Of my many, and I have many, obsessions, measuring the passing of time is one of my "favourite" ones. It's a bittersweet obsession which originated with the untimely passing of my father. Since then, it was as if there is this clock inside of me that keeps going tick tock, tick tock, mocking me....counting the tiny grains of time that keep rushing by me.
Having survived cancer twice further reinforces this little obsession. Some life events are like a slap in the face with a big fat wet moustaching fish. Whack! There you go. Now go forth and embrace life, and be grateful and don't forget to be awesome! Tick tock, tick tock.
There are other ways that I mark the passing of time. And among them are collecting old photographs of bygone days, antique trinkets, collecting stories from before my time and journaling now for the future.
As Shabd has grown older I've realized that some moments, nay most moments I won't get back again, neither will he go back to that precious stage in his life again. So I recently started keeping a little shopping list and pencil handy on the kitchen counter so I could capture those unforgettable one liners! Allow me to share some snippets from the mouth of my little 3 year old babe!
"Mummy, can I have some privacy please. Can you close the door." - Shabd having a shower.
"I am strong like Hanuman! Jai Maan!" - explaining his extraordinary strength!
Shabd: "Papa, do you have fur?"
Papa: "No, I have hair."
Shabd: "Oh.....Okay."
Slight pause as he contemplates the answer.
Shabd: "Do you have whiskers?"
Papa: Trying to hold back the laughter, "No, I have a beard."
Shabd: "Oh.....Okayyy" as if he just had a lightbulb moment, "You have a beard."
Ah! A frustrated moment! Shabd was addressing me and he was plenty polite and plenty frustrated!
Shabd: "Mummy, please find my chookoo." (Pacifier).
Me: In a rush as usual, "Sorry Shabd, you need to look after your things. Go and look for it yourself. Where did you see it last? Go start looking there."
A rather annoyed looking toddler leaves the room only to return a few seconds later and tell me, "Mummy! I don't know where my chookoo is and you keep telling me to look for it!"
Upon observing his father trimming the mango tree in our garden that has grown quite unruly lately.
"Papa, please don't cut the tree, it will get hurt."
I wonder if all our tree hugging and watching The Lorax has made him into a little green warrior! Desh masa and Aunty Khadeeja will be so proud of the little activist!
One morning at the breakfast table Shabd picks up his cup of camomile tea and says, "I want to sit. I want to think for a moment." This is followed by total silence as he contemplates what I imagine must be the state of the trees being cut in our yard!
Upon discovering the tastes of French and Creole rolling in his mouth, "Hey Papa, la ice-cream ala melting!"
And my favourite as it sums up what a gentle old soul Shabd is, "I'm there for you Mummy. Don't be sad." My boy experiences the world with his heart. I must be doing something right! I'm blessed!
Some moments are just perfect. They are rare and beautiful. These moments are like pearls of joy, each unique in its imperfection. When these rare moments occur, like a pearl diver having dived deep into the depths of the dark ocean and having discovered my treasure, my fingers close tightly on these moments as I gently slip my pearl of joy into a velvet bag. At my own leisure, I will slowly take those perfect moments out and stare in wonderment at them, a small smile playing on my lips. These are my precious memories, my joys, my saving graces during trying times.
This weekend turned out to be one of those rare moments when time itself seemed to stand still. It was as if time itself did not want to intrude on our joys.
We woke up early Saturday morning and on whim decided to go swimming at the beach. I quickly whipped up a simple take-out breakfast of scrambled eggs, bread rolls and tea while Akash packed our beach basket and before you could say who-wants-to-build-sand-castles, we were off!
We ran into Akash's cousin Karuna and her parents at the beach, also there for a walk and swim. We joined their entourage with Karuna and Shabd leading the way! At some point, Shabd announced that he'd walked quite enough thank you and would now go for a swim!
We spent the morning sitting on the beach, sharing in each other's breakfasts. The company, the conversation, the perfect blue ocean and vast skies all came together as in a crescendo to a beautiful piece of music, it was just perfect and I loved every moment of our Saturday morning.
We never though we'd be able to do things like this, perhaps that's the problem, we never thought! Sometimes we allow life to pass us by...cause we're too busy waiting to for when things get better or when things slow down. It's not going to happen. It's up to us to slow down, wake up early, pack that basket and go to the seaside. Take your bucket and spade along, build a castle, squelch your toes in the sand, feel the crisp coolness of the water, look up at the vast sky, feel the warmth of the sun on your arms, hear the waves breaking, see the perfect joy in your son's eyes, feel his awe, his excitement, his pure childish bliss.
Today, we sat out on a quest to buy potting soil. About 6-8 months ago, Akash found at Flic-en-Flac and dug up some coconuts that's had started developing roots. This baby tree was cared for and it was finally time to transplant her to a more permanent home.
We found ourselves at a little nursery heaven not even 15 minutes drive from our house. The gardens were huge, the trees tall and inviting. While Akash busied himself with fulfilling his quest, Shabd was on a quest of his own...to get to the jumping castle he had spied on entering the nursery. So off we went!
Shabd is not usually a child that likes crowds so I was quite surprised when he kicked off his sandals and hopped onto the jumping castle despite there being another 5 other children already in it. As is his modus operandi, Shabd stood to one side and observed the crowd, then decided how he would navigate the jumping castle from there.
He quickly switched from English to French as soon as he heard only Creole being spoken. He imitated the bigger kids, quickly perfecting the art of bouncing and falling on his knees! And amazingly enough, though he was the smallest kid in that jumping castle, he held his own against all the other taller kids! Only vacating the castle when I implored on him to come have lunch!
After a rather rushed lunch, where everything was gobbled as quickly as possible, Shabd canon-balled back to the jumping castle for another round. He was in little kiddy heaven and I must admit, I was tempted to go in and join him on more than one occasion. Oh the pure abandon of jumping up high high high until you're so sure your fingertips can touch the perfect blue sky!
It was another perfect day. A day of glee and laughter and smiles and wonderment. A day of learning about jumping and landing and standing ones ground and making friends on a lark. A day of warm sunshine, and friendly smiles, and full tummies, and chocolaty lips and ice-creamy chins, and giddy laughs!
There is a time for everything in Shabd’s world. There’s a
time for drawing; “It’s time for drawing now.” Or “It’s time for eating now.”
Or “It’s time for reading now.” There is a “time for going outside now” and a “time for go
home now.” This is how Shabd compartmentalizes his little world.
All is in neat
little cubicles of activity, sorted, stored and acted upon in a sequential
order. His world is neat and orderly and clean and oh so beautifully simple.
Is this yet another lesson he’s teaching me?
“Mummy, can you please listen to Shabd!!”
There is a time for everything. And for everything there is
a time. Slow down. Put your full attention into your activity. Be mindful of
the moments spent doing an activity and above all, enjoy it.
When it's time for
something else, move on. Don’t look back, don’t linger, don’t yearn. This is
not the time for that. It’s time to water the garden now!
Shabd has formulated his own special way of compelling others to move to action for him. It's the Shabd 3-Step process. Allow me to introduce you to this ground-breaking technique, proudly created by my ingenious 3-year old monster!
Step 1: Create a favourable mindset
Step 2: Get your target to agree with you
Step 3: Go in for the kill - make your request!
Allow me to illustrate this model with the help of a real-life demonstration.
Picture this, Shabd, Papa & I are all sitting at the dinner table eating dinner. We're a hungry family, all happily munching on our dinner when Shabd pipes up, "I like Monde de Petite." Both Akash and I politely keep chewing as we know where this might be leading. We don't want Shabd to spend time in front of the computer screen so we both say a silent prayer that he'll let the topic die a natural death due to a lack of response from us.
Oh! But of course! The apple doesn't fall far from the tree now does it?
Shabd is after all, my son! And we Naran's never let a thing go! We're relentless. Like obstinate mongrels happening on a rare morsel of meat after a week of penitential fasting, we lock our jaws onto an idea and refuse to let go.
Not perturbed in the least by our lack of reaction, Shabd goes into his convincing mode.
Step 1: Create a favorable mindset. "Papa, I like Monde de Petite" to which Papa replies quite nonchalantly, "Yes, it's nice." Step 2: Get your target to agree with you. "They have nice songs don't you think?"To which Papa replies, "Yes, yes they do have nice songs." Step 3: Go in for the kill - make your request! "Let's go put on Monde de Petite Papa." said in the most matter-of-fact voice possible.
But of course! Duh! If you agree, and agree again, what possible reason could you have not to move to action!
Shabd got his hour of watching Monde de Petite as we sat in amazement as his ability to have played us!
Akash and I feel like war-weary-warriors. We've had our armour on for so long, we're not sure we know how to take it off. I feel that mine has fused to my body. Life has hurled her fair share of woes toward us and we've often felt our armour weighing us down into the deep dark blue.
Grace gently reminds me that it's time to let go, "just accept and i will guide you" she whispers. I vehemently shake my head. I love my armour. It has served me well. It has protected me from hurt and pain and with it on, i know i can beat anything - even cancer, twice!
But as time tick-tocks by, i realise that life is not going to get easier or simpler or less-anything. And so, drowning, spluttering and hanging on for dear life to Akash, for the first time in a very very long time, i consider taking my armour off.
How does one just let go of things. Troubles are not black and white spotted feathers that float away with the merest breath. They are real, forged in the bowels of some hell. I need my armour i whimper almost silently.
My armour has fused to my body, it has melted and merged into my skin and bones. There is no gentle way to remove it save to yank hard!
Thankfully, Shabd is there to run a soothing hand over my blistering wounds. To rub the salve that is his smiles and joy. And thus encouraged, i yank again and again, wincing, eyes tearing but knowing that this pain too is cathartic.
I sat down and made a list of things that bring me peace and joy and tranquility last night. I've shared a sample of that list for you:
Browsing in a book store
Watching the sun set
Going for a long drive
Hugging Shabd
Sitting on the stoep talking with Akash
I've made a commitment to myself to do something from that list every day. It's not because i feel the need to spoil myself but rather that i've realised that acceptance comes by bringing joy into my life.
I accept Shabd totally and utterly as he is. He cannot help but be different from us, and in so many ways, be similar. And that unique combination of DNA that makes him who he is, is what brings so much joy to us.
We sit on the sand, Shabd, mummy and I. All appreciating that magical hour just as the sun dips into the ocean. In the final moments, the clouds part, to let glorious rays of sunshine through and i feel little arms hugging me tightly. I smile and feel my armour slipping off.
Tonight, Shabd and I had the pleasure of each other's company exclusively. We had a wonderful evening, just the two of us.
By the time I get home from work, Shabd had already had his dinner. He was sitting on his grandparents stoep, passing his time drawing, while he patiently waited for me to get home. He was excited to show me his latest discovery; his shadow! He wiggled and jiggled and jangled to be sure the shadow on the ground really and truly was his. Do you remember when you discovered you had a shadow?
As soon as we got home, Shabd called out "Pappa, are you home?" When I explained to him that his father was out with friends for the evening Shabd proposed that we do some yoga. I politely declined and redirected his attention to the prospect of Skyping his Ba.
I forget that this child has the mind of an elephant sometimes. He readily agreed with my proposition, but insisted that we dragged our yoga mats to the study as well.
Unfortunately the connection to South Africa was not great and so every time we connected he would yell out quite loudly (as if he was sure his Ba was hard of hearing), "Hello! CAN YOU HEAR ME?" Eventually, Ba gave up on this mode of communication and called us up on our landline. Shabd had a rather adult conversation with her - him being almost three years old after all - narrating to her that "there's something wrong" with his tummy and could she "bring me a car please?" Solicitations done, he politely handed the receiver over to me and disappeared.
He reappeared 10 minutes later half dragging, half carrying his huge red basket of cars. He sorted through his basket, picking up and examining each car. By doing this, one by one he carefully lined the cars up from smallest to largest, keeping the construction vehicles, motorcycles and airplanes separate.
We've come to learn that this ritual is something he loves doing and it seems to calm him as he debates the position of where the car he's holding in his hand right now should go. Sometimes, all the red vehicles are lined up together. Other times the vehicles are lined up by category; cars, SUV's, motorcycles, airplanes, construction vehicles. Sometimes we come home to a row of vehicles that spans our rather long kitchen and any disturbance in their order is met with much annoyance from the little Mr. (meticulous) Monk!
As I sat on the couch nearby and marveled at his little mind analyzing away until he was sure that he was happy with the order of his cars, a rather scary thought flashed into my mind. I often think to myself "things must be just right, just perfect or my world might collapse!" A little melodramatic I would agree, but as we all know, I have quite the flair for drama!
I don't think I've ever said this out loud - understandably, I try not to let the weird and wonderful musings of my mind come out vocally too often! The question does beg to be asked though, could Shabd have at some unconscious level learnt about my unreasonable need for perfection and be mirroring that?
Chocolate break!
We sing "There were 5 in the bed" and pretend to roll off the coach. We sing "the wheels of the bus go round and round" complete with hand actions and end off with the "head, shoulders, knees and toes" song to work off all the energy from the Lindt balls we've just devoured.
Then it's time for a shower and off to cuddle in bed while Shabd drifts of to dreamland.
Nothing special or extraordinary or particularly exciting happened tonight. It was an ordinary night and we did ordinary things like ordinary families do. I've not had ordinary in a long time. I miss ordinary sometimes. I long for the simple life of having spent a wonderfully ordinary evening together, having done ordinary mother-son things. Tonight, we did that and I feel as if a wish I had sent to the stars was granted to me. Amen!
I was curios as to what this word "Brave" meant. This word has begun to feature quite a lot in my world. I am often told that I am brave. I often find myself telling Shabd that he's a brave boy. And since I often don't feel very brave, despite having been called this, I wonder how Shabd feels about the word and what he understands by it.
brave
breɪv/
adjective
1.
ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage.
I'm not sure that I am lionhearted, or plucky or audacious. I know that I suffer and I endure, not without my fair share of complaints none-the-less. Am I a good example of an intrepid warrior to my son? Do I show him, through my example that he should endure life's slings and arrows? Will he grow up to be a lionhearted man, oh I pray he will be.
Shabd has constipation and has been constipated on and off for two months now. Finally at the ends of my wits, we made a final trip to our friendly Pediatrician, Dr. Thancanamootoo. Whether it was seeing my very obvious agitation or genuine concern for the little patient, we ordered that x-rays be done. "Uhm, don't they have to lay very still for that?" I piped up, wondering how on Earth we were going to get Shabd to stand still.
And so, all the way to the clinic, his father and I spoke about what an amazing tummy he has and that they would like to take pictures of it. And if he could just stand very still and smile for the camera, that would be super. And, we'd get him a beeg present!
Shabd entered the clinic with some trepidation, children have a sixth sense about them. The fish tank overhead and the water cooler provided enough distraction to lull him into a calm state. He calmly walked into the x-ray room, politely said "Hello Aunty" to the nurse and even helped us undress him. He was intrigued by the big white apparatus and kept inquiring as to where the camera was. The "Aunty" showed him and asked him to stand very still and smile for the camera.
Without batting an eyelid, my brave little soldier boy pulled himself straight up, tensed every muscle in his little body and gave the biggest most widest brave smiles I have ever see.
"Thank You Aunty for the picture." Shabd calls off to the nurse as she leaves the room with a smile playing on her lips.
Shabd struggles to make a movement. He feels bloated and gassy and his stomach aches a lot. When he gets a particularly painful spasm, he runs to either his father or me screaming "Help me! The tata is coming!"
We help him, in the only way we know how. We squat with him, or rub his back and we sing our special tata song. When we're not home, his grandfather takes him to sit on the big potty and sings the Mauritian national anthem to him. It's very soothing to Shabd, but unfortunately not relaxing enough for a movement.
One evening Shabd informs me that he's scared of making a tata. When I ask why, he replies that it is painful. I ask him to be brave as we wrestle him down, kicking and screaming and give him yet another enema. My heart breaks at having to do this to him.
His screams, tears and the painful contortions his face makes indicates to me just how painful it is for him, and I cry a million tears in my heart. If only I had the power to take all his pains away.
I hold him tightly and softly croon a song while periodically rubbing the perspiration off his forehead. Oh how I wish I could take this agony away and I curse the Gods for making my child suffer so much.
To him I keep crooning a little lilt, "Shabd is a brave boy. Shabd is a wonderful boy, Shabd is an amazing boy. Shabd is a very very brave boy. Mummy is proud of mummy's brave boy."
During the painful times, in those breaks between stomach aches and painful spasms, Shabd asks me alternatively to "shout" at his tata or to repeat him brave phrases with him.
The Shout
Mummy (speaking in a cross tone): "Tata! What's this nonsense! Please just come out now. You're hurting my child. Stop it. Just come out now. Do you hear me?"
Mummy (speaking in a gently lowered voice): "Is that okay Shabd? Do you think that's okay?"
Shabd: "Yes, it's okay now Mummy."
The Brave affirmation
Shabd and Mummy: "I'm brave like my Pappa. I will not be scared!"
The bottom line is that he simply must make a movement on his own, unaided by syrups and enemas. Yet, we're cognizant of making too much of an issue around this least we compound the concern by adding even more stress on him. So we keep going on the "Brave Boy" theme.
We tell him that we understand the pain and that we're treating that. We also ask him to be incredibly brave. To be incredibly strong. And that we'll give him a huge surprise when he goes to make tata on his own (hey! don't judge me..these are desperate times calling for desperate measures!).
The carrot approach worked a total of once! Shabd is a Thomas the Train enthusiast and beamed from ear to ear at having been given a talking Percy flashlight.
Now if only we could have a repeat performance on the potty! - Glory to thee, Motherland oh Motherland of mine!
Disclaimer: There are many very brave little children out there with severe problems. I do not mean to diminish their very real struggles and bravery. This blog is about my little boy and how he's shown bravery in one little aspect of his life.
I can't sleep. I can't sleep because there is a fog that settles over me often. It is not a cold, dense uncomfortable fog. It is more a longing, a pain in my heart for what or should i rather say who is there no more. It is a fog that envelopes me and transports me back in time, to a time when my father and Foi stilled walked this Earthly plane. And it is through this remembrance, this longing, that i wonder how different life would have been if Shabd and Simran would have met them. How blessed they would have been to have met my father and Foi.
I don't even need to close my eyes to see the twinkly in my father's eyes and the special way he would have smiled at his grandchildren. My father had a very special way of saying your name; his voice echoed your truth, as if his spirit danced a celestial dance with yours. Hearing him say your name was the most ambrosial melody you could ever imagine hearing him say to you.
My father was what one might call a "Baby Whisperer" - he had a way with children. Children were drawn to him, like the Pied Piper of Hamlet, his melodious voice, always a brim with love, moved children to aim higher, achieve more, keep reaching for the stars. Children gathered at his feet, sat on his lap and took comfort from his...his...his - oh what's the word - his himness! None embodied the words "I am that i am" more graciously then my father. I think it was because he understood children; their pure love, their sacredness, their frailty.
I am often saddened that my child will not meet my father. That he won't know of my father's magical love, of his generosity of spirit and of his immense strength. My child won't learn to draw cars from my father, neither will he learn to give change from the till from him. They will not go for long hikes in the mountains together, or munch on oven-baked samoosa's in the kitchen. They will not go for long drives together, and my father won't teach Shabd how to swim like a fish.
Yet, in many ways, i see my father in Shabd. It's in his smile and cleft chin! It's in the way Shabd wraps his arms around my neck to hug me. It's in his drawings and paintings and love for cars and speed. It's in his generosity of spirit.
I see it when Shabd consciously chooses not to hurt someone else's feelings. And in his love for music. In his curiosity that has no bounds. In his intelligence and love for the written word. I see it in those quiet moments, when Shabd is lost in thought. Mostly, i see it in how Shabd talks of Naru dada as if he were still alive.
In the perfect world, Foi would have been alive and proudly showing off to Jasu foi that her great grandchildren names, Shabd and Simran represent two fundamental elements of her spiritual path. She would also have shopped up a storm ensuring they both her great grandchildren had the very best clothing India and South Africa could offer. And my sister and i would regularly be receiving courier parcels full of Gujerati books, to teach to the children of course!
Like my father, her holidays would have been divided equally between Simran and Shabd - the two representing holidays in either Palma or Pretoria. And while in our homes, she would have daily cooked up a veritable storm of gathia, sakar para, puri, thepla, dokra and a whole assortment of Gujerati delicacies!
My father would have in all likelihood taken the kids swimming and hiking. The rest of their time together would have been divided between reading, story-telling (he was a great story teller) and an assortment of artistic adventures!
Like my father, Foi's presence in my sister and my homes would have brought to our hearts peace and a certainty that there is goodness and wholeness and pureness of love in this world.
Our home is alive to the sound of music day and night. Shabd and Akash are always tapping or humming or singing or playing some instrument, where the instrument is sometimes the counter top! I can imagine that to the uninitiated, our home must be a very noisy place to be.
Akash and I have infinite patience when it comes to creative expression, evidenced I might add, by the crayoned walls! So if you want to bang out a tune on the djembe, or try out a little ditty on the guitar or sing out a song at the top of your voice, our home is where you have all the freedom to do it!
You can sing the same line or song over and over and over and over again, and be guaranteed no-one will yell at you to stop. You can add sound effects to just about ANY activity and no-one will yell at you to stop. As long as you're exploring your creative repertoire, it's all good! I'm not sure that patience is extended to other areas of parenting but with music and art, we've gotten that right (or so believe).
Shabd is blessed to have been born into a musical family. At the age of 2 and a half, he already has his own "Shabd sized" djembe, guitar, keyboard and harmonica. We encourage him to experiment through play and positive reinforcement. We support with plenty of "Bravo Shabby!" and lots of applauding! And we hope to send him for music classes when he's old enough to be accepted.
It should be noted however that while I have great hopes, dreams and aspirations for his musical career, I've been informed that I'm unfortunately no good at music.
I often sing along to the radio while driving and just as I'm hitting those crucial high notes, "And Iii- eee - iiii....will always love you, ooohhh oohhh, will always..." a little voice pipes up from the backseat, "What are you doing Mummy?" "I'm singing Shabby" say I ever so sweetly. "No. Don't. Pappa is better." he says in his most sternest voice and face. "Yeah I know," say I, "but I like singing too." To which I get a very curt reply, "No Mummy, Pappa is the strongest. Okay." And just so I clarify for you here, by "okay" what Shabd really means is - end of discussion okay.
Obviously I'm crestfallen at having been told that I don't stand a chance next to Pappa. But I know I'm a good dancer, so as soon as we return home I switch on the radio and invite Shabd to dance along with me. I'm unfortunately met with an incredulous "What are you doing Mummy?" to which I reply "I'm dancing Shabby. Come join me. Come on." "No," he firmly replies, "I don't like dancing." and saunters off to play with his cars leaving me alone on the dance floor!
If I cast my mind back, in the 2 and half years Shabd has walked this Earth, he has never enjoyed dancing. So in all fairness, after having dismally failed as being a credible singer, maybe proving my prowess as a dancer was doomed to be met with disapproval, right?
Surely he's too young to be embarrassed by me I think to myself as Shabd hums a U2 song while playing with his cars. Righ?!
We recently lost a dear friend. He was kind and gently and loving. He spoke with care and had an uncanny way of looking straight into your heart before giving you a quick reassuring hug. He kept a clan of University friends connected to each other - he was the golden thread in the fabric of their friendship. He was level-headed, an adventurer, a conversationalist and in my humble opinion, a family man. It is a shock to wake up and realise he is no more. That all we have left are memories.
Shabd met him once. He invited us over to his place for a braai and we had a wonderful evening. Shabd played soccer with him. He followed him around the house and snuggled up to him later in the evening. Shabd will grow up to be a man one day, and i'm sure the memory of that day with Chacha Vinesh will fade into the mist of life experiences.
And i find myself once again wishing my son could meet those that have passed on. Those beautiful souls who illuminated the world while they walked it, like gentle giants caring for humanity. I know not the tortures of their souls, only the joys of their existence in my world and the gaping hole they left behind. And my heart aches.
I wonder what i as a mother can do to ensure my son grows up to be that kind of light. The kind of man that is a "maha atma" - a great soul. The kind of man that leaves a legacy behind. The kind of man that can look into your heart, feel your pain and sorrows and joys and let you know it's going to be all right, just with the squeeze of their hand on your shoulder or in the way they say "how are you?".
I would love for my son to learn these things from seeing it being lived, but i cannot bring back those that have departed this earthly plane hence i will grudgingly settle with telling him stories of great men I've known and their great deeds.
Their light remains in our words and deed and memories and stories...Akash will keep the memory of his friend alive by telling Shabd stories of chacha Vinesh.
Oh My Golly Gosh! Time has just flown by! I meant to write...but it got so busy...How many times have you heard that line before! And the award for the category "Originality in making excuses" does not go to this blogger!
So i'm going to take a very humble very low, forehead to the ground bow and apologise; I'm sorry.
Shabd has grown in leaps and bounds these past few months. When we went to South Africa in August 2014, he was stringing some words together and we guessed what he was saying like "Mummy hungry" which meant "mummy, I'm hungry".
He returned from SA early November, after weeks of being asked to "please use your words Shabd", being very articulate in both stringing words together into a coherent sentence and articulating his words wonderfully. He also returned with quite a heavy South African accent i'm told!
Our time in South Africa was a stormy time and we were blessed to have Dips and Desh and Mummy and Kamal and Trishul and Uresh and Tascia to help us brave the storms. There were many tantrums, by us both, and many hugs and "I'm sorry's", by us both and we both learnt an important lesson - sometimes you have to ride the storm even if your head gets pushed under the water, keep riding the storm"
I'm often haunted by self-reproach where i wish i had behaved differently; been calmer, been more patient, more understanding, more more more. But I've come to accept that I'm human and like my sister said to me during a very stormy day, "You're a wonderful mother Varsh! Who else would do what you've done with the same success. Just look at Shabd, he's an absolute joy! That's because of you!" - sisters are the flowers of life aren't they! And to this blogger, my rainbow in the storm!
