Life of Aunt!

Richard Parker in 'Life of Pi' is more kind and generous compared to my nephews. So, please proceed to read this satirical take on them at your own risk. 

I have recently become a proud Aunt. I never felt the touch of a new-born until then, and it was quite a precious moment. But, I suggest we come to the 'proud' part later. First, let me share with you his atrocities, cute barbaric acts, and how he transformed my life drastically.

I have never been so tired after engaging someone. It appears like surviving armed combat. Dressing him up alone makes me feel like fighting in a WWF championship. Where do kids get such enormous levels of energy? Had I sent him to wrestling, I would have become Richie Rich. Back in those days, I used to hum 'Taki Taki rumba' and 'Girls like you' but, I realized I have been singing aloud 'Baby Shark doo doo doo' lately. That and a lot of Infobell rhymes are twirling in my head as Deepika Padukone did in the 'Ghoomar' song. I couldn't take them off my mind.

But, the clothes part is the cutest. Tiny and adorable dresses with mostly dinosaurs and shark prints.

The apparel companies might be warning us the threats, through them, all this time. 

However, surprisingly, his jeans and shorts have bigger pockets than mine. I am offended; help me out here. So, presumably, a 1 yr old need the pockets more than women; to stuff with rocks, cookies, our peace of mind.

He savors in biting all types of things; tables, doors, chairs, my hands. I recently sacrificed my left hand to his brutal rituals. It now looks like it came out of a lion's cage. Bruised, filled with scratches and bite marks. Don't you worry! He likes to chew on my hand when he is annoyed. He loves my bed so much that, he feeds it, while he eats. I can now smell a variety of food flavors, while I lay down every night as Remy does in 'Ratatouille.'

I want to propose a theory that kids can telepathically communicate with inanimate objects, which is hypothetical, but plausible. What else can explain the fact that when someone opens the fridge, or about to leave, or switches on the blender, this kid would magically grace us with his presence in a fraction of second?

Of late, I have observed a slight change in my language. In the process of communicating with him, some strange code words have taken over the regular ones. 'Ba' is the word used for bat, ball, and anything that starts with B. 'Ka' in his script-less language, is applied for food, fruits, water, and everything new. So my daily conversation has become hilarious with a combination of those words and countless efforts to decode them at the same time.

I have become that aunt, whose phone would be filled with the kid's pictures, him laughing, him playing, him attacking me like a trained hound. It has reached an extremity that I am scared to open my gallery in front of someone, besides, confusing it with someone else's. Oh, I also have a newfound respect for child photographers for their unlimited endurance.

However, I sometimes feel envious of their tiny world that has no filters and intricate thoughts, except blueprints of 'how to wake everyone up with a bang at 2'o clock in the night.' These little therapists could bring a smile on our stressed faces in a split second with their innocence. Bearing confidence as their superpower that never wears off, they embark on a new adventure every day. I reckon we could borrow some of their insights on life.

It is the first time I ever got to spend time with a child, and the experience is beyond words. I love how his eyes sparkle when he looks at me, how he bribes me with a kiss when he needs my assistance in crime, how he searches for me with sleepy eyes to play one last peek-a-boo for the day. Every memorable moment with a child is to be cherished for a lifetime and this blog is for my two adorable nephews who stole not just my chargers, headphones, a lot of pens, but my heart too. 'Continue being the gangsters and, I will take care of your parents.'

Finally, while contemplating my experiences relating to childhood, a perpetual thought kept lingering in my head.

How on earth were my parents able to put up with my mischief? No wonder they claim, I was picked up. 

I wish I could have all the beautiful moments of my parents with me etched in my memories. But, we can only re-live them through their recollection. I suppose that's the whole point of having no memory of our infancy. So we can have a chat with them, even when we are miles apart and dig the naughty acts together. Grab a chair, or make a call, and ask them to tell all the tiny-tales of yours. Reminisce the kid in you and never let go of it, for, that is the purest form one can be. 

Au revoir, 

Chandana