The most beautiful child .....



Have been reading the Akbar and Birbal stories over again with my daughter. They are as delightful as ever .....

One story that I have always loved is that about the quest for the most beautiful child. The emperor poses this challenge to the wise men in his court – most of them turn up the very next day carrying an infant that is conventionally considered cute; Birbal begs for a week’s time to find his choice. Finally, after he announces he has succeeded in his quest, Birbal takes the emperor into a really poor suburb of the kingdom (both of them being suitably disguised, of course). He tells Akbar that they will have to watch the child from behind a wall; the puzzled emperor nods his assent. They lie in wait. Suddenly, a woman comes out from one of the huts running behind a grime-crusted, malnourished little waif. The child stumbles and the woman runs to its side and croons “How dare the ground hurt my little moon ?” and pretends to slap the floor. At this the child smiles and cuddles close to his mother as she gathers him into her arms. The emperor exclaims loudly that surely Birbal was mistaken in his choice of the most beautiful child; the mother hears him and berates him loudly. At this, Akbar and Birbal leave the place hastily. Once out of earshot Birbal explains that to every mother her own child is the most beautiful in the world – Akbar bows to his wisdom.

That brings to mind some well-known adages: “Kaakaikku than kunju pon kunju” in Tamil – roughly translated that means that for the mother crow , her fledglings are the most precious. In Kannada, a similar sentiment is echoed in “Hetthavarige hegana muddhu” meaning that a bandicoot is the apple of its parents’ eyes. Certainly has to do with the way our genes work – just the fact that one's child shares one's genes makes it that much more attractive to its parents – but genetics is the topic of another blogpost ....

What does 2 am look like ?

(I wrote this post three years back. On reading through, I thought I should publish it as I wrote it, so here goes...)


I certainly could not have answered this 5 years back.

Five years back, I used to sleep through the night. I had absolute control over my time. I did not know that this was a luxury ....

..... And then, my daughter was born and life, as I knew it, changed forever. The moment I saw her all memories of the previous 9 months -- nagging discomfort, all the nausea and backache -- evaporated. I was in awe of the tiny, perfect, adorable, helpless baby that was my daughter. I could hardly believe I was so lucky as to have something this precious ... I had never seen a newborn baby before, let alone held one. I realized what a big responsibility it was to have a child of one's own. From then on, my thoughts and my time were wholly hers.

I didn't know I would grow so much as a person because of her. For the first time, I thought of another person and her needs so much more than of myself. Everything was secondary to her comfort ... I gladly stayed awake night after night -- holding her close, singing to her, adoring her as she finally fell asleep. I barely had time for me ! I had to do what had to be done in the brief intervals when she slept. Even a leisurely bath seemed like a luxury -- but I didn't grudge that at all. Cooking, cleaning, eating -- everything was rescheduled and done in a rush. It was worth it all to put a smile on her tiny face.

And then, she started to grow up. I rediscovered the pleasure of sleeping through the night after three years ! It was easier to cajole her to eat. It was great to have her enthusiastic company when I occasionally went shopping. Uninterrrupted phone conversations were a thing of the past -- but conversations with her more than made up for that ... It amused me that she thought I was perfect. "Whatever you make is so yummy, Amma" -- I have not worn any other laurel with as much pride ...

She turned five recently. I am amazed at how clearly she knows her mind and how articulate she is in expressing it. She really enjoyed her birthday party for which I had invited her friends at school and those in the neighbourhood. She kept talking about "the best birthday ever" for days together. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to see her eyes sparkle with joy .....

A few days back, I was in for a big surprise. I didn't know or even consider the remote possibility of such a thing. My daughter took out a sheet of paper and started to make plans to "give me the best birthday ever" (her words, actually) !! Though she can barely identify alphabets, she had filled both sides of the paper with detailed plans -- the menu (noodles, chips and salsa, pizza, obviously), the cake, the candles, the decorations(!), the cards, and the presents(!!) -- she drew thumbnails for each of these. I was overwhelmed that she thought so much about me and my birthday ... I did not expect this at all ... I haven't thought so much of my birthday, ever. I have never had anyone plan so meticulously for it, either.

She actually made my husband shop for all the things on her "list" and then "checked each item off" -- her own words. My fortieth birthday is something I will remember for ever -- for all the thought that went into it -- for all the love my daughter has for me. What can I say -- I am really lucky -- my daughter is the best present of all.

Of Akbar, Birbal and shopping for vegetables .....


Akbar and Birbal stories are evergreen – on reading them again with my 8-year old daughter, I am enthralled all over again. Maybe part of the reason why these stories are popular across generations is that human behaviour is not all that different across centuries .....

Here I want to remind you of Birbal’s quest for the ten most prized fools in Akbar’s kingdom. One of the fools that Birbal thought was noteworthy was one who had lost his ring somewhere but was searching for it elsewhere since it was brighter there and therefore easier to search !! When I read this story I was not too sure whether such fools could possibly exist.

Recently a friend of mine asked her husband if he could go and get some vegetables that they needed – (she should have remembered that the male species thinks differently and hates to shop). Sure enough, he came back after half an hour with vegetables that could not have made it to any woman’s shopping bag. The ladies fingers were the anti-thesis of tender and almost broke her favourite knife. She had to throw half of the brinjals since they were infested with worms and the tired-looking coriander leaves were obviously not kitchen-worthy. She asked him if he bought this from where she usually shopped for vegetables. His answer: “No, I bought it at another vegetable shop since it was easier to park my car there.” When I heard about this, the Birbal story about the man who searched under the streetlight did not seem so incredible anymore...