10 days of Nila - A throwback

First posted on Facebook on  4 April 2016

So I was changing a diaper and my wife walks over. 

"What is that?" she says. 

We move our heads close to observe what looked like a tiny piece of skin, not the scary kind that points to damage or disease, but the- old skin is shed for new skin kind. But it also looks like a tiny piece of poo, so we move our heads even closer to ascertain it was not poo masquerading as shed skin.  

Blast. Our daughter Nila had done it again. She had caught us in a moment where we least expected it, she had caught us when we were most vulnerable. I cleaned the spots off  my spectacles and my wife washes her hands which were lined with yellow pooness. 

If Nila was not so cute, my wife and I would have packed her in the parcel she came in- the bubble wrap amniotic fluid, the polythene placenta and shipped her back to... oh... Yup cute or not, there is no turning back and turning away from this poo machine- we have realised this. Jim Schmick has asked me to put my life on hold for 20 years. 20 Years! 

She treats my wife like a human juice box. When she cries like all hell has broken lose, I tell her reassuringly- the juice is coming.... the juice box has gone for lunch... the juice box is taking a well deserved nap... the juice is coming, wait up. 

When Nila cries and I lift her up, she latches onto my shirt. I tell her, "No Juice there."

Nila has made a song writer out of me- 

Diaper ke neechey kya hai? 

Diaper ke neechey? 

Diaper mein potty meri, 

Daiper mein sussu meri, 

diaper mein meiney kiya pyar sey... pyar sey...

Nila has also made a poet out of me- 

When the Diaper is full of crap,

Don't worry you are not in a trap,

Lets walk to the station of love,

Where daddy will make sure you do not smell like a cow.

I do not want my friends to think that it is all poo and misery interlaced with a bit of cuteness. Compared to many babies she does not cry as much, and she sleeps well in the night. There is something very calming about her when she sleeps and when she is not crying. She has a very serious look on her face, like she is thinking about life. A life without reflection is not worth living, no?

The crying is not so bad either. She waves her hands around and her legs are peddling this imaginary cycle. Her face completely wrinkled, so you don't see her eyes or her tears. It is like she is swimming in an imaginary ocean of emptiness, swimming towards boob juice. Her life has purpose and the simplicity of it, envies me. Her cries are a prayer and every time she prays, her prayers are answered. 

This is probably what she thinking right now-

The human juice box and the human trash disposal are both here for me. They pro-created me and are responsible for me, so they can't complain. I will be waiting for them. Waiting for them to open my diaper. Waiting for them to think- not this time, surely. And then... ha ha ha ha ha...  Holi Hai!