Murmuration

Daivik was excited about the birthday invitation from his friend Simon. It was a fine summer day, with clear blue skies and happy chirping birds. The park was about the size of a large cricket ground with trees surrounding the periphery and a few scattered around in the middle. It was still early in the day and the park was yet to be invaded by the bare-chested, beer loving, sun worshipers. Which meant the kids, about ten of them, had the whole park to themselves. It was supposed to be a 'football' party.  There were two footballs. But there was also : one cartwheel and one large garbage can with wheels, far more interesting than a little ball with no wheels.  So the footballs were abandoned even before the first kick as the kids flocked the cart wheel : some went in, some stood on the sides and some decided to push it. They went up a little slope and then let the thing go. It was scary for us, the parents, to watch it from a distance, but the sounds coming from that direction  were cries of joy, a.k.a war cries. Me, me, let me in, you push, next time I push, no not that way, yeaaaahhhhh....At this point, one of them discovered the large garbage can. They managed to roll it to the middle of the park. Ah, what fun a graffiti laden trash can hold ! It is beyond the powers of imagination of the adult brain...

Daivik, watching me watching him, came running over to excitedly report what I was seeing. Soon he got more interested in reporting  the events that were happening rather than participating in them. I thought my presence there was getting counter productive and silently retired to a quiet corner of the park and started reading. But the sounds carried and I could watch them from a distance. The cart wheel and the garbage can were soon abandoned and they started running around  all over the park, still in a group. From my spot  I could hear the distinct ebbing and fading of their buzz. It was like a swarm of bees in tandem flight. There was no intent or purpose. There was no search for meaning. There was, if any thing at all, that single moment. That moment of joy, of fun, of laughter, of being.

Quite suddenly, they were right next to the tree where I was leaning on. It was a beautiful tree, with a wide trunk and very low leafy branches. Daivik 'discovered' me and came running over. He sat next to me for two seconds, sharing the joy of the moment and transmitting it to me and started running back to his friends. It is interesting to watch him run, with his distinctive way of bending his elbows and placing his hands . He suddenly slowed as the low branches brushed  against his face. He raised his hands and without stopping grabbed a few leaves, came running back to me, deposited them in my hands saying, 'Appa, here is a gift for you', and before I could respond, ran back to join the swarm.

Thank you Daivik, for the wonderful gift. 

truly beautiful

Daivik and me were in a park. It was one of those rare moments when he was playing by himself, which allowed me time to do something else. I was in the middle of it when he came and told me that he wanted to show something. I said I was busy. He went away, but came back immediately saying he wanted to show me something "beautiful". I was still busy, he went away but came back again, tugged my hand and said, "Appa, come, I want to show you something truly beautiful". The use of that adjective intrigued me. Whatever I was doing cannot be more important than finding out what my son considered "truly beautiful".  He led me to a little slope that was covered with Dandelions, some of them were still in their blazing yellows but most of them had dried out, forming neat little golf balls that were sitting pretty on their long stems. It was indeed, truly, beautiful.

After admiring this beauty we went back to our respective things. Later on, we were walking back and Daivik was happily chattering away. As I turned to the right,  my eyes fell on a large area, about the size of a  foot ball field, covered with Dandelions. They were  in direct sun, bigger, swaying gently to the rhythms of the breeze and every now and then dislodging  a puff of the dandelion snow. I tapped his shoulders and without a word gently turned his head towards that field.  As his eyes fell on those Dandelions, Daivik stopped his chatter. He stood transfixed. Both me and the Dandelions were eagerly waiting for a word from him. If that little slope was "truly beautiful", what was he going to say for this vastness of Dandelions ? It was one of those moments, whatever he was going to say was bound to be precious. After several moments of a truly beautiful silence, he looked at me, flashed a brilliant smile and said, quite simply, "wow".

Of course, nature made the Dandelion blooms truly beautiful. It has also devised ingenious methods to enable their propagation to ensure a continuation of that beauty. We tend to think that the wind aids in dispersing the seeds. However, that is only partly true. Nature does not rely entirely on such stochastic occurrences. It wants to be absolutely sure that those delicate seeds are efficiently dispersed . What does it do ? It sends little boys, it sends Daivik. So, after this rather intimate admiration of beauty, Daivik stepped into the field and urged me to join him in what he called as 'Pustebloom race'. The objective was simple : to disperse as many florets from the blooms over as large an area as possible. Before the race began, he initiated me into its intricacies. Apparently it is not quite as simple as plucking one of them and blowing into it. I was astounded by my ignorance in this critical area. You have to hold the stem firmly but not too close to the flower (otherwise it will not bend and the flakes cannot go far), the speed and the angle in which you blow is critical (otherwise many flakes will fall down together, and that is not good), if the wind is against you, you have to blow harder (otherwise all the flakes will fall on you)...

So, we began the race. Soon enough, it was obvious who was going to win. The odds were stacked against me. He was clearly more practiced in this art than me. In order to educate myself better, I picked up a flower, sat on my knees and turned towards him with an objective of  observing his methods more closely.  However, I had to stop my education as the scene I encountered  froze me. It is an image that demands being accurately photographed and carefully framed. I have neither the right camera nor the required skills to do justice to that moment, but its memory lingers : Daivik is on the slightly blurred foreground. His lips are pursed in a delightful joy as he is blowing into the bloom.The still soft late spring sun is somewhere behind his head. It causes the moisture on the lips to glisten and casts a mini-halo around the edges of his hairs. The Dandelion bloom, under the force of his carefully calculated blow, is slightly bent away from him. In the process, it dislodges tens of little florets into the blue sky. The florets appear in sharp focus as they gently parachute down in the still air.

Truly beautiful, indeed.

how many times

'Stinging nettle' is a common weed that populates open spaces in spring and summer. (An aside : it has wonderful medicinal and nutritional properties). As the name implies, it, well, stings, a rather sharp semi-intense burning sensation that gradually fades over few minutes.

When Daivik and me went to pick up Strawberries early in summer, I pointed this plant and told him to avoid it as it stings. I didn't know its name then, and referred to it as 'ow-aa' plant. Turned out that he knew the name, 'but this is Brennnessel', he said, referring it by the German name (that's right, with three consecutive n's in the middle). Remembering unfamiliar names is not an easy task, it requires effort. So why take the trouble, particularly when facts and information are literally on our fingertips, just one tap away? There is always Google. Or, in this particular case, Daivik !

Some days later, I was stung by the plant and got a mildly red patch. When somebody asked me about it Daivik was handily nearby, and all I had to do was ask "Daivik, what's the name of the ow-aa plant?" How convenient ! I simply gave up even trying to remember the name.

But small joys are short-lived. When I had to get the name out of him a third time, he replied really slowly, "Bren-ne-sil" before adding, "how many times should I tell you".

girls like it !

Daivik and me were working in the garden when I spotted a lady-bug on a leaf. The large palm shaped leaf was almost fluorescent green in the afternoon light, the bright red ladybug with black spots was sitting right in the middle, making it a very pretty sight. I called Daivik to have a look. He saw the scene and asked if he can ‘pink’ it. I didn’t quite get if he said pink or ping, but said okay mostly to keep him engaged, wondering at the same time how do you ping a bug (does it have a RFID tag or something…).

He took a pink colored chalk and started painting a nearby wooden board rather furiously. I got curious after he continued it for longer than his usual attention half-life of 2.3 seconds. So I asked him what he was doing. He was making the board pink. And why? With utmost sincerity he said ‘because girls like pink’. I didn’t understand the connection until he explained the logic: Ladybug is a girl, girls like pink, so he is making the board pink.

I was too flabbergasted to react, but he continued onto his next project of dissolving the remaining chalk in a bowl of water. He was making a pink swimming pool for his lady (bug).

lolli-tree

Since the start of this spring, Daivik has been busy in the garden. He has sown seeds, waited and watched them sprout, observed the contours of the first leaves, the magic of the first flowers and amazed that vegetables come out of flowers. Today, as we were holding a lolli-pop between us and discussing the pro's (tasty) and con's (not good for health) of eating it, and negotiating for a reasonable compromise between the two, he had his eureka moment. Even as I was watching him, his eyes lit up and in less than a flash, a wave of inspiration washed over him. He explained it to me in a HurriedExcitedAnimated tone :
"appa, we will dig up the soil and put this lolli inside and cover it up. (shows how he will do it). then after sometime, "magic" will happen and 'lolli-tree' will come out. first we will have lolli-leaves, then another magic will happen and we will have lolli-flowers and then many many lolli's. after that I will pick them up all and eat them. (picks up and eats)"

So, we went out and 'planted' his lolli. We are going to wait for it to sprout. 

Question : will we get that lolli-tree ? How will it look ?