He came into the world, a little scrap of a human being; he was “asked” to come into the world as further residence in his first abode would not be of benefit to him…so he was a smaller baby, at birth, than he might otherwise have been.

He was three months old on April 28th. Now, he’s grown. Yes, I suppose, taller….though because I see him daily, I cannot really make out the difference. But his cheeks are now chubby. The Mohawk on his head is more pronounced, as is the “brahmin kudumi” at the back of his head. He has dimples everywhere: his fingers, on his hips, his elbows, his toes….plus, he has two not-yet deeply-formed dimples in both his cheeks, when he gives me his toothless smile.

And smile he does…so often. He is a calm, “mellow fellow” as we all say…except when he wants to be fed, and sometimes, when he cannot fall asleep by himself, there is not much noise out of him. Lately, he’s begun cooing at people who are looking at him.

His soft pudginess is so appealing…I often call him “Lumpy”, describing the little rolls of fat on his arms and feet. Holding him is such a heart-warming joy; it’s like holding a little bouncy doll (which, nevertheless, keeps kicking!) My little pro footballer suddenly becomes a two-wheeler driver when he is hungry or sleepy, kick-starting his scooter with one little plump little leg, or cycling with the pedal being pushed steadily….

His hands are tightly curled into round, fat-ly, mini-Mohammad Ali fists. It often looks as if he’s flexing his arms to show me his biceps (which, alas, are hidden under the pudge.) Sometimes he opens those chubby fists, and puts his hands together, as if he’s praying.

The play of expressions on his face

is wonderful to watch and I enjoy the rainbow procession very much. When he smiles up at me, my heart completely melts, and I gather him up to myself with an inarticulate cry, or the latest nickname which occurs to me (He’s gone from being “Peanut” in his mother’s womb, to being “Booda”, which is the way Americans pronounce “Buddha”…to “Lumpi” to “Dudu”). I’d like to squeeze this little ball of flubber so hard, sometimes! At other times, he seems so very delicate, that I touch him very gingerly. Cuddling him is so deeply satisfying…there’s no such thing as loving a child too much.

How do infants and children send tendrils of love twining around one’s heart? Soft as his hair, these ties of love are yet shackles of steel, that bind me to him very firmly, for evermore…

Is there anything at all about him that cannot describe any other baby? Not a thing. And yet, his magic is unique!

Oh, wait, I hear cooing…I’m off, I can write about him later!