The boys arrived in completely different ways. They were blood brothers, with the same set of parents and DNA, the same race and socioeconomic background, yet, they couldn't have been more dissimilar in their arrival.
The first one was a blessing. He came, unplanned, uninvited but brought with him immeasurable joy. In the intense heat of Indian summer, he brought the rains with him. It was a July afternoon, with well-wishers nearby. He was loud and red, with eyes clamped shut and a strange birth mark on his forehead like a priests thilak. Nearby, were his aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, great-grandmother, grandaunt, everyone rejoicing when he was born. His first home was his mother's room in a house where she grew up in, in a locality where everyone knew her. He was like the bright Sun, beautiful and resplendent.
The second one was a prayer. He was wanted and planned. Born on a cold December night in New England, away from all eyes, in an unknown part of a hospital, in a new city where his parents had moved only a few months earlier. While the world outside was dark and quiet, with the stars twinkling in the frozen sky, he was born like my own fairy dust, so fragile and tender. The hospital seemed shrouded in a deep slumber. As I was lying, recovering, I couldn't wait to hold my precious little son in my arms. Some hours later, I stood, holding him, I looked out of the large hospital window. In front of me, lay a New England city, with it's churches and roads glowing slowly in the golden lights of dawn. I felt so complete.
A few moments are etched in my memory. How their skins felt crinkly like old pieces of tissue. How wispy was their hair. Looking at them, I had been awestruck by how beautiful they were. A few hours earlier, they didn't exist. And like a miracle, here they were, with a name and identity. The future in front of them. In their life of few hours, they were already a person, an individual with hidden talents, their own temperament, their own destiny. Who knows what their tiny eyes had already seen, who knew what they were thinking, what they wanted to express. I had tried to pry open their tiny fists. And on both occasion, I had felt the mystery held firmly in their clasp.
And no one can escape the visceral love and awe of a brand new baby. Even the doctor, the nurses, who have seen hundreds of births can't escape the stirrings of deep emotions when they see a new baby. It's like a ray of hope. Like a brand new day. Like writing your name on a brand new notebook at the start of a school year. With infinite possibilities and potentials. It feels like a reminder of Divine will.
In those precious moments, when nothing and everything mattered simultaneously, I had felt that some God had smiled upon me. Those tiny babies were the embodiment of everything I was and will ever be, my hopes, dreams, strengths, weaknesses, passion and love. They were the manifestation of the universe. In their tiny form, they held my past, my present and my future.
The first one was a blessing. He came, unplanned, uninvited but brought with him immeasurable joy. In the intense heat of Indian summer, he brought the rains with him. It was a July afternoon, with well-wishers nearby. He was loud and red, with eyes clamped shut and a strange birth mark on his forehead like a priests thilak. Nearby, were his aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, great-grandmother, grandaunt, everyone rejoicing when he was born. His first home was his mother's room in a house where she grew up in, in a locality where everyone knew her. He was like the bright Sun, beautiful and resplendent.
The second one was a prayer. He was wanted and planned. Born on a cold December night in New England, away from all eyes, in an unknown part of a hospital, in a new city where his parents had moved only a few months earlier. While the world outside was dark and quiet, with the stars twinkling in the frozen sky, he was born like my own fairy dust, so fragile and tender. The hospital seemed shrouded in a deep slumber. As I was lying, recovering, I couldn't wait to hold my precious little son in my arms. Some hours later, I stood, holding him, I looked out of the large hospital window. In front of me, lay a New England city, with it's churches and roads glowing slowly in the golden lights of dawn. I felt so complete.
A few moments are etched in my memory. How their skins felt crinkly like old pieces of tissue. How wispy was their hair. Looking at them, I had been awestruck by how beautiful they were. A few hours earlier, they didn't exist. And like a miracle, here they were, with a name and identity. The future in front of them. In their life of few hours, they were already a person, an individual with hidden talents, their own temperament, their own destiny. Who knows what their tiny eyes had already seen, who knew what they were thinking, what they wanted to express. I had tried to pry open their tiny fists. And on both occasion, I had felt the mystery held firmly in their clasp.
And no one can escape the visceral love and awe of a brand new baby. Even the doctor, the nurses, who have seen hundreds of births can't escape the stirrings of deep emotions when they see a new baby. It's like a ray of hope. Like a brand new day. Like writing your name on a brand new notebook at the start of a school year. With infinite possibilities and potentials. It feels like a reminder of Divine will.
In those precious moments, when nothing and everything mattered simultaneously, I had felt that some God had smiled upon me. Those tiny babies were the embodiment of everything I was and will ever be, my hopes, dreams, strengths, weaknesses, passion and love. They were the manifestation of the universe. In their tiny form, they held my past, my present and my future.
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