Saturday morning was a classic weekend one. All of us - my husband, my little girl, my little brother and I - assembled in the family room adjacent to the kitchen and started talking about things in general. Our focus shifted to the fruit trees in the backyard since the door leading to the backyard was kept open to welcome the crisp morning breeze and the sounds of nature inside. I went and picked up a pear and walked in promptly to slice it and have my breakfast while we caught up on why Aarti wanted to go to the park last evening.
"She thinks she can find babies there" I said. to which my brother replied "what??"" in a perplexed tone. I proceeded to explain why. The other day when Aarti and I were in the park, she spotted some toys in the sand. "Whose are these?" she asked. "could be some kid's!" I answered. "Why did they leave them here?" the interrogation continued. "May be they forgot".
"May be they don't like them or they got bored or they just forgot" I gasped for air answering. She didn't ask any further questions. Relieved, I walked back home with her. It took some time my 'florescent light' brain to understand why she wanted to look for abandoned or forgotten babies in the park. The kiddo thinks that if a ride to the hospital cannot get us babies - as I tried to explain to her - a walk to the park might - since she is utterly optimistic about some mother getting forgetful, bored or having a sudden and strong dislike to her baby that she might decide to leave it wailing in the park. I was kind of charmed by her thought process but couldn't explain yet again that babies are not toys and they don't get abandoned.
The baby conversation with my brother took new paths. "It doesn't happen here - finding babies in parks" I continued. "Oh wait - every time I am visiting India I find at least a couple of stories about babies abandoned in trash, public transport or even in molehills like it happened in our small town the last time I was visiting. Apparently some moron of a mom abandoned her brand new little boy in the bushes on a mole hill where he gave up on his battle to survive. I remember how I lost my appetite the whole day and wondered how countless couples across the globe would kill for that stork to visit their household. "Isn't it ironic?" I though aloud with a tinge of philosophy creeping into my tone when my hubby entered in holding an apple that had fallen off from the tree. "Some people back home cannot afford fruits" He announced. Look at the pile that goes into the compost bin here - he pointed out. It was an easy smiley. Perfect fruit, Bron by robust and fertile trees, intended to give us the nourishment and pleasure of their form and taste - much like babies that come into our lives and nourish our souls and make our houses delightfully messy and our routines hopelessly hopeful.Both the varieties, the ones borne on trees and the ones that take form in tummies are blessings - day to day things that we take for granted as they occur around us in abundance. But the day they dwindle, we realise how one should be lucky to have them around and to enjoy them.
Saturday was a perfect start - for a ponder, for and a realisation of how blessed I am for the fruit I enjoy. Here's hoping that we all feel blessed and lucky for the little ones we have in our lives and here's also hoping that we realise new life of all sorts in as divine as God's presence. Here's hoping further that there would be no childhoods wasted in toil and abuse, no parenthoods wasted in 'taking for granted' and no morsels wasted without being enjoyed.
God bless everyone with Fruits of love.