Ramblings of a talkative seven-month-old



YAWN! Boy, am I tired today. I’ve slept only 12 hours instead of my usual 14! That’s what I call Dirty Dozin’, ha-ha, but I think the reason was that I was just so, so, so excited to meet all my cousins and aunties and uncles at Dada-Dadi’s house. I had the bestest time ever.

I’ve got to confess, it is super fun being the youngest in the family. All the family members want to coddle you and pamper you and spoil you rotten.

Even the slightest suggestion of a smile on my face gets everybody clapping their hands and snapping their fingers (and selfies, of course). But even the hint of a frown gets all the grown-ups looking graver than they did on the day the demonetisation bomb hit them.

D-E-M-O-N-E-T-I-S-A-T-I-O-N … big word, but I already know it. Some things no one can escape, not even us babies.

But let’s forget that D-Day. Let’s get back to this Dada-Dadi Day.

I love Dadi’s soft, plump fingers. She has the most caring touch. And her massages always make me squeal with delight. She really is my favourite Instant Massager.

Dada’s moustache is great fun. He always lets me pull it and play with it. And he makes these big whooshing sounds while drinking water. Moosh nahin toh Whoosh nahin, I say!

And my aunts and uncles all seem to compete for my attention. So many welcoming pairs of hands make a grab for me I feel like a rock star surrounded by adoring fans. (PS. Justin, beliebe me, I know just what you go through!)

My cousins are quite cool. Except for a couple of didis, no one mothers me or smothers me. They are rather selfie-centred so I invariably find myself in about 175 out of the 350 photos they upload of our family get-together.

Which is fine by me. I’ve become quite the pro at pouts.

There’s just one thing that irks me a little. Every time Dadi looks at me, she starts giving what she thinks are subtle hints to my youngest Chachu by saying things like she’d love to become a grandma again. C’mon, what’s the hurry, dadi? I’ve barely been here for half a year. Let me enjoy my 15 minutes or 15 months of fame (whichever comes last, heh-heh).

I’ve got to admit that at heart, I’m a big softie and a real family guy to boot. Anyway, I’ve collected my thoughts on and come up with a little limerick (ya, mom, you could say I’m a born poet).

I love the Great Big Indian Family parties,

Where folk are chatty and laughs are hearty;

Where everyone adores li’l old me,

Taking turns to hug me and hold me,

I love it, I love it, I love it, I love it!

Ya, I know ‘I love it’ doesn’t rhyme with party or hearty but then I’m really sleepy. YAWN! Think I’m going to turn in now, but before I do, mom, I’ve got one final request. Can we go to Nana-Nani’s house tomorrow? You know how they feel if they think I’ve been meeting Dada-Dadi more often than I’ve been meeting them.

Bye! G’night! ZZZZZZZZZ!


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