“Ha, good luck with that.”
————————————————————
“We haven’t gotten any skin-to-skin time lately, have we?” Atharva held his son up and nuzzled his onesie-covered tummy. He chortled. “You are a big boy and I miss it already.”
Yathaarth’s bright eyes shone brighter in the sun streaming across the windows of his hall and Atharva leaned back on the sofa, setting him on his chest. Suddenly, he felt too big on his chest and Atharva realised that he couldn't remember the last time he had held his son like this. Ever since Iram’s return and then her slow takeover of his care, he had consciously stepped back, and kept stepping back.
“You won’t even know how fast he’ll grow up,” Begumjaan remarked from the seat across from him, going through the catalogue of seeds she was planning to order.
“Exactly. Kids grow up so fast, isn’t it, Begumjaan?” Noora sat with one leg over another, sipping water from a glass, through a straw.
“It’s a weekday, don’t you have somewhere to be?”
He frowned — “Like, the bank?” His round eyes rolled up. “But I don’t have money to deposit. I don’t save enough with this inflation. Give me a raise and I can deposit it.”
“Talk to Samar. He is the President.”
“He does not let me come into his house.”
Atharva’s brow shot up, holding Yathaarth by his bum as he began to root on his chest. “No milk, Dilbaro.”
“Imagine if they could get milk from both Mouji and Baba, huh?” Noora remarked in amazement. Atharva stared at him.
“I mean… what fun, no? Here milk, there milk, everywhere milk-milk. Old McDonald had a farm…”
Yathaarth’s face turned to that toneless lilt.No,Atharva groaned, trying to distract his son. To no avail. The honk of Iram’s car sounded and Atharva trained his eyes to the window. From his position half-leaning on the backrest with Yathaarth on his chest, he couldn't see much. He heard car doors and then there was shuffling at the door. He waited with baited breath.
A massive brown teddy bear head darkened the door of his house. He sat up. A life-sized brown teddy bear, taller than Iram, was being hauled into their hall, toddling. Atharva’s chest vibrated.
He turned Yathaarth in time to see it and bent his chin to observe his reaction. His son identified colours, shapes, people; maintained eye contact. Atharva glanced down but he was staring owlishly at the teddy with blank blinks. His lips wobbled.
“Did he see it?” Iram’s voice came from behind the teddy bear, straining as she held it up.
“Umm… yes.” Atharva didn’t want to witness what would happen next, because Yathaarth looked spooked. He began to turn his son around and distract him when Iram peeked out from behind the teddy bear — “Arth!”
His son let out a loud chortle.
Atharva’s chest caved in. Not at the sound of that chortle but at the sight of Iram’s awed face.
“Arth!” She stepped out from behind the teddy and his son’s head bounced on his chest as he tried to hide shyly, giggling. Iram padded to them, lowering herself on her haunches between his knees.
“Hi,” she whispered, her voice so small and hopeful and victorious. Tears were beginning to pool in her eyes. “Remember me?”
Yathaarth’s face pushed back out of his chest and he bodily hauled himself to her. Atharva had to hold him steady to pass him safely as he fell into Iram’s chest, his tiny hands curling in her hair as she rocked him from side to side. He didn’t root for her breast. Didn’t do anything. Just stayed there.
“Me too,” she laughed with those tears leaking quietly. “Me too.”
Atharva’s eyes moved over from that sight and met Begumjaan’s knowing ones. She was sitting there, catalogue in hand, looking on as if she was writing this entire script. And maybe she was, with her slow guidance and soft conversations.
Loneliness only suits Allah Miyan, Janab.
I agree, Begumjaan.
21. Whatever came, we watched it go…
Whatever came, we watched it go.
Some things gently.
