The softness of the child is the softest of all. Even their inability to express themselves sometime acts as a poignant language.
My doting daughter- a healthy child with glowing skin was about an year old at that time. On one occasion at my parents’ place, all of us were getting ready for a family outing. After getting ready my mother came to pick up something from the room. The moment she entered in the room, the dearest of her soul instantaneously opened her tiny arms with a divinely glow on her face. My mother got warmed up with the showered admiration and with pride, she clasped her lovingly close to her heart.
Being busy with the essentialities of her needs during the commute, I too chose to ignore the two loving souls together.
As the commute began, my velvety tiny tot was contently sitting in my mother’s lap beside me in our Fiat. I glanced at her with the familiar motherly instinct and she chuckled back at me. I moved my attention to my siblings and soon my attention got occupied with my siblings as we were busily discussing one thing after another. After a while my mother seemed a bit baffled, she was composing the child, altering her position on her lap. Then she interrupted our conversations and said, see, how every now and then, the starched border of my sari had been pinching my doll, she explained sadly.
As I drew my attention closer to watch the effect, I saw her tear filled eyes. But the moment she would catch the glances of mine, the evergreen bliss would bounce back on her face with the same charm.
Now she is an adult I still find her touch same. That instantaneous glow and velvety touch still exist with her but that poignant silence given way to dignified politeness of reason and logic.
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