I'm sitting with my ginger chai with my younger baby, now no longer really a baby.
A warm evening here. He sits with his books and I'm feeling restless, so here I write.
I think of the time when he as a toddler of maybe a year or so, accidentally locked himself in the balcony while playing. We were in while he quietly played outside.
Panicking, I knocked on the door, "Baby, open."
No response. Heart in my mouth, I ran upstairs to the terrace, looked down from there, I and older fella.
We waved and waved, frantically calling out his name to get his attention. He looked up and laughed happily.
"Open," our voices chorused, praying he'd know how to unlatch the door from below.
We signaled to him how to do it, I never thought he would. Finally, he held the latch, pulled at it and voila! the door opened.
We rushed down. I cuddled him, while he beamed from ear to ear.
"That was great, baby!" I told him and ensured he never locked himself out again.
He adored his older brother, picked up all his ..er.. naughty ways. I, an aspiring super mom, ( I did all my house work and outside work all by myself then), one day took him to mother dairy to buy vegetables. Unbuckling the pram belt, I instructed older fella to stay with the pram while baby was quietly by my side as I chose the freshest palak.
One second later, I looked down. He was missing.
I looked at the road which led to the colony gate. A man came to the dairy with this fella, "Ye kiska beta hai?" he wanted to know.
He had applied his car brakes as the fella tried crossing the road, probably looking for his older brother.
Reclaiming my treasured, grinning possession..(he always grinned when caught in any misdeed), depositing him once more on his pram, I returned home.
I never wanted to be a super mom again!
