Tag: memories

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Two months later, almost all of them have been replaced by silver.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

Me Loves Mangoes 🤩😍

I do Healthy too!! Need to show off my All Clean Spinach Bowl! 😎

Beeeeeetrooooooot 😋

I am a well behaved boy when I travel 😇

One Moment I am Waiting for my Food all decked up in new clothes 🥸

And in the very next second I am stripped down to my Diaper because apparently I am a Messy Eater 😏

July 23, 2026
One Little Boy, Two Obsessed Grandfathers

As a mother, there is nothing more beautiful than watching your child be loved. And if there is one thing our little boy will never have to question, it is how deeply he is cherished.

Sharva, from the moment you entered our lives, you captured the hearts of everyone around you. But no one has fallen harder than your Dadu and your Motapappa. The love they have for you is the kind that makes you smile from across the room, the kind that shows up in the smallest moments and the biggest gestures, every single day.

Motapappa has become one of your favorite people in the world in Ahmedabad. Most mornings, before Mumma has even had a chance to properly wake up, he is already there, ready to spend time with his little boy. While Motamummy is busy working and Mumma is catching a few extra moments of sleep, Motapappa happily takes over.

He is usually the first one to pick you up in the morning. He changes your clothes, chats with you, plays with you, and keeps you entertained for hours. Your mornings are filled with laughter, stories, songs, funny faces, and conversations that only the two of you seem to understand. It is your special time together, and both of you absolutely love it.

One of the highlights of every day is your evening walk. No matter how busy things get, Motapappa makes sure that Sharva gets his daily outing. Watching you both leave together has become a routine we all cherish. Whether you are looking at people, trees, birds, or simply enjoying the fresh air, those walks have become a treasured part of your relationship.

What makes Motapappa so special is how intentionally present he is. Whenever he is home, he wants to be involved in everything. Every smile, every new sound, every tiny milestone matters to him. He often adjusts his schedule and plans his day so that he can spend more time with his Sharva. Not because anyone asks him to, but because there is simply nowhere else he would rather be.

And when you are away in Rajkot, the distance does nothing to reduce his involvement. If anything, it makes us realize even more how much he misses his little boy. The calls and videocalls begin early and continue throughout the day. He wants updates on everything. The moment your little face appears on the screen, Motapappa lights up. For those few minutes, everything else seems to disappear. It is a love that travels across cities without missing a beat.

Then there is Dadu. And Sharva if there is one person whom you have completely transformed, it is him. The man everyone knew before and the grandfather he has become almost seem like two different people. Family members, friends, and even people at school are constantly amazed by the change. Everyone says the same thing: they have never seen him like this before. Because the moment you enter the room, Dadu transforms.

Suddenly, he is speaking in baby language. He is making funny sounds. He is shouting, giggling, squealing, laughing, and doing everything possible to make his little boy smile. And Sharva you never fail to give the brightest smile to dadu! The serious, composed version of dadu disappears, and in his place appears a grandfather who is completely and hopelessly in love.

He plays with you endlessly. He showers you with cuddles, kisses, affection, and attention. Every little expression is celebrated. Every smile is admired. Every giggle is treated like the greatest achievement in the world. And then there are the endless questions.

Has he eaten?

What did he eat?

Did he finish his meal?

How long did he sleep?

Did he sleep well?

There is not a single detail that escapes Dadu’s attention. Whether he is at home or at work, Sharva is always on his mind.

Perhaps the most surprising change of all is something none of us ever expected. Dadu has never been the type of person to step outside the house unless there was a purpose behind it—work, an errand, or something important. But now all it takes is one little boy wanting to go out.

Suddenly, Dadu is standing outside the house with his Sharva in his arms, waiting for cars, bikes, trucks, and buses to pass by. Together you watch every vehicle with complete fascination. Dadu points them out one by one, shares in your excitement, and celebrates every sighting as though it is the most exciting thing in the world. The man who would never step outside without a reason now happily stands there for as long as needed, simply so his little boy can enjoy watching cars go by. That is what you have done to him. You have brought out a version of Dadu that none of us knew existed.

The most beautiful thing about both Dadu and Motapappa is that neither of them holds back their love. They love you openly, proudly, and wholeheartedly. They celebrate you, worry about you, make time for you, rearrange their days for you, and fill your world with warmth and joy. As parents, we often think about all the things we hope to give you. But when I look at you, Sharva and see the relationships you share with your Dadu and Motapappa, I know you already have one of life’s greatest gifts.

You are growing up surrounded by people who adore you beyond measure. And Sharva one day, you will understand just how lucky you are to have two grandfathers who love you with every ounce of their hearts. Until then, you will continue being the center of their universe—and judging by the smiles on their faces, that is exactly where they want you to be.

Playtime All the Time 🤩

Exploring the World, One Trip at a Time 😎

Seeing the World go by together 😍

Being Outdoors just because you want to be Outdoors 😇

July 10, 2026
The Yellow Moustache Diaries: Food Review by a 6-Month-Old

For six whole months, my menu was pretty simple: Mumma’s milk, served fresh and on demand. Life was good. Then suddenly, everyone started talking about something called “solids.” Apparently, this was a Very Big Deal.

The excitement actually began weeks before the big day. Mumma, Dadi and Motamummy spent hours researching first foods! Mumma was reading articles, watching videos, and asking every parent she knew for advice. Packages started arriving at our doorstep almost daily—silicone bowls, tiny spoons, bibs, sippers, food-grade feeders, suction plates, and all sorts of baby dining accessories. If there was a gadget for a baby starting solids, chances are Mumma bought it.

And then there was my fancy new high chair, lovingly gifted by Raju Uncle and family! Thank you Misha Didi. It had been sitting in the corner for weeks, waiting for its grand debut. Every time Mumma walked past it, she’d smile excitedly and say, “Soon, Sharva!” Finally, the big day arrived. 30th May, 2026, a Saturday!

My very first meal was moong dal porridge with Dudhi (Bottle Gourd)—a traditional and gentle first food chosen with lots of love and care. But honestly, the food wasn’t the main attraction. The audience was.

My Dadu, Dadi, Chachu, Chachi, Naniji, Mumma, Papa—everyone was there. My Motamummy and Motapappa were on videocall. It felt less like Lunch and more like a championship final. Cameras were charged. Phones were ready. Dadi made me offer my first meal to all my god friends in the temple in our house.

After that everyone gathered around my high chair, smiling, laughing, and cheering me on. The room was filled with excitement, nervousness, anticipation, pride, and about a hundred other emotions that grown-ups seem to experience all at once.

Meanwhile, I was mostly interested in the colorful bowls and spoons. The bright silicone utensils and shiny silver bowl immediately caught my attention. I poked them, grabbed them, waved them around, and generally inspected the equipment before agreeing to participate in the actual eating part.

Then came the moment. My first bite, that my Mumma fed me. I opened my mouth, tasted the porridge, paused, and gave everyone my best look of complete confusion.

Wait.

What was THAT?

It wasn’t milk.

It wasn’t familiar.

It was warm, soft, and entirely new.

The adults held their breath. I thought about it. I made a funny face. Everyone laughed. And then, surprisingly, I decided it wasn’t so bad. Spoon after spoon, I kept going. The cheering grew louder with every successful bite. Before anyone knew it, I had eaten almost the entire meal. The adults looked as if I had just won an Olympic medal.

Naturally, I couldn’t let things stay too neat. A good solids journey requires a proper mess. There was porridge on my new kurta. Porridge on my hands. Porridge on the tray. Somehow, there was even porridge where no porridge should logically have reached. By the end of the meal, I had developed a magnificent yellow moong dal moustache that everyone found absolutely hilarious.

Then came water. Now that was truly confusing. Why would anyone drink this clear, tasteless liquid when milk exists? I stared at the sipper suspiciously. I chewed it. I played with it. I spilled some. I looked deeply unconvinced by the entire concept. The grown-ups, however, were thrilled by every tiny sip.

Of course, no milestone is complete without photography. Between bites, smiles, funny faces, and the legendary dal moustache, hundreds of photos were taken. Someday, when I’m older, I suspect Mumma will show me every single one of them.

Looking back, my first solids meal wasn’t really about food. It was about love. It was about great grandparents and grandparents proudly watching another generation grow. It was about parents celebrating a milestone they had been eagerly waiting for. It was about family gathering together for something that might seem small to others but felt enormous to us.

A tiny bowl of moong dal porridge marked the beginning of a whole new adventure—one filled with new tastes, funny expressions, messy fingers, colourful plates, and countless memories. And if my first meal was any indication, this journey is going to be delicious. Mumma better be prepared, the critic is ready!

Love,
Sharva ❤️

Sharing my food with my God Friends! 😇

First Reaction 😵‍💫

Pappa says Yum, so maybe it is Yum 🤔

Let me check 😎

Give me the bowl 🤤

Independent from the beginning 😂

What is this water thingy 🙄

What do you mean its over? 🫩

Half way to One and Step One towards Solids! 🥳

You get Cake, I get Dal and then you guys compensate with Kissi! 🥺

May 30, 2026
Cheeku’s Ahmedabad Diaries

Some chapters in life feel so full, so gentle, that you wish you could pause time and live in them a little longer. The past three months were exactly that for you and me, Sharva—a cocoon of love, laughter, and firsts. And now, as we returned from Ahmedabad to Tramba, carrying bags full of your baby things and hearts full of memories, it truly felt like we were closing a beautiful chapter while stepping into another.

These months at Motamummy and Motappa’s home were not just about staying—it was about growing, together. Sharva, you were wrapped in a kind of love that only grandparents can give. Every day revolved around you, and yet it never felt tiring—only joyful. Your Motamummy and Motapappa built so many little routines for you, making sure you were comfortable, happy, and always surrounded by warmth. From feeding times to nap times, from playtime giggles to evening walks—everything had a rhythm, and somehow, you settled into it so naturally.

And oh, how much you changed. From those tiny newborn days, you began discovering your world. First came the soft coos, those tiny sounds that felt like conversations from another universe. Then came your smiles—wide, innocent, and enough to melt every heart in the room (especially while looking at your passage plates and drawing room lights). Slowly, you began recognizing faces, responding to familiar voices with excitement. And one day, just like that, you rolled onto your side, as if to say, “Look what I can do now!” Each milestone felt like a celebration.

Your Motapappa made it a ritual to pick you up in the morning and play with you while your mumma slept a little and your motamummy did her work! He would take your out for evening strolls. Those quiet walks, with the soft breeze and fading sunlight, became your special time together. I could see the bond growing stronger with every step.

Your motamummy—her voice became a comfort you grew to love. She would sing poems and lullabies, filling the home with a calm, soothing rhythm. It wasn’t just music; it was love in its purest form! She would talk to you constantly and you would reply in your coos and babbles!!

And the most unexpected bond was none other than with your Mamu! Your mamu had his own little world with you. He would wait—sometimes impatiently—for his cheeku to wake up, just so he could play, talk, and make him laugh. The excitement in your eyes every time you saw him would light up the whole house. The way he talked about you like you were the most precious thing was so beautiful! And the way you laughed seeing him do his antics were his rewards.

And every videocall with your Mimi made you so excited but it made Mimi so sad she couldn’t be there with you! She couldnt wait to come back from Canada and hug you tight and spoil you like you were meant to!

The house was never quiet, never still. It was alive—with laughter, tiny sounds, soft conversations, and countless moments that stitched themselves into our hearts.

And while you were there so many of Motamummy, Motappa, Mamu and Mumma Papa’s friends came to meet you bearing gifts! Vidhu Masi, Sana Masi, Himani Masi all made it a point to come over again and again to be with you because your masis love you just like your mumma!

And then came the day we had to leave. Packing felt heavier than it should have. Not because of the things—but because of everything we were leaving behind. Every corner of that home held a memory. Every room echoed with your growth. The goodbye was not loud, but it was deeply felt.

Coming back home to Rajkot brought its own comfort. There was excitement too—you getting to spend time with your dad, being back in your own space, and of course, reuniting with Stella, who had surely missed her mom and her little human. And most excited are Dadu and Dadi who cant wait to spend time with their Sharvu!

Yet, even in that happiness, there was a quiet heaviness. Because some homes aren’t just places—they are feelings. And Ahmedabad, in those three months, became exactly that for us. This chapter may have ended, but its warmth will stay with us always. And someday, Sharva, when you read this—you’ll know just how deeply you were loved, even before you could understand it. And how, in those early months, you brought all of us even closer together.

Day 1 at Motamummy Motapappa house!

Day 2 in Ahmedabad

Making everyone tiptoe around you!

“Sounga to sirf Motamummy ke pass” Phase

Morning time with Motapappa

Cheeeeeku na Cheeks Khai Jauuuu!

Happy 3 months

Cheeku and Mamu

Motamummy, Mamu, Sana Masi and Himani Masi entertain me while my Mom is not home!

April 25, 2026
From a Feeling to Forever

My dearest Shavu Vavu,

Exactly one year ago, on April 9th, 2025, our world quietly and beautifully changed. That day started like any other, until something deep inside me felt different. I can’t explain it, but I just knew. Before I told anyone—even your dad—I decided to check. It was just a feeling, a quiet whisper in my heart and somehow, it turned out to be true. Two little lines appeared, and in that moment, time stood still.

I remember staring at them, my heart racing, my hands trembling, and a million emotions rushing in all at once—joy, disbelief, love, and a deep, overwhelming sense that life would never be the same again. Because of you. You were our tiny, beautiful secret for a little while. And then came the moment we began sharing the happiest news of our lives with our closest family.

Your dadu and dadi had just landed in New Jersey for a one month trip to the USA when we told them. The moment they heard, everything changed—they couldn’t wait to come back, to be closer, to celebrate you. Their excitement was so pure, so full of love, it made everything feel even more real.

Motamummy and motapappa were in complete disbelief at first. It took them a moment to process, and then slowly, their faces lit up with the happiest smiles. It was the kind of joy that takes a second to sink in—and then stays forever.

And the rest of your little world? Oh, they were over the moon. Chachi, chachu, mimi, and mamu were crazy happy—full of excitement, laughter, and so much love for you already. You were celebrated from every corner, by everyone who matters to us.

And then came the waiting. Those months felt long and short at the same time. Every day, we imagined you. Were you okay? How would you look? Would you have my eyes? Your dad’s smile? Would you be calm or mischievous? Would you love music, or stories, or cuddles the most?

We shopped for you with so much love—tiny clothes that felt too small to be real, soft blankets, little socks, cribs and bassinets, car seats and strollers, everything that made us smile every time we saw them. Every item we picked wasn’t just a purchase; it was a dream, a piece of the life we were building for you.

We spoke your name before you even arrived. We changed our minds a hundred times, searching for the one that felt just right—the one that would carry your story, your identity, your light. And all the while, we waited. We counted days, weeks, moments just to meet you.

And now, here we are 9 April 2026. One year later, on this very day, you are in my arms. Not a dream, not a thought, not a hope—but real, warm, smiling, and ours. You are four and half months old already, and somehow, it feels like you have been a part of us forever.

You have filled our home with laughter we didn’t know we were missing, with sleepless nights that we wouldn’t trade for anything (maybe I would), with a love so deep it’s impossible to explain.

Looking back, April 9th will always be the day you quietly entered our lives. And today, it’s the day I hold you close and realize—you were worth every second of the wait.

Always and forever,
Your Mumma 💛

Had to check twice before telling anyone

From two pink lines to so many lines, just one year apart!

April 9, 2026
She Came. She Sang. He Slept.

Vuvu boy! The first few days after bringing you home were magical and overwhelming but equally tiring. Sleepless nights, endless feeds, and the constant worry of “Are we doing this right?” became part of our everyday life. That’s when your japa nurse, Nomita aunty entered our home — and quietly became our lifesaver.

There were moments when you were completely inconsolable. No amount of rocking, feeding, or cuddling seemed to help. That’s when she would gently scoop you into her arms and walk around the house or sit at one place for hours if needed. Her patience felt endless. Watching her calm you with nothing but love and rhythm was nothing short of a miracle.

On nights when exhaustion took over me, she became my strength. There were times she held you through the night so I could finally rest. While I slept, she stayed awake — rocking, soothing, whispering lullabies into your tiny ears. Knowing my baby was safe in her arms allowed me to breathe again.

She didn’t just care for you — she filled our home with joy. She sang sweet Bengali songs (your favorite being Aay Aay Paakhi) that made your tiny eyes slowly close. She danced around the room just to bring a smile to a little face. Sometimes it looked like a private concert meant only for you.

What made her truly special was her spirit. She was always smiling and chatting with our family, turning even the most tiring days into lighter ones. She was constantly joking around, spreading laughter wherever she went. She had the heart of a child — playful, warm, and full of life — and yet the wisdom of someone who truly knew how to care for a newborn.

Most of all, she loved what she did. You could see it in the way she held you, in the way she spoke softly, in the way she never rushed a moment. This was never just a job for her — it was her calling.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. For us, your japa aunty was that village in one person. Her hands gave us rest. Her songs gave you comfort. Her laughter gave our home happiness.

We will forever be grateful for the woman who walked into our lives when we needed help the most — and left behind memories we will carry forever.

February 19, 2026
The Great Motamummy House Wakeathon

Sharva! One day, when you’re big enough to read this, we want you to know about those two days. The ones that made everyone a little tired, a little confused and very, very in love with you.

You were just a tiny newborn when we went to Motapappa – Motamummy’s house. Everyone imagined sleepy cuddles and peaceful naps. But you, my monkey boy, had other plans.

For two whole days, you decided that sleeping for more than 20 minutes was absolutely unnecessary. Every hour—almost on the dot—you wanted to be fed. And if you weren’t being held? Well… that was simply unacceptable. You wanted arms, warmth, movement, and company at all times.

Motamummy, being Motamummy, sprang into full action mode. At the very first sign that you might need extra comfort, she instantly ordered a Ghodiyu. No waiting, no debating. And just like that, the mission was assigned: Dilip was asked to get the Ghodiya from Lal Darwaja and Mehul was rushed to get the khol from Paridhan! Teamwork at its finest.

The house was buzzing. Motamummy. Japa aunty. Motapappa. Mumma. Everyone was on their toes—taking turns, whispering, rocking, feeding, pacing—while watching your wide, curious eyes that simply refused to close.

But in the middle of all this was Mumma—
exhausted, frustrated, overwhelmed, sad, and so very tired. She was running on broken sleep, worried thoughts, and a heart that just wanted to make everything better for you. Some moments felt heavy. Some moments brought tears. And some moments were just about surviving the next hour.

And Motamummy saw all of it. She wasn’t only worried about you—she was equally worried about Mumma. Checking in, stepping in, reminding me to sit, to eat, to breathe. Holding the baby when Mumma’s arms ached, and holding Mumma together when it all felt like too much.

Seeing Mumma so exhausted, Dadda also came from Rajkot just for a few hours to be with the both of us. He sat close, helped in quiet ways, and simply being there brought comfort. You have no idea how thankful Mumma was in those moments—how supported and less alone she felt just because he showed up.

During this whirlwind even, Dadu, Dadi, Chachu, and Chachi came to meet you. They were so excited, eager to spend a few precious hours with their newest little love. But you… you wanted nothing to do with anything.

No cuddles.
No introductions.
No calm moments.

You cried. And cried. And cried some more.

Everyone tried everything—soft voices, gentle rocking, hopeful smiles—but you were not having it. It made them a little sad to see their tiny one crying nonstop, unable to soothe you the way they had imagined. But even through the worry, their love for you was overflowing.

You were overtired.
You were overstimulated.
You were fussy.
And you were determined to keep your eyes wide open.

We worried, of course. So Motapappa asked Viren Nana and we went to see a paediatrician the next day, carrying our exhaustion and a thousand questions with us. The doctor smiled calmly and said the simplest, most comforting words: “It’s just a phase.” And just like that, we breathed a little easier.

Those two days were super hectic. There was very little sleep, lots of concern, endless holding, and a house full of adults revolving around one tiny human. But they were also filled with love—messy, instinctive, drop-everything love.

You may not remember these days. But we will.

They remind us that from the very beginning, you had your own rhythm. And that Mumma learned how strong she could be—even on days she felt anything but strong. And that Motamummy stood right there, protecting both her baby and her grandbaby.

And if you’re wondering—yes, you eventually did sleep. And yes, everyone survived.

And just in case you’re reading this as a teenager or an adult and wondering why everyone in the family reacts very quickly when you say you’re “not sleepy”. This was your debut performance.

Two days.
Zero long naps.
One entire household trained to respond at lightning speed.

You taught us early. Very early. 😌

January 23, 2026
To My Baby Boy: Meet the Angels Who Love You

My sweet boy Sharva,

There are two souls I want to introduce you to today. One walks beside us still, and one walks with us in a way we can’t see—but both have been part of your story since before you were born.

The first is my soul dog Happy, the one who loved me and your dadda long before we knew you. When I was six months pregnant with you, she suddenly left this world. My body was carrying new life, and my heart was learning how to survive loss. It felt impossible to hold joy and grief at the same time—but somehow, I did. And somehow, she never really left.

Through every kick, every quiet moment, every time I rested my hands on my growing belly, I felt her there. I truly believe she stayed close, watching over us, protecting you even before I could hold you in my arms. I know it sound crazy but I could literally feel her presence in the OT the day you were born.

Today is Happy’s birthday—the first one since she passed. And on this day, I want to introduce you to her. She was gentle, loyal, and deeply intuitive. She loved without conditions and understood us without words. I believe she knew you too. I believe she felt you growing and knew her role was changing—not ending.

And then there is Stella—my other baby girl. She is here with us, right now, filling our home with warmth, softness, and life. Stella carries pieces of the love that came before her. In ways you won’t understand yet, she helps me feel grounded. She comforts me when memories feel heavy, and she reminds me that love continues forward.

I like to think Stella knows she isn’t alone in watching over you. That she and Happy will always be connected—one here, one beyond—both loving you fiercely in their own ways. I believe you are protected in special ways. By the sister who walks beside you every day. And by the one who walks ahead of you, guiding quietly.

You may never meet one of them in this lifetime, but you will grow up surrounded by both their love. Because love doesn’t disappear—it transforms, it stays, it watches.

So on Happy’s birthday, I celebrate both my baby girls. And I celebrate you. Two dogs. One little boy. All connected by love.

Happy birthday, my angel girl Happy.
Stella is taking great care of us.
And your little brother is always safe. 💙🧿

Mumma with Happy and Stella

Dadda with Happy and Stella

December 26, 2025
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.

💙🧿

December 7, 2025