It is a favourite dress of hers. I mean, it was my favourite dress amongst her dresses. A blue skirt with artistic stuff on it. Bought with so much care and love. If the shrewd shoppers like the missus, are amongst the readers here and ask ‘was it on discount?’, well, the answer is ‘yes’. But that is irrelevant. Ok?
More importantly, it is how she carries it. For the life of me, I can’t carry a dress on myself properly. My dress sense is usually as bad as my grammar. Looking good from certain angles nobody looks from, and generally sloppy.
A little over a year into the planet, she walks with those skirts and jeans with élan. And has preferences too. Much like the missus.
This skirt is artistically embroidered. Elegant. Understated. Pleasant. And soothing to the eyes. It fits her well and she likes it too. She often lets people know of that by laughing and clapping just whenever she wears the dress, just about right to match the laughing and clapping that goes on within me too.
Today, we are getting ready to hit the park.
Just about today, I notice the missus struggle a bit more to get her into her skirt. As the skirt takes it place, she smiles anticipating unbridled playtime. It is then that I notice that the skirt is shorter than usual.
“Did you wash it as per the instructions?” I ask the missus. With a frown.
“Did the folks at the shop cheat us silly?” I continue.
Drifting into a soliloquy that Shakespeare should have shuddered and Arundhati Roy would have beamed. I mumble an apology of an ‘address’ to our bedroom walls about corporations making profit from human emotion, charging an arm and a leg for what essentially is a small piece of cloth that progressively shrinks with every wash.
The missus, gives the sprouting hair on the little ones head a quick brush up, and replies calmly with a twinkle in her eyes, “your daughter is growing”. Silence ensues.
It hits me. Indeed. She has grown slightly taller. No visible gaining of weight but taller for sure. My mind races. At this rate she will outgrow the dress very soon. Whatever will happen to my grand plan of taking a picture of her with this dress in Goa? Of taking her to next year’s annual party in this dress. Now what happens to that? That’s a labyrinth I get whooshed into.
Oh time, I think. Could I cause it to slow down a bit? I mean a bit. Come on, at least a picture in Goa is deserved. I can buy a hundred new dresses, but this is a special skirt. And it so pretty.
We hit the park. Am still in the pensive mood. At this rate she will outgrow this dress, I think. One more inch short and it would look odd. My mind doesn’t stop there. She would be in school soon. And then, there would be exams. And Maths. Oh my God! And then there will be ranks and report cards. The mind shuts down. Like any computer with too many windows open.
Suddenly I hear her let go of a yelp. I run. She has fallen. Yet again. On the grass. Not hurt. Soon, she is upto her playing ways.
I look at the missus, who looks at me and asks, ‘when is she going to walk steady?’
We laugh. We get talking. Watching her play from a distance. “Would you train her to get running with you?” she asks. Half teasing.
“Of course” I say. “I am just waiting for her legs to be just ready to go running”.
“What else are you waiting for?” The missus asks.
That’s like lighting a matchbox in a tinder keg of emotions. I give voice to my dreams. Like I have done before. “Oh you know them. For her to be able to read so that we could go to the local park and read our books under the shades of those trees. Maybe cycle together, to do the hiking together. I wish we could do that tomorrow… I can’t wait for all of this to happen!”
The missus clears her throat. I know something is coming.
“So you want time to go fast when it comes to her reading, running, cycling, but you want time to go slow when it comes to her skirts”. She doesn’t say any more. The missus is possessed with evil grin reminiscent of those in TV news panelists sport after making a point that is noted.
I look into the blue skies for an answer.
Time, the omnipresent mover and shaker will not pander to my selective imploring! Of getting her skirts to stay long forever yet to get her legs get taller and fitter to run about in joy. Time will tell a fitting story. A lovely one at that.
The missus nudges me on. “Go play with her now. Don’t think too much” she says. I scamper up. “By the way”, she says, “I have checked out some fantastic dresses for her at the store. We’ll go shopping tomorrow”.
Kavi dabbles in writing, reading, traveling, photography, long distance running amongst other things. He and Shanti have their hands full with their adorable toddler, Kayal. In-between all of this, he gives an arm, leg and everything else to earn a living. Usually accomplished by punching keys, attending meetings and trying to sound profound. He blogs at http://kavismusings.blogspot.com & tweets @kavismusings. Just in case you are intrigued enough to know more about him please head to http://about.me/kaviarasu.