Varsha,
my niece (my eldest brother’s daughter) was born when we (I, another brother
& sister) were still studying. She was
really cute, chubby, intelligent and very communicative. We spent all our energies and time on
her. We would turn restless when she
slept and waited near her bed till she woke up.
We would immediately lift her, the moment she stretched and moved here
eyelids. Many nights, after everyone at
home slept, I used to peep into the room in which Varsha slept with her mother. (I am
sure, my other family members too would have done this. I should thank my
sister-in-law for not imposing restrictions of any kind.) Like all other
children, she smiled while she was asleep.
Some nights, when I was lucky, she opened her eyes and spotted me
staring at her standing near her cot in the dimly lit room. She acknowledged
my presence by giggling and making funny noises and kicking her hands and legs
very vigorously. She loved playing “hide
& seek” with me and to initiate me into the game, she covered her face with
any material she could grab. She loved
the way I uttered “dobuchchi” a phrase most Telugus utter while
playing “hide & seek” with kids.
Soon
after, I started working. She knew my
schedule and waited at the gate in the evenings, looking for me. When staff members of an office in the
neighbourhood walked past our house, she knew it was time for my arrival. She
loved chocolate éclair lollypops, jujups
(soft gel sugar candies) and Thirattipal
(sweetened and condensed milk) and I brought any of these for her regularly. Immediately on seeing me, she jumped with joy
and made a sound similar to “tlick” – goodies in her parlance. On days I reached empty handed or pretended
to have come empty handed, she would mercilessly throw my slippers and bag out
and tried to push me out. It was fun to
watch her do this.
She
started speaking very early, though only we (the family members) could
understand her unique language. One
evening, as usual, she stood near the gate and as it drizzled, she told a
passerby, “Chachichi alo, vaana, goggu le”
(Charusree raaledhu, vaana kurusthondi,
godugu ledhu – meaning Charusree is yet to return, its raining and she has
not carried an umbrella). She was less
than a year old, but her concern and expression impressed us.
Another
evening, as I reached home, instead of running towards me as she usually did,
Varsha ran inside. There was a lot of noise from the kitchen and my mother
yelled at her for spilling milk and water and messing up the kitchen. Ignoring everything, Varsha managed to reach
a vessel containing snacks my mother made that afternoon, brought a handful and
stuffed my mouth enthusiastically uttering “tlick”. We were all so amused at her
thoughtfulness.
Time
flies. Varsha is now a young lady. She has graduated recently and has started
working. With the same enthusiasm she
exhibited as a tiny tot, Varsha is now giving us treats. Last weekend, she took me to a picture. The show was great. But more heartening is her gesture. It is a great feeling. Thank you Varsha!
