Page 143 of The Circle of Exile
Iram nodded. She didn’t know much about these tactics and strategies and mind games. What she did know was that Atharva knew them well. Was even a pioneer in many of them. In him, she trusted.
26. Happiness is just results minus expectations…
Happiness is just results minus expectations. It had been an upward climb to understand this simple fact. And today, after thirty-two years on this planet, she could claim to understand this phenomenon. Yathaarth still wasn’t crawling, but instead of panicking over it, she was taking joy in the fact that he was slowly standing on his feet and using support to walk sideways.
“Some babies directly go from scrolling to walking, yours might be one of those, Mrs. Kaul,” Dr. Shankar had exclaimed on their visit to Srinagar for Yathaarth’s vaccine shots in February. Her silent worries had been quietened then. The chilled winters had given way to the sunny spring of March. The air was thinner, the scent of greens more pronounced, and Jammu a lot louder as the season changed.
“Myani zuv?” Atharva called out and she startled from her perch on their bedroom window.
“Look at him,” Atharva showed her their son held in a Buddha perch between his arms on his chest. Iram’s eyes widened.
“Who took you outside?!” She shrilled, wondering if to blast at him or laugh. His brand new clothes were stained with mud, the front of his shirt — all brown. His chin and mouth and half of his face were covered in mud and stray greens, the tidily combed curls now springing from all sides. Those dark greys though were grinning at her.
“Did he eat mud?”
“I checked. He didn’t.”
Iram whirled her eyes to his father — “You took him to the garden?”
“I value my life. He went on his own.”
“There is a verandah to climb down…” Iram stopped short. Her jaw dropped open — “Did he…?”
“I didn’t see it but there is no other explanation. Noora isn’t here and Shiva was in the kitchen.”
“Where were you?” Iram ran her thumb over Yathaarth’s mouth, holding his protesting jaw in her hand and cleaning the muddy lips he had already licked multiple times. “Stop! Arth,” she took him from Atharva’s hands and went to the bathroom, holding him down and using water to wash his face and neck. He protested, crying angrily.
“I was on a call and didn’t even realise when he went,” Atharva laughed silently behind her.
“This is not funny,” Iram whirled, half laughing herself as her son wailed at the wet splotches on his shirt. “Quiet, you are ok with mud and not with water?! Everybody is coming home. And now I have to bathe you again. And I didn’t even get to see you walk. No crying now, shh.”
Her son blinked angry, wet eyes at her, then let out a new note of wail.
“It’s the tearless one,” Atharva commented.
“I am dressed and now even I have to bathe with him…” Iram looked down at herself — white chickan pheran with the softest pink embroidery, come in freshly stitched. Makeup in place, hair smoothened and safe from the new humidity in the air. “Arthhh!” She growled playfully at him and even in his tearless wail he laughed.
“Give him to me, I’ll bathe him.” Atharva plucked him from over her shoulder.
“You are ready too.” She turned, eyeing the rare Sunday form of her husband. He had a black polo on and had pulled out one of the two jeans he owned. They were hosting the KDP founding members today for her post-birthday dinner — their friends, along with Mirza. Ada hadn’t been able to leave Ahmedabad for the weekend.
“I’ll take it off, you go and see what’s up in the kitchen.”
Atharva expertly manoeuvred her out of the bathroom.
“Bring him down. I have to see this walking thing. How did he walk down three steps?”
“Come on, Dilbaro. We have a bath to conquer and then an After-Action Review to present!” He threw their son up and around in his favourite Ninja move and closed the bathroom door.
————————————————————
“Leave him there now,” Iram directed, standing at the edge of their threshold. “But you stand on the other side in case he falls.”
“Nothing will happen. He will climb down himself.”
“If he does, then we have to start keeping this door closed…” she trailed as Atharva left their freshly cleaned son on the marble flooring of their house. The threshold was a few steps away and she stood behind Yathaarth, Atharva taking the step down to the verandah. They kept their eyes on him, waiting.
Yathaarth blinked, sitting silently on his bum. Never in his life had he sat so silently, glancing between them like they were two strange clowns.
