Skip to main content

More about R..

R turns 15 months old next week. I have tried to enlist all the skills he has mastered and the ones he has newly acquired.

1. Walk and run almost to a perfection. The occasional stumbles are there alright but he does not make a show of it. That’s my brave son for you.

2. Speak a few words. His vocabulary list goes thus:
amma, apppa (a little stress on the “p”). He mostly says it to the appropriate person but at times, gets it mixed up..:-)
ca (for car or anything that goes on wheels)
ba (for ball),
bowwow (for anything that goes on four legs),
bye, hi,
bike (though it sounds like bye)
jhua (for jhula, the baby swing that adorns our living room),
Kozhi (hen in tamil) of course he cannot pronounce the “zh” part just yet. So it’s just koii or mostly koya for now. Somehow he insists on saying koya. Well’s that the beauty of toddler language, isn’t it?
Auto (R loves saying aaa..to)
Aachu (“over” in tamil) and but of course
Mammu (the universal baby talk for food)

3. Point out to the parts of the body. (Ears, nose, toes, tummy, head and mouth). Somehow I cannot make him point to where his eyes are. He cannot or does not want to.

4. Blow a flying kiss, shake hands and give a high-five, clap hands (these he could do even as a 10 month old; blowing flying kiss is the recent addition).

5. Kick the ball like a football.

R seems to understand more than that is apparent. He would give a well-meaning smile when we are discussing him between us (hubby and I). He gives me a naughty smile when he does something he knows I do not approve of. He loves books. We have got him a few hard-bound educational books and he never tires of asking us to read it out to him. Hmm…we do get tired at times. But since it is a good practice that I hope is sustained even as he grows older, I keep at it. The other thing he is fascinated, no obsessed, about is cars. Any faint noise that comes close to that of a vehicle passing by below (horn, reverse horn all alike) gets an enthusiastic “caaaaa” from R. Ditto when the “Tata Aria” car advertisement is aired; even if he is not in front of the T.V. (he knows it from the background score). He loves the BBC world background music. Even the most engrossing task (read mischief) comes to a halt when he hears this music piece.

The other day, he pleasantly surprised me by bowing down to a Saibaba photo-frame that is not kept in the usual “pooja ghar”. Also, when I once did not approve of something he did and gave him a long stare, he smiled indulgently, shook his fingers and said “no-no”.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cross over- Micro-prose in 50 words

Tread on gently.

It's tough to say goodbye. Even when you know it's desirable. Explain, if you must, but keep it short. Do not mock the tears that might flow out. Don't utter words that you'd regret.

A schism has been formed, but there's no need to burn the bridge.

_______

Caffeinated attraction

Words jostled inside Anusha's head as she snaked her way between the tables to her favourite spot in the cozy cafe. She slid her laptop out, rested the bag beside her on the silver grey cushioned sofa and called for her favourite cappuccino. They made it just the way she preferred: the right amount of milk and coffee, the closest alternative to the filter kaapi her mom made.

Gazing out of the glass window, she sipped her beverage, letting the bitter-sweet taste linger, weighing her thoughts before her fingers could fly on the keyboard to give shape to them. The white fluffs of clouds against the clear blue skies floated gently with the summer breeze and they seemed, to the writer in her, like mischevious sheep that had strayed off the flock.

Oh, well, it's my mind that's straying now. Need to get my act right for my next submission. Anusha willed herself back to the present.

The cafe was Anusha's muse, the mecca she haunted during the weekends for the past three months…

Rotting humanity

Doc, there's an emergency!

The breaking news flashes the brutal carnage. Images and voices float in my mind as I drive in manic speed to the hospital.

Of sirens blazing. Of toys and limbs lying scattered on a carpet of red and brown.

Oxygen! I scream. Pump, harder.

Doc, there's no pulse.

Shoulders slump.

I witness grief fuse into flames that rise up collectively at the mass funeral. The ashes fall lightly on me.

Will the stench of hate ever recede?

*** Written for a prompt at