🌠You And Me Are Forever 🌠 (completed)

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Relationship. Complicated word and its complicated form. Different forms different base and different meanings around the globe. How does one describe it. Strong, or weak, based on love or compromise. But ask the best relationship, which one could hold up to it. Probably that of a child and parents. Definitely, and not probably. The best of the best. No matter in what latitudes and longitude you are, no matter what religion or faith has been your moving force, no matter what "color" your body owns, no matter what language you know, every language, every religion and every color and every place, gives this relationship a unrepeatable primacy and placement.

Might wonder why? Think of it. Is there any relationship where one thinks of your well being when you are not visible to their naked eyes. When you are still to be welcomed in the world. The slightest wail of pain and that panic set forth in the parents. Never had a liking to soups or vegetables yet eating all for the growth of the child. The woman who at times would have wailed and cried even at slightest cut, bears the tearing of the vagina, for bringing you to life, the pain even exaggerated, do not have the any refrences. The man who loved watches and shoes and loved dressing up in suits, hardly changes his watch in years or shoes until they are worn out to be worn. Because the life now has shifted with the epicenter being the child. Shits and pukes and urination, it never disgusted the parents, untill they became one. Torments on the breast at the suckling of the baby with the tooth still growing still smiling, who does that besides a mother. Fearing a injection, for a child she is ready for the slit on her body without an ounce of fear.

Scarifice with happiness, parents do that for a child. And the child, it is that immense happiness, that leaves them energized and vitalized to cross every hurdle and obstacle. The incoherent blabber, the little gurgle and giggles, liking the chiming of the windchime against the soft breeze. Every little achievement leaves the parents exhilarated, even it is the child peeing, it is no then a achievement for them. And even the softest sob has the power to cut their heart into slices, and leave it tormenting further. The children, the sacred and holy gifts, our treasured ones, they come with the mirth and song, they come to learn of sorrows and how to become champions, they come to remind us that we were once as pure of spirit as they. They are us.

We can't ever be grateful enough of what they do for us, and can never even do a percent of what they do. The irrevocable, boundless, illimitable love, is that of a child with its parents. A 'I love you', is all they would ever want to hear from you and it would make them the happiest. Despite at times wanting to run away from them, we still want to be with them, under their shade. Its just like we want to be the kite flying touching skies, and wanting the thread to be in their hands.

Sidharth and Sana, they were such parents who have touched that love and then been devested of that, in the most cruel way, at the most unexpected juncture of life and in the most unexplainable way. The whiplash right across their faces, leaving them with the prints forever to carry. The hope for anything ever to be okay, never was there, all they saw and felt was darkness and void, an irreplaceable and tormenting void. Even the nature, reminded them of Reyansh. The silced and bleeding heart, no matter who tried and how, it kept bleeding and shedding it out in tears for Sana and isolation for Sidharth. But as they say, the time never stops and the sun will rise no matter how long night be, and how horrifying and torturing the nightmare was, there will be a morning of hope, that might not tend to the bruise of the nightmare but will give you the power to stand up, and move on with those bruise shining on you, like the battle scar, the scar of victory over yourself, and over the infliction of live, of not giving up despite knowing how easy and painless it could be and standing up to live on.

They have got their morning sunshine. The hope that everyone looks for in the morning. The impetus to get out of bed, and walk and run. Their ikigai.

Aayansh, the gift of god and the first ray of sun. Signifying his name, he is this ray of light to their suddenly blackened lives.

17th September

A shrill cry, resonating in the silence of the dark, waking up everyone. The sleep, it felt like a luxury, and especially when you have managed to sneak out 30 minutes for yourselves to just sleep. And those wails, and they both jolted and tried despite the heavy eyes, to open them and take the crying baby, their little baby who is one week old, one week and they are still in the daze of the moment when the nurse got him, swaddled to them. Eyes shut tight, lips pouted and so pink, palm in a fist, hardly of the size of Sana's finger. So so small. Skin red and so soft, even touching was not needed to tell that.

Sidharth, woke up, and ambled to the crib, where the baby Aayansh was crying. Picking him up, he held him close to his chest and craddled him sweetly.

Sana, still in his sleep asked him "Kya hua Sidharth kyu ro rha hai......bukh lagi hogi.......la usko feed kr deti hun" her words coming out as a whisper, her body tired to bones, demanding for sleep like the revolutionaries demanded independence, yet all that mattered was, his wails.

"So jaa baby, abhi piyaa tha.....he just wants attention.....teri tarah usko bas chahiye ki usko koi hold kare.....so jaa" Sidharth, bouncing Aayansh, patted her too and she instantly dozed off.

Sidharth with their little baby boy, who was quieter now, snuggled to him, with his little fist resting on his face. And the slightest of touch of him, and he felt an exhilaration, and over the top happiness, and warmth seep through him. Curtailing the feeling in few words, can never suffice of what he felt when he held him for the first time, and even when he held Reyansh for the first time. Kissing his, little fisted plam, they both made way to the balcony.

"Aayansh ka first balcony visit, woh bhi Papa ke saath" Sidharth cooed softly nuzzling his nose on his. He gazed him understanding nothing trying to grasp the human in whose arms he was and decipher to the language they know. His fist moved to grab him, but he hardly opened his fist.

"Papa ko maarna hai.....bad manners" Sidharth said further, and chuckling at his own insane gubberish.

"Aisa chotu chotu baby, inna chotu chotu haanth hai, inna chote chote feets, so small and so pink" peppering kisses to his feets, he gushed. He squirmed, and wriggled feeling ticklish probably, with his lips on his feets, yet he couldn't kick this mighty human in front of him with his small feets.

"Ticklish ticklish" Sidharth conversed, peppering more kisses onto his feets, and he squirmed more.

"Itna chotu sa pet mere baby ka.....par inna sara doodh peeta hai......." and he wordered if his words even made sense. Only if that matters. With his childern, nothing else matters, not even the fact that he was speaking a language, hebrew to his little baby.

"Reyansh.....look at him......kitna chota hai......you were also the same, when you came.....your eyes, they were wide open, sparkling and so shiny, brown like mine.......he has got Mumma eyes, and you mine......you and me one team and he and Mumma one team and then we will play alot of games....." looking at the sky, he spoke, conversing with Reyansh. Something that would never change, and he wishes to keep it the same.

"He is so naughty.....pata hai.....he pees alot.....humesha susu krta rehta.....sbse jyda pyaar isko mujhse se hai.....jaise mere pass aayega......isko susu krna hota hai" he ranted with the never ending talks. Sidharth had the widest smile on his face. Holding Aayansh, seemed more like a dream, a far fetched dream, and when he sees him, the sleeping baby, so small, so pure, angelic, he believed it was no dream but reality, their reality. Their life. Their world. Their sunshine. A blessing from god. Their AAYANSH.

"Sleep baby sleep" Sidharth patted him softly, has he wriggled but drifted back with the pat of assurity, that there was someone, who would look after him, who would love him, who was there for him always and who he can rely on. Not that he understood anything, but that pat gave him the warmth. Affection. The words to big for them, but they can feel it. Naming that, who cares.

Kisssing his forehead, he too laid down on the bed, pulling his wife into him and dosing off, for a morning that was on the door.

🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠🌠

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Lots of love

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