The tottering tot and the people in his life

Written on 10th October, 2010

The munchkin completed 14 months yesterday and despite all the comparisons which are inevitable with other tots of his age, am very happy that he's turning into a completely different person from his father and I and is into doing his own thing.

He hasn't learnt fear yet, of that am ambivalent because it stops him from being cautious or listening to warnings about a few things. But at the same time am glad that my fallacies or silly fears aren't getting transferred to him. We make it a point to chase the house lizards instead of my using shrieking and praying for the Divine Hand to strike them dead where they crawl my walls.
He picks up bugs and is a bit picky about his tastes so no unnecessary non-veg stuff has been added in his diet. YET.

As for the people in his life- let's start with my maid. She dotes on him and has been seeing him since he was 26 days old. Every milestone of his she notes and goes and brags about to the other people she works for. They play peekaboo and she's thoroughly tickled when he does his clap-clap and bye-bye. Apparently there aren't too many babies who do it as adorably as mine does :P

His grandparents aka the Mater and Pater. They miss him awfully and keep cooing to him over the speakphone a few times in the day. Am required to furnish details of his escapades and my father (Mr.Impatience himself wrt Moi) keeps telling me to be patient and not scold him. How the tide's turned...
My mother sings to him over the phone and keeps laughing at his antics and keeps telling me to be careful with him and not let him out of my sight much. Yup...I'll do that when the house needs remodelling and I can't afford a proper decorator. The mini me will tear stuff down; the walls too if need be.

His playmates in the building- are few. Most kids are taken care of by ad hoc nannies the parents supervise from the building or via mobiles. The kids try to climb into his pram and seem quite attracted to something in him which I can't quite place. He's unashamedly aloof with another boy in the building, reserving his smiles and claps for the fairer sex. Amongst whom, the fairer the better is the name of the game :)

His father- has become his partner in crime of late. Teaching him to throw stuff, further and further each time is what these two love to do. And Red is also his sanctuary from the mad mommy and her barks and occasional bites.

His mommy aka moi- well..we test the boundaries of our relationship everyday. He knows me better than I know him. He pushes my buttons like few others do and is very quick to manipulate. Kisses are given rapidly to avoid slaps on the bum and deafness is feigned when I'm not compliant enough or other more pliable people are around :)
He eats my food, demands my soft drinks and ice cream and my cellulite is his trampoline.

What more does a child need?

A dog maybe?

Dida

My mother informed me that today's her mom's death anniversary. Or death-day (as popularized by Nearly Headless Nick :p) and I brought in some amount of irreverence right at the onset because I'm not sad at all. I don't remember when and exactly how she died although I was in my 20s then, but I remember exactly how she lived and how she made having a grandparent such a delight!

She was a funky woman but very traditional. Home and hearth and husband above all else.

She was short (more than me which makes me love her more) and fat and very very squishy!
She had horrible eyesight and was reduced to making her way about the house almost through her knowledge of having lived there for over four decades.
She and her soda bottle glasses. Because of her tunnel vision she couldn't see me make faces at her while she was talking to other people.

She used to tie her hair with thin black ribbons and make a plait every night before going to bed. And whenever she'd laugh, which was often, her nose would go all flat and eyes would go into slits and she'd look quite the archetypal Oriental person from the comics.
She let me put a face pack on her once and got freaked out when I started to pull the dried stuff off her face...her 1st facial at 70+
She'd use a lotion we'd got for her when we'd gone abroad so sparingly that the damn thing reached it's expiry date. When I asked her why she didn't use it properly she said it was a gift from me and it was for special occasions...Go figure!

She used to be up at ungodly hours only because dawn arrives in Calcutta at an ungodly hour. And she'd nag me out of bed every day of the summer holidays that I'd spend there; making me drink the chocolate milk and eat at least one sandesh that my grandfather had got for us.

She's partly the reason I can write in Bangla (however erroneously) and why I like Inland letters so much. She used to insist on letters written in my mother tongue and each time we changed cities she'd inquire about all my friends and I think tried to be subtle about the number of Bongs that there never seemed to be enough of.

She of the beautiful old furniture- the four-poster bed that my cousin and I'd hide under, and the lovely mahogany (I think or maybe even rosewood) cupboard that seemed to house all the treasures that were hers.

She'd keep a diary of important dates and events and there was an old floor-model sewing machine that I managed to mess up, that a lot of my infant clothes had been made on.

Why am I not even wistful? Well because my son, in his gazillion gestures and nose-wrinkling smile, seems to be a pretty good copy of her. Sometimes I can almost see the imprint of her face on his.
Genetics being what they are, am still surprised how this kid could end up resembling a lady from two generations ago.

I wish she'd been able to see him. She'd have gone gaga over him because she used to dote on me and yet wonder how to get me to not be such a yakkety!

She really was a doll and a perfect embodiment of everything grandmoms are supposed to be because now her daughter and my mother has become the best grandmother a child could have. And i just need to see my son's smiles and joy to know that. Over and over again.