Rewind. Reset.

I still remember the first time you walked. There was a look of such delight on your face and pure joy in your feet. We called you Toofaan Mail, simply because of the speed you gained once you realised you were mobile! It's as though you were born to run around. Sitting in one place for more than five minutes was an alien concept for you.


From the moment you woke up, you were a whirlwind. One would often get tired just keeping a watch on how many places you seemed to be at the same time. Even at night you managed to roam around the entire bed, waking up far from the place you went to sleep in. You were, my baby, movement personified.

After 36 days in the hospital, we have returned home. And while there is such thankfulness in our hearts to have crossed over to the other side, there is also an inevitable bittersweet feeling. Every corner, every room of the house reminds us of how you were.

The first day back you suddenly said, "mujhe run karna hai" and I wondered just how many times more our hearts would have to break before they are whole again.

You don't understand why; half the time we don't understand why and we are the adults. How do we explain to you why you can't do what you feel like doing, what you remember doing; a multitude of things that came so naturally to you.

Fear now seems to be a constant companion. The first night back we couldn't sleep. We would get up and check on you every hour. We are so petrified we will miss something, some sign, some symptom. And alongside we see you fighting your own fears. You often wake up at night screaming "Nai, nai." I wonder what your subconscious remembers and what it's trying to obliterate.


A few days ago on one of Ayana's zoom classes, I saw a friend's child come onto the screen. He ran into the line of vision and ran out again. And my heart squeezed painfully. I feel so guilty but I can't help thinking why it had to be our baby who was reset. Why were our lives sent into the rewind mode? The silence of my aching heart is the only thing I can hear.

If there's one thing the past few weeks have taught us it's that there are seldom any answers; at least none that we so desperately seek. From the beginning your case puzzled even the best of doctors. In the PICU one of the nurses told me she had never seen a case like yours. There were so many inexplicable things, so many symptoms without causes, so many causes without symptoms.

Early on we realised that this was some massive karmic payout. There were debts which needed to be paid, scores which needed to be settled and old bonds that needed renewing.

You were the medium.

We are getting used to the new routine. Days revolve around what you shall eat, how long you can sit in the booster seat, checking your saturation on the oximeter and your physiotherapy.

Today as I sat watching you, a reel of images ran through my mind- you walking, your gleeful look as you said "bye bye diapoo" on the last day of your toilet training, the wonder on your face the first time you came down a slide alone in the Sirifort playarea, you singing in the car seat swinging your legs in rhythm to the words, the dances you did to songs playing on Alexa. Each image a bittersweet knife turning in my heart.  In between all of it, suddenly you looked up and gave me a smile that lit up your entire face. And that's when I knew that our sunshine baby would be restored to what he used to be. It will take time and patience and a whole lot of goodwill and prayers, but it will happen.

Someday, our house will echo again with the joy of your running feet.

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