She tugs at the open neck of my kurta. “Why are your buttons like this, Baba?” she questions me in her unique squeaking voice. “What’s wrong with my buttons, sweetie?” I ask, ruffling her hair.
“They should be in their proper holes!” she chides me. I left my kurta unbuttoned to let in air on a hot day. But my four-year-old granddaughter can’t stand buttons not doing their duty. She climbs onto my lap and grabs hold of the kurta. She rolls her tongue in deep concentration as she tries to insert a button into its corresponding hole. She misses and tries again. This time the button goes through, but it’s a wrong hole. She grins sheepishly and goes at it once more. Finally, two buttons are put in their proper place and I get a big hug. A heavenly embrace!
Unfortunate circumstances have thrown her into my care, while her mother is in hospital being looked after by my wife and son-in-law. It’s a small mercy that her tender age keeps her blissfully oblivious of her mother’s illness. “Baba, you are my whole world!” she declares with total surrender in her eyes. How innocent, yet so mature!
Slowly and steadily she mesmerises me with her restless spirit. She climbs onto my tummy without regard for whether I am eating or meeting someone. My discomfiture when she caresses my cheek with grass weed from the garden throws her into peals of laughter. There are times of silence too, when she sits down on the floor and guides her colourful crayons all over the drawing sheet with the intent of a Van Gogh.
Her favourite place in the afternoon is our neighbourhood park. She glides down the slide with glee like other kids. But it’s the swing she is most fond of. After my initial push, she steers her own course, up and down, back and forth, till her movement blurs into a wide arc. Her eyes are lifted skyward in ecstasy, craving to fly into outer space! Perhaps she craves, like me, an end to our horrid worries. I don’t know. A child she may be, but she must feel the vacuum, the prolonged absence of maternal love.
Yet, all she says is, “Why are you not smiling, Baba? Smile! I love you!” I force a smile, “I love you too, darling!” She laughs and plants a big kiss on my cheek—to seal our exceptional bond.
Ishwar Pati
Email: ishwarpati@gmail.com