“Put on your shoes”, I opened the door chirpily expecting him to hop out. Surprisingly he burst into a peel, weeping inconsolably. “Why?” I stood dazed. “Aman kicked him to shoo him away from waiting for his turn on the swing in the play area”, reminded Nobi. Did he hurt Aman back?, I asked. “Not initially but after being pushed away several times, he did push him back”, came my citizen reporter.
I counselled him and instilled some more confidence to go and play again. He held my hand tight to recover from the hurt. Even after an hour’s play he came back a weaker than usual happy go lucky baby. At eight he was a soul so adolescent and yet so baby like.
The simplicity touched me. His running away from books, whistling like a birdy, humming consistently like a bee, rocking with Michael Jackson’s music, was now taking a teenage look! Smell of good food, long drives thrilled him, zipping bikes, the sea side, sand, water defined him more than a movie or a game.
I hugged him and tried to see things his way, at times. Mute, babbling and smiling, planning mischief, stealing syrup, biscuits or mashing and melting chocolate to lick it off his hands! I saw in his gleaming eyes the love that one in million would ever have. So special, so involved, how could words ever define it. It made perfect sense not to use our words, mundane words, selfish ways and mean expressions. The love was super natural, super powerful, intuitive and beyond the world!
Blessed be the different vision!