My cousin delivered a baby boy after 14 years of marriage. The child’s name is Karan and he is…well, round and pink. As far as round, pink, and little people go, it is difficult to say who they resemble. But speculation has already begun. My brother-in-law is fair and cupid-looking, while my cousin is dusky with excellent thick hair. But neither of them is half as adorable as the baby. The baby, I am proud to say, has taken after our family tradition of eating, sleeping, and making parents feel guilty for not feeding them while they were sleeping. And all this in ten days.
So, now I want a baby of my own, but a girl…because I don’t know what to do with boys. (And as recent experience goes, my ineptitude extends to boys of ALL ages, apparently.) So I would like a little baby girl. Sometimes, around 3 a.m. or so, I actually feel as if there is a baby next to me, sound asleep. If I lay still long enough, I feel soft breath on my shoulder and the cute wangle of plump, little arms. And then I want to wake up and take the baby to the window to watch the dawn. Of course, if my girl takes after me, then a mother who wakes her up at dawn would be first one to be killed off.
But this is something I would definitely do when I have a daughter.
We’d probably vacation in a cute cottage by the sea, and we’d go for walks on the beach and collect shells when the sky is still reminiscent of a sleeping peacock.
I wonder when that will happen. Somewhere deep in the cosmos, where dreams and wishes rest before they rise and fill up people’s lives, my little baby is sleeping. I feel happy and peaceful when I think about this.
Getting back to baby Karan. His uncle, who is a media guy in Bombay, called to give me the good news. And in true fashion of a director announcing a star’s deciding film, he said to me, “The baby…he’s arrived.”
My brother, I think, will be out shopping for custard mix for the child. I don’t know why he thinks that babies will like custard powder, just because he used to polish off 5 bowls of custard at a time.
So, that makes me the most normal relative. I now proudly accept the mantel of being the child’s favorite aunt. Tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.