Nobody loves Baba?

Kymaia has, in the 7 years and 4 months of her life to date, thrown a total of 5 tantrums (yes, I am counting).

The first one was in Bengaluru on 05 November 2018 when she discovered that I had written and secretly hidden (to be found later) a love note for her mother and that she did not get a similar surprise.

The fourth one was on 08 October 2021 when she refused to go for her scheduled run.

The latest one was yesterday evening. There were two others, as you would have guessed, before this. The common thread running in these three has been a trigger: me saying, 'Nobody loves me.'

Now, there's some history to this: 'Nobody loves me' was my father's invention. He used it with a specific poor puppy eyes expression to get hugs and kisses from us (my brother, my mum, and myself) and was known to be part-pretend and part-EB. This was just fine and we used such occasions for a group hug and laughter. We even mocked Baba by using his phrase, 'Nobody loves Baba' to initiate group hugs and kisses (yep, my parents were quite openly demonstrative of their love, especially in front of us kids). So, obviously, I picked it up from him.

It turns out that my literal-minded, innocent daughter takes this seriously. Very seriously indeed.

So, back to the story of yesterday's tantrum. It was evening and she was late going down to the garden to play with her friends (we have a strict rule that 1700 to 1900h, she has to be out of the house and in the open, playing, just like how in our childhood, our father would take us brothers by the scruffs of our necks and push us out with a warning not to come back before sunset) and was wasting time picking what to wear. So, I went into her room and asked if I could help because she was getting late, and the later she went down, the less time she'd have to actually play. She said she does not need my help because I don't understand anything about fashion. I made the sulking face and said (in obvious jest), 'that's because nobody loves me.' That was enough. Everything was set aside and a HUGE crying session followed, things were thrown, papers were torn and chucked in the air, all my 'gifts' to her (including the Walkman, the laptop, even her watch, her cap, her running shoes, amongst others) were brought out of the room and piled in front of (the now silent, and shocked) me and I was asked to take them all back because 'you gave all these gifts to someone who does not love you; why don't you take them and give them to someone who loves you?' (yes, our sarcasm game is strong). Cushions from the living room were picked up and thrown at me. Unfortunately, one of them hit me square in the right eye, which started to water, redden, and swell. That caused even more distress, louder (if that was possible) wailing, and accusing that I am 'doing it on purpose.' Nothing would placate the little one. Not promises to go out, or watch TV, or order momos, or even never to say it (the offending phrase) again.

This went on for an hour, and finally, calm crept in on their tippy-toes and quietly settled down in a corner, slowly enveloping the room, then the house. The little one stopped sobbing, washed, and went off to sleep. Last night, given the happenings, her mum decided to snuggle with her and I slept in the spare bedroom.

I slept fitfully though, regretting the whole incident and having sworn never to use that phrase in the future, regardless of whether in jest or otherwise (I do sometimes feel it inside me, to be honest). However, I realise that there will never be a time when 'nobody' loves me. There's my mother, who has been my cheerleader for my entire life. Plus 9 months! And of course, Kymaia will always love me, and no matter how bleak everything seems, I can always count on her, as I hope she knows, she can on me. I felt horrible and wondered how I was going to make up with her now. I think, as adults, however successful we may be in our careers or lives, aka adulting, we have no clue how to truly and deeply apologise for something, especially to children, who can smell insincerity from a hundred paces.

I needn't have worried.

Morning came and while I woke up early, as usual, I did not have the heart to wake her up for the run. I made the morning tea, coffee, Bournvita like I do all weekday mornings, and was sitting quietly on the balcony watching the sunrise and sipping my cuppa when I heard a little voice shouting 'Babaaaaa beaaaaar' from inside the bedroom. I ran in and there she was, sitting cross-legged with sleepy eyes and both arms raised, saying, 'Gogi Baba, gogi' (for those who don't know what this means, read this). I didn't wait to think. I scooped her up, and twirled her around, took her to the balcony to show her the sunrise, and kissed her soft cheeks as she returned the favour even as she giggled that my stubble makes it difficult to find a spot to kiss. If there's a heaven, today morning was how it must feel. Once the hugs and kisses were over, she dropped down and ran to her room to check on the sea-shell pendant she had been making yesterday and intended to wear today, forgetting all about last night, as only a child can, and like adults ought to re-learn so badly if we were to ever have a better world.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was that.