Tag: joy

  • The Yellow Moustache Diaries: Two Months Into the Solids Business

    The Yellow Moustache Diaries: Two Months Into the Solids Business

    Hello Fans,

    Welcome back to Episode 2 of The Yellow Moustache Diaries! It has been nearly two months since I joined the world of solids, and I have some important updates from the frontlines. 

    First of all, I would like to address the great feeding accessories scam. When this journey began, Mumma seemed convinced that my dining experience required a collection of premium silicone bowls, suction plates, designer spoons, and various other colourful objects that looked like they belonged in a modern art museum.

    Two months later, almost all of them have been replaced by silver. Silver bowl. Silver plate. Silver spoon. Apparently, after generations of successfully feeding babies, my grandparents had already solved this problem before Instagram was invented.

    The same fate has befallen my drinking arrangements. There was a time when Mumma Papa discussed sippers around me with great seriousness. Different spouts were analysed. Leak-proof claims were evaluated. Reviews were read. Today, I casually drink from a Silver glass. Nobody speaks about the sipper anymore. May it rest in peace.

    Then came what historians will refer to as The Great Baby Food Maker Investigation of 2026. Mumma spent days researching food makers that could steam, blend, puree, chop, mash, sing lullabies, and probably file taxes. Every product promised to revolutionise baby feeding. The final outcome? 

    One steel cooker.

    One steel pan.

    One steamer basket.

    One masher.

    One portable blender.

    After extensive research, we somehow arrived at exactly the same kitchen setup that existed before the research. Remarkable.

    Now for the exciting part. I have officially tasted nearly 50 foods. Fifty. And that’s without counting the 7-8 spices that have quietly sneaked into my meals. For someone who survived exclusively on milk not very long ago, I would say I have shown admirable courage. 

    Every new recipe at home now feels less like cooking and more like a scientific experiment. A new ingredient is selected. Hypotheses are formed. Grandmothers are consulted. Papa is included in the decision. Then everyone gathers around to observe the results. And by “results”, I mean my face.

    Nobody cares how long the recipe took. Nobody asks whether Mumma enjoyed cooking it. Everyone just wants to know:

    What did Sharva do?

    Did he smile?

    Did he demand more?

    Did he make that face?

    You know the face. The one that suggests a serious complaint is about to be filed. Thankfully, most food combinations have been a huge success. A few have been rejected with immediate and unquestionable authority. No appeals. No second chances. No negotiations. One spoon and the decision is final.

    Among the winners, a few have become my comfort foods. Ragi Banana Porrdige and I are now close friends. Mango has maintained a strong reputation throughout the season. And Blueberry Apple Oats has established itself as a reliable crowd favourite. And so has Toor Dal and Sweet Potato. Whenever these appear on the menu, everyone relaxes. Nobody enjoys uncertainty. Especially not after spending 45 minutes preparing baby food.

    What surprises the adults is that I genuinely enjoy trying new foods. Show me something unfamiliar and I am usually willing to investigate.

    Taste it? Yes.

    Examine it? Absolutely.

    Approve it? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

    I have also begun my journey into finger foods when I came to Ahmedabad. The adults seem very excited about this. They place food in front of me and wait expectantly.  I touch it. I squeeze it. I inspect it. I wave it around. Sometimes I even eat it. Everyone celebrates as though I have solved a complex mathematical theorem.

    One thing I have remained absolutely consistent about is texture. 

    Liquid food? No, thank you.

    Runny food? Not interested.

    Watery food? Please remove it from my sight.

    From day one, I have preferred my meals with some texture. I may be a baby, but I have standards. 

    Meanwhile, an unexpected transformation has occurred. My Mumma, who would never have described herself as a kitchen expert, now spends a significant portion of her day researching recipes, food combinations, ingredient pairings, nutrient profiles, and ways to keep my sensitive tummy happy. She now casually discusses iron-rich foods, fibre content, digestion, and texture progression. Frankly, I think she deserves an honorary degree in Baby Food Studies. 

    My influence has expanded beyond the kitchen as well. There is now a high chair in Ahmedabad. A high chair in Rajkot. A high chair in Tramba. I have successfully established a multi-city dining network before my first birthday. Most days, I sit in my high chair like a responsible young gentleman. Other days, I reject formal dining entirely. On those days, I insist on sitting on the floor, face-to-face with Mumma. The same food. The same spoon. The same baby. Yet somehow the experience is completely different. I cannot explain it. I simply know what feels right.

    Travel has become particularly entertaining. People often say babies don’t need much. Those people have clearly never travelled with my Mumma. A simple weekend trip now requires enough kitchen equipment to start a small catering business. Bowls. Spoons. Containers. Ingredients. Masher. Blender. Backup snacks. Emergency backup snacks. Backup snacks for the emergency backup snacks. At this point, I am fairly certain we carry more kitchen supplies than clothes.

    As for me, I continue to enjoy most foods. However, there remains one important issue. Mumma seems eager for me to become independent and feed myself. I respectfully disagree. Why should I do the feeding when Mumma is already so good at it? I am happy to hold the food. I am happy to play with the food. I am happy to inspect the food. But when it comes to efficiently getting the food into my mouth, I strongly prefer professional assistance. Some call it dependence. I call it excellent customer service. 

    Of course, my responsibilities do not end once the meal is finished. Once I have eaten to my satisfaction, I dedicate myself to an equally important activity: creating a mess. A successful meal should leave evidence. 

    Food on the tray. 

    Food on the bib. 

    Food on the chair.

    Food on Mumma.

    Occasionally, food in my hair.

    Sometimes, I look around at the end of a meal and wonder how so much of it ended up everywhere except where it was originally intended to go. The adults call it “messy eating.” I prefer to think of it as artistic expression. After all, how will future generations know I enjoyed my meal if I leave no trace behind?

    So here we are. Almost two months into this adventure. Fifty foods tasted. Countless recipes tested. Several comfort foods discovered. A few dramatic rejections delivered. One entire family emotionally invested in my reactions. And a Mumma who now travels with half a kitchen wherever I go. I look forward to reporting back after the next fifty foods. 

    Until then,

    Sharva

    Chief Food Critic,

    Texture Consultant,

    Finger Food Intern,

    Professional Mess Creator, and

    Full-Time Recipient of Premium Feeding Services

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    Me Loves Mangoes 🤩😍
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    I do Healthy too!! Need to show off my All Clean Spinach Bowl! 😎
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    Beeeeeetrooooooot 😋
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    I am a well behaved boy when I travel 😇
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    One Moment I am Waiting for my Food all decked up in new clothes 🥸
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    And in the very next second I am stripped down to my Diaper because apparently I am a Messy Eater 😏
  • The Boss Baby and his Army

    The Boss Baby and his Army

    Hello Monkey Boy,

    Before you even learned how to open your eyes properly, you had already built an entire fan club. And not just any fan club—a full-blown army. The kind that shows up half-asleep, armed with love, opinions, blessings, and an endless supply of “let me hold the baby.”

    Mom and Dad were your co-CEOs—learning on the job, running on love and very little sleep. They were supported by motamummy and dadi, who brought wisdom, warmth, and the magical ability to calm everyone (including the parents).

    Your Dadi and Motamummy became our quiet guardians during that first month and a half. They made sure your mama was always well fed, well rested, and cared for, because they knew that caring for me was also caring for you. Warm meals appeared on time, gentle reminders to rest were constant, and every little need—spoken or unspoken—was met with patience and love. Because of them, our days felt softer and our nights felt safer.

    Then came the japa nurse, Nomita didi—part nurse, part angel, part baby-whisperer—guiding everyone through those days like a pro. And of course, the househelps, Swati didi, Prabha aunty, Nayana aunty, Kavita aunty, Kailash aunty, Usha aunty, Kiran aunty, Poonam ben and Parvaty who all made sure the world kept spinning while all attention was firmly fixed on you.

    And then there was Stella—your dog sibling, your silent supporter, and the most patient member of the household. Stella took a gentle backseat so Mom and Dad could be there for you always. She waited quietly during long nights, accepted fewer cuddles without complaint, and watched over you with curious eyes and a protective heart. In her own way, she understood that something very special had arrived—and she made space for you with nothing but love.

    Even when they weren’t physically around all the time, Dadu, Motapappa, Mamu, Mimi, Chachu, and Chachi always had you on their mind. Phone calls, messages, prayers, and constant “How’s Sharva?” check-ins made sure you were surrounded by love from every direction.

    And let’s not forget Mom and Dad’s friends—your first unofficial aunties and uncles. They made sure your parents were heard, supported, reassured, and occasionally reminded that they were doing just fine. From pep talks to laughs to “this phase will pass,” they held Mom and Dad up so they could hold you.

    So if you ever wonder how you were raised in those early days—know this: You were raised by a village full of love, teamwork, chaos, kindness, countless helping hands—and one very good dog. You may have been tiny, but you were never alone. You were carried by many hearts (and paws) from day one.

  • A Year of Firsts: Welcoming 2026 With You

    A Year of Firsts: Welcoming 2026 With You

    As the calendar turns and the world steps into 2026, Sharva, you are  just one month old. You don’t know what a “new year” is yet. You don’t know about resolutions, countdowns, or fireworks. Right now, your whole universe is made of warm arms, familiar voices, milk, sleep, and the simple comfort of being held. And yet, this New Year feels bigger and more meaningful than any before it—because it is our first one with you.

    Before you arrived, life was full, busy, and familiar. Days moved quickly. Nights were quiet. Plans were made far in advance, and time felt predictable. We didn’t realize how much space there was in our hearts until you showed us. Life before you wasn’t empty—it just didn’t yet know what it was missing.

    Then you arrived. In an instant, everything changed. Time slowed down and sped up all at once. Nights became shorter, days felt softer, and the smallest moments suddenly mattered the most. A tiny stretch, a yawn, the way you curl your fingers around ours—these became the highlights of our days. You made ordinary moments extraordinary simply by being here.

    Life after your arrival is louder in some ways and quieter in others. There is less sleep, but more meaning. Less routine, but more wonder. We see the world differently now, because we see it through the lens of loving you. You have already taught us patience, presence, and a deeper kind of joy than we ever knew before.

    And now we step into 2026 together.

    This year will be special—not because we know exactly what it will bring, but because it will be filled with your firsts. Your first smiles, your first laughs, your first words, your first discoveries of the world around you. You will grow more each day, and we will grow alongside you, learning how to be the people—and family—you need.

    When you read this someday, you might be much older. You might not remember these early days. But know this: as 2026 began, you were deeply loved. You were our greatest hope, our biggest change, and our favorite part of the future. And you were part of a family that includes not only people who adore you but also your fur sisters: one here to grow up with you, and one watching over you from heaven.

    This year wasn’t just a new year.
    It was the beginning of a life we couldn’t imagine before you.

    Welcome to 2026, little man.
    We’re so glad we get to walk into it with you. â¤ď¸

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    Slumber Party on New Year’s Eve, 31st December 2025
  • The Legend of the Monkey Boy 

    The Legend of the Monkey Boy 

    In the quiet hours of the day, there’s a tiny boy who rules the house. He’s small, warm, and brand new, with fingers that curl like they already know how to hold on. He is my newborn baby boy Sharva, though around here he goes by his official nickname: Monkey Boy.

    After a feeding, when it’s burping time, Monkey Boy transforms. Suddenly, he’s no longer a sleepy newborn—he’s a tiny jungle creature clinging for survival.  He presses himself against whoever is holding him, clinging with surprising determination. His little hands latch onto shirts, fingers, collars, and occasionally hair, as if gravity has personally offended him. Letting go is not an option.

    He presses his face into your chest, curls his legs in, and holds on with a strength that makes you wonder if he’s secretly been doing pull-ups when no one’s watching. Then, just when you start to think he’s forgotten why he’s there—BURP. A small, victorious sound, followed by an even tighter cling, like he’s proud of himself and wants a round of applause.

    Monkey Boy doesn’t know much yet, but he knows how to burp like a champ and cling like a pro. He knows how to hold on, and he does it with his whole heart. And somehow, between the burps and the baby grip of doom, he manages to make everyone laugh—and fall even more in love with him. 🐒💙

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    The Monkey Boy Burping with his favorites
  • Stitches, Swaddles, and Sleepless Nights

    Stitches, Swaddles, and Sleepless Nights

    The first week after you were born was quiet, blurry, and full of love. My body was healing from major abdominal surgery, and every movement reminded me that bringing you into the world took strength I didn’t know I had. Still, every time I held you, the discomfort faded into the background.

    You woke at the most random hours—middle of the night, early morning, moments when the world felt completely still. Sleep no longer followed a clock. I fed you in soft, dim light, holding you close while you nursed. Breastfeeding wasn’t always easy at first, but each feed felt like a small victory we shared together.

    Those nights were when I truly began to know you. I noticed the way you wrapped your fingers around mine, how your breathing slowed once you were full, how safe you felt resting on my chest. We were both learning—me learning how to be your mother, and you learning the world, one gentle moment at a time.

    But you were never held by just me. Your dad was there from the very beginning—steady, patient, and full of love. He lifted you when my body needed rest, changed you in the quiet hours, and made sure I was okay so I could take care of you. Your dadi, motamummy, motapappa, chachu were just as much a part of those first few days. They watched over you with endless care, helped soothe you, stayed awake with us and wrapped all of us in comfort when everything felt new and overwhelming.

    That first week wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy—but it was full. Full of hands that held you, hearts that adored you, and a family that showed up for you in every way. From the very start, you were surrounded by love, support, and warmth.

    Always remember this: you were nourished, protected, and deeply loved—not by one person, but by athe enitre family—right from your very first days.

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    💙🧿