He came out of the OT all bundled up in blue and white and was placed in a warmer. As if on cue, he stopped bawling, opened his eyes, and carefully surveyed the fast-increasing group around him, the walls, and anything else that caught his fancy. In a few minutes he was picked up again and taken to meet his mother formally. Pictures got clicked, he got cooed over, congratulations were exchanged, duties conducted; and through it all, Aarav soaked in the atmosphere (and maybe even the details) and finally went to sleep. Hopefully, positive impressions had been formed in the first half hour of his entry into our world.
In the next 2 weeks, he wasn’t as kind. To be fair, the world wasn’t that kind on him either. There was that little business with the feeding in the first few days that left him irritable and hungry and will no doubt come out as a psychological scar during teen therapy. And there were the irritants – the hiccups that interfered with his sleep and feeds sometimes, the visitors who liked to hold him and talk around him in loud voices, the 40 second delay in his feed if the milk had become too warm, the insistence of his family members to resort to cuddles and music to soothe him…the perfectionist (in this case, him) doesn’t approve of such interferences with his normal course of life and accordingly assumes a I-don’t-know-what-the-hell-this-world-is-coming-to expression.The world (to be more specific, his mother), in its desire to over-simplify matters of significance, started calling him Bobo during such times, a travesty that will no doubt be avenged during the mid-life crises a few decades later. Protest was registered even now, in loud, sudden cries that brought back the image of the angry young man.
Other than the Bobo/angry young man piece, there were so many other aspects to this growth of personality that his entire family became observational scientists overnight. He slept on the side with one hand firmly tucked under his head; occasionally, he would get disturbed by unpleasant dreams, when he would cry soundlessly and clutch at clothes/fingers of his companion, who would be in near tears at the sight of this pain being inflicted on innocence; he hated water at first sight and steadfastly refused to get cleaned, except under protest; he loved having conversations, or at least listening to them, and would listen with furious concentration as someone spoke to him; the intensity of concentration also made him cross eyed, which caused minor panic attacks around him; he suffered from gas or colic problems almost daily and got relief from the heeng mixture which his great grandmother would make and apply; his love of surveys and observations continued and he would twist and turn and twist and turn to ensure that he doesn’t miss a single trick around him; he preferred peeing when he was unencumbered by nappies/diapers, which meant universal soaking during nappy change; he liked the sound of the gayathri mantra, especially when it serenaded him while he was swayed in the jhoola; he looked best in pink and white and yellow, bright colors didn’t do him justice; he had long fingers and well shaped hands (in the eyes of his adoring family); he slept only as much was needed and preferred being awake, especially during night time, clearly setting expectations about his habits in his growing years; contradicting all child-management techniques, he didn’t particularly care for sweet stuff, making the process of giving sweetened medicines a little like administering discipline amongst a roomful of school boys; he liked being rocked to sleep while being carried around, any one of these two conditions not being met resulted in an instant awakening and reprimand; he did the crocodile dance when hungry and was nearly as ferocious if you took away the feed while he was drinking (even if it was he who had turned his mouth away); he got too cold and too warm quite fast and triggered real time analysis on linkages between room temperatures and his clothing; and most importantly, he photographed well, coming across as older and wiser, not to mention good looking.
So that’s where the narrative will move now, from words to photographs and videos capturing the life and growth of Aarav Umalker aka Bobo. In subsequent months and years, we will gaze at those images, imagining the gestures that accompanied those moments, and speculating on the personality that fuels those gestures. In the meanwhile, he will grow and form his opinions and likes and dislikes, and will start connecting and disconnecting and loving, and all the while, he will be loved by all and missed by those not with him in person.