Oh what a feeling!

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!