<p>Kabir has been a little boy for a long while, a very long while. He was Peter Pan, the eternal child of a magical island, Neverland, who flew from place to place with a flowing cape on soundless wings, a child who was a cherub with a mop of hair and flashing eyes and an enchanting smile that broke hearts that never quite became whole again. Suddenly one day he was all of four years old, packing his books in his backpack, swinging it onto his slender shoulders with practised nonchalance, and walking to the lift for his school van – with Mama in tow.</p>.<p>Kabir was an excellent conversationalist with a flair for words. When I spilt his milk on the table, I said self-deprecatingly, “Oh, I always do a bad job.”</p>.<p>“No, Nani,” he countered with his encouraging comment, “You also do a good job,” doing wonders to my ego. One day he said, “Now I am a little big, but when I am bigger I will be an astronaut in my space suit.” “You will walk the skies,” I said admiringly, and he said contemptuously, “Astronauts don’t walk; they fly and travel in their spaceships.”</p>.<p>Kabir’s ambition is not limited to becoming an astronaut; he wants to be Superman, Spiderman, and Batman. “Also a policeman,” he adds as an afterthought and for good measure. “How can you manage?” I ask him. “Oh, I’m smart,” he says with cocky self-assurance. Kabir is proud of his toy gun and silver bullets, and brandishing his gun, says, “I will finish all bad people if they come to take me or Nani.” </p>.<p>He has an eye for nature; when he sees the trees swaying in the breeze, he says, “The trees are dancing, Nani; that means rain, thunder and lightning.” For all his bravado, at the first rumble of thunder and flash of lightning, Kabir ducks for cover under his sheets.</p>.<p>He marvels at the birds flying and at the clouds drifting by, which he tells me are “blue pillows”. Kabir is one for cars. He has a fleet, organises traffic jams, fills up parking slots, prepares for head-on collisions and also long orderly lines waiting for traffic lights to change. All these elaborate planned layouts on the dining table, and God help you if you place a bowl of dal or curry anywhere in the vicinity of his cars. The table is declared out of bounds for everything and everyone until his operation is over.</p>.<p>Kabir has stepped out of Neverland; he is growing up, and one day when he is fully grown, I hope he will still be Peter Pan at heart, travelling to different lands and skies, carrying the beauty and innocence, and believing as Peter Pan did, “All the world is made of faith, trust and pixie dust.” </p>.<p>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</p>
<p>Kabir has been a little boy for a long while, a very long while. He was Peter Pan, the eternal child of a magical island, Neverland, who flew from place to place with a flowing cape on soundless wings, a child who was a cherub with a mop of hair and flashing eyes and an enchanting smile that broke hearts that never quite became whole again. Suddenly one day he was all of four years old, packing his books in his backpack, swinging it onto his slender shoulders with practised nonchalance, and walking to the lift for his school van – with Mama in tow.</p>.<p>Kabir was an excellent conversationalist with a flair for words. When I spilt his milk on the table, I said self-deprecatingly, “Oh, I always do a bad job.”</p>.<p>“No, Nani,” he countered with his encouraging comment, “You also do a good job,” doing wonders to my ego. One day he said, “Now I am a little big, but when I am bigger I will be an astronaut in my space suit.” “You will walk the skies,” I said admiringly, and he said contemptuously, “Astronauts don’t walk; they fly and travel in their spaceships.”</p>.<p>Kabir’s ambition is not limited to becoming an astronaut; he wants to be Superman, Spiderman, and Batman. “Also a policeman,” he adds as an afterthought and for good measure. “How can you manage?” I ask him. “Oh, I’m smart,” he says with cocky self-assurance. Kabir is proud of his toy gun and silver bullets, and brandishing his gun, says, “I will finish all bad people if they come to take me or Nani.” </p>.<p>He has an eye for nature; when he sees the trees swaying in the breeze, he says, “The trees are dancing, Nani; that means rain, thunder and lightning.” For all his bravado, at the first rumble of thunder and flash of lightning, Kabir ducks for cover under his sheets.</p>.<p>He marvels at the birds flying and at the clouds drifting by, which he tells me are “blue pillows”. Kabir is one for cars. He has a fleet, organises traffic jams, fills up parking slots, prepares for head-on collisions and also long orderly lines waiting for traffic lights to change. All these elaborate planned layouts on the dining table, and God help you if you place a bowl of dal or curry anywhere in the vicinity of his cars. The table is declared out of bounds for everything and everyone until his operation is over.</p>.<p>Kabir has stepped out of Neverland; he is growing up, and one day when he is fully grown, I hope he will still be Peter Pan at heart, travelling to different lands and skies, carrying the beauty and innocence, and believing as Peter Pan did, “All the world is made of faith, trust and pixie dust.” </p>.<p>(Disclaimer: The views expressed above are the author's own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.)</p>
