My Sunshine Baby-Aarav

Today was Aarav’s Open Day in school. As always, it was a delight to see the young kids sing, dance, and display amazing yoga poses. Aarav was part of the ensemble where the entire class sang and danced with hand gestures. I stood to the side to capture a video and predictably teared up. A few parents gave me puzzled looks. I knew they were wondering what’s so emotional about the open day. How could I ever explain to anyone that every time I watch Aarav perform or complete a task in front of an audience, all I can think of is what a long, long way we have come. It is impossible to put into words the gratitude that overwhelms me when I see him, and contrast it with the baby I held in my arms, not knowing if I would still be able to hold him the next day. It has been a battle of mammoth proportions, and an ongoing one, but every such performance shows me that if we have reached here, we will get further too. The kids had all put up stalls displaying their models and speaking about them...

One of the routes I take frequently crosses a cremation ground. Most of the time, I zip past, but sometimes when the traffic slows, I find myself looking around. People rush past the place without giving it a second glance, then stop to bow at the temple right next door. And that is where I feel the dichotomy of our lives lies. We forget that for each of us, at some given point, the cremation ground is our final destination. Everything else is interim. I see people coming out of the ground, heads bowed, carrying the sorrow of having seen the final rites of a loved one. For those few moments they are aware of how fleeting life is. But within a few moments, the irritability returns on their faces, arguments break out over parking and traffic, and the cremation ground stands forgotten.   A few days ago, a close friend told me that her father had been diagnosed with a malignant tumour. There were no warning signs, nothing to prepare them; just a regular check-up that tilted the wor...