego blocks. He makes some of the most imaginative objects with them, the precision, symmetry and design of which leaves us amazed. And yet, how many times have I made him hurriedly abandon his construction, just because the clock struck the magic hour of 8PM, and that much closer to 'my' quiet time. And how many times, have I cleared away pieces that broke away, thinking he could always do it again the next morning, not realising that each and every single one is an exquisite creation, a masterpiece that can never have a double, even from its Creator?

He has forgiven me all that and more and made it a point, everytime I wear a skirt or something fancy, to tell me that I look like a princess, as also telling me on the days that I have not decked up, that I don't look like a princess. Such that on the days that he does, you feel decidedly like one, as also the Queen Mother to a cute-heart!

We have this little secret love code, him and I. Only because it is considered secret and a code, the two remaining members of the household have also whiffed its scent and used it from time to time. Buts its only between the little guy and me, that it makes the most sense for. And it was born with a desperation on my part to try and tell him how much I loved him. I love you so much Sathya. I would say, and he would listen with a smile. And just to illustrate how much, I would add....Lot lot.....much much!...splaying my hands that much wider, to get his attention to the entire magnitude of it. His eyes would grow wide as would his smile. And pretty soon, all I would have to say is...Lot lot, much much...and he would know what it meant. And then it condensed even more and became the secret code, where I would say the first part, and wait expectantly for him to complete it. And then he would repeat it back to me, while I completed his sentence. And there would be generous smiles and hugs peppering the entire love process.

And then there came this whole fashion episode with this long forgotten brown bead necklace from a Hawaiin theme party, which instantly adorned his neck, from the minute that it was discovered under the bed, along with  his sunglasses from our recent Florida vacation. Together, the two would go on his persona, notwithstanding whether it was sunny or not, not even withstanding whether it was the outside or the indoors. And even if he was watching TV and even if he was reading a book. They thus became the twin facets to a very unique personality, and very soon, he took it a notch higher when he insisted that the best way of wearing it was to let the necklace dangle from the middle of the glasses, running down his nose, just so. And believe you me, we even went to the store and the library, looking like that, inviting the curious and highly amused stares of many a passerby, who all agreed...that he had a right to his tastes. Even his teacher in school did not have the heart to have him take it off while there. Instead, she admired his quirky style and had just one request of him. That he slide the glasses to the top of his head, while he did his reading, just so he could see better. If all the world, were as accepting of each one of us and our more harmless eccentricities, what a prized collection we would all be!?!

But a lot sooner than we would have liked or enjoyed,this phaset came to an end. So much so, that it is not me that begs him to wear it, and him that thoughtfully decides whether to comply with my request or not. And just when I think its all over, there comes the whole Buzz Lightyear phase. This time with a Mickey hat on his head, the same set of shades, and a mini bacpack slung over the shoulders. But this Buzz Lightyear, does not fight with lasers, he has a bow and arrow, thanks to his daily exposure to the Mahabharata. Talk about a true amalgam of cultures.

Buzz Lightyear or Hawaiin pilgrim, fantastic block builder or little lovebug, he remains true to his very name, and everyday with him is a fiery reminder of that!