Pranay - The Loved One

Nineteen years ago, on a crisp Sunday morning, when most adults were lazily enjoying a cup of tea and most children were glued to Chandrakanta/Captain Vyom on television, a scrawny pink coloured boy popped out of his mother’s womb and said hello to the sleepy little town of Pathankot. At first, much to the bewilderment of his parents, he gazed at them with one eye, leading them and most of the hospital staff to believe that he was a Cyclops. Then, as if deciding that the world is too beautiful a place to admire with just one eye, he cracked open his clamped left eyelid and peered intently at everyone around. We fawned over his pale pink complexion, his tiny hands, his pug nose and his little squeals for several days. In a conical bonnet which was a size too big for his miniature head, he looked like a baby wizard trying on his teacher’s hat. With a dimpled, gummy smile he wiggled his way right into our hearts and we christened him Pranay-the loved one.

Change was imminent with his arrival. Ma’s picture perfect, spotless clean house was now churning soiled nappies by the dozen. We were all given chores that had to be meticulously carried out for Pranay. Cleaning up after him, burping him, milling around him, entertaining him – this was what we did round the clock. In a house which once smelled of fresh flowers and potpourri, there was suddenly an odd yet delicious smell of Johnson’s baby lotion and baby oil. With great fascination, we saw him roll over for the first time, take his first baby steps, sprout his first tooth and speak his first legible words. Each moment accounted for a small celebration. As he grew older, it was evident that he possessed an imagination to die for. He had a precocious talent for spinning tales and he put it to use quite often, cooking up imaginary friends at school who had unusual names like Rayme and Cuckoo, coaxing his pals to believe that a dried up ditch outside our house was haunted and hatching complex plots to be played out by his action figures. Hooked to a well thumbed edition of the Webster dictionary, he flummoxed adults by using words like ‘paraphernalia’ and ‘hypocrite’ as early as when he was 5. Even today, I am sometimes rendered clueless when he rattles off in an ‘Oxfordian’ vein.

Do not be tricked into believing even for a second that this is a cherub we are speaking of. Naughtiness, thy name was “Pranay”. Tricks he pulled off were ingenious and quite often molded out of antics he read about in comic books. Bees in their hives quivered in sheer terror when he aimed at them with his catapult. Once his mischief was played out, he found ways to dodge their wrath. My dolls were not safe in their quiet cupboard any more. Murky, villainous roles were bestowed upon them and they ended up with either the wool pulled out of their poor bodies or blue ink smeared all across their faces or in some extreme situations, being used as punching bags to expend his boundless energy. Ma’s roses looked paler than ever perhaps because they feared annihilation. Errant cricket balls, belonging to him, invariably saw breakable household things as fun targets, making Ma very very mad. Our house which was once flecked with elegant glass vases, delicate chinaware and snow white table covers, now looked frugal and bare. Reading ‘The Lady and the Tramp’ while drooling over a steaming bowl of Maggi, cramming the motley mix of Pokemon characters till their names and forms were ingrained in his head, chuckling at Captain Haddock’s retorts while pouring over his Tin-Tin collection for the nth time (Blistering barnacles and thundering typhoons are two that I remember distinctly), imitating Ma when she spoke on the phone and being a downright pest were some of his routine activities.

These are stories from the past, a little reminder of how much we enjoyed each day with him even though there were times when he drove us crazy. My baby brother is by no standards a baby anymore. His 6 feet large frame makes us all look like midgets and his size 13 feet make it next to impossible for us to find him perfect shoes. Rarely does he smile these days, I guess because he believes that looking gruff and serious is his thing. His concerns now are a far cry from what they used to be when the only thing he was bothered about was escaping an angry bee’s sting or running around the house averting potentially explosive encounters with Ma or rummaging into her ladder to pry out hidden treasure chests of chocolate. He worries about grown-up things like creating his own identity, discovering people and hobbies he likes and being healthy, strong and self sufficient. The little boy with stars in his eyes is now a strapping young man with hopes and dreams and as he steps out of teenage and into the real world, I wish him truckloads of happiness, peace, peachy good health and a whole lot of success in whatever he does. And even though I know he hates it when I mollycoddle him, today I feel like giving him a bear hug, a big slobbery wet 'puchchi' on both his cheeks and hollering......Happy Birthday Pranay!!!