This city feels, new and unfamiliar. I still have things to unpack, the unimportant ones. Today, I finally got some time. There are so many things that I forgot but I didn’t know. I still had them. The most unexpected was, the photo album, I made.

From day one, until its my day one.

23 March 2016,

The day the child inside me slept.

The sun shone at its brightest while I slept with my blanket on, in front of the cooler, looking like a worm. My mom shouted from the kitchen, “Chavi, wake up and listen to me.” Her voice sounded faint but urgent; it was getting weaker. “Chavi, right now.” I threw my blanket and crawled with my half-woken eyes, sticky face, and hair like a nest without birds. “I was about to wake up, just after five minutes…” I stopped midway, just to realize that she had one leg in the air, supporting her belly with her hands, her face pale and her forehead sweating. “What happened? Are you alright?” I hurried to her. “Mumma, water, have a glass of water.” She refused. She just spoke her part (instructions) while breathing heavily: inhale slowly, exhale (phuuuuu). “Listen carefully; I made lunch for you. Lock the door. I have to go now.” She walked carefully up the stairs, talking with my father, “Is your stomach really paining? Do I have to come now?” Her feet dangling from side to side. But she still made it to the rickshaw.

All day, I was curious about what was going on. Do I have to be tense, or should I be happy? That finally I am going to meet my baby sibling? Or what about Mumma, will she be okay? I served myself, washed my plate, and locked the door. Until Papa came home, I quickly followed him. “Is Mumma okay? What about the baby?” He rushed to the drawers and then to Mumma's purse to find if there was any money at home. He checked every container to see if she had saved something. But at last, he was empty-handed. Without a second thought, I broke my piggy bank that I had saved just for a remote control car—the one that all of my friends had, except me. After crying many times, I saved every penny for it. When it broke, the coins scattered everywhere. I collected every coin lying on the floor and counted everything I had. Handed it to papa, who was in a rush to hospital.

Climbing the stairs fast, with curiosity, “Baby sister or brother?” I was late, throwing a fit. Why didn’t I get to hold you before anyone else? I was nervous, yet excited. I washed my hands two or three times, or maybe more. When I entered the door, Mom was lying in her hospital gown, which made her look even more sick. The pipes sticking to her hand—I couldn’t really understand how she lost so much weight in a day. She really was suffering. I could see her smile, yet her moist eyes. She pointed towards you, knowing what I was searching for.

When I tried to hold you, they were all saying no, hold him later. But I held you, as the world came to me. You fit in my hands like a piece of a puzzle. I was awake all night, just to hold you one more time. I am sorry if you were jealous that Mom held me that night. But I was focused on you—your eyes sparkly just like mine, and your nose too (Mom said!). She sounded weak; her hands were dry but warm. We shouldn’t forget that; let’s be grateful to her. Together, okay? We talked all night about you. She slept, but I was desperately waiting for the sun to wake you up.

I was remembering the past. From the first day when I heard about you. No matter what chaos was happening because of you, my answer was yes from the first moment. Like it had always been you I was waiting for. I felt everything, even when we couldn’t see each other physically. You knew it was me when you kicked or played when I talked with you. We bonded; you listened to me without even knowing me. I decided to protect you and love you the most—more than my grades and toys.

You were an exception to my ice creams, yet my toys, because I could share anything with you. And I knew that “a smile from you was a yes, and a cry would be no” for anything and everything.

When Dada would be too annoyed by the noise, you would jump from the bed and then do your superhero pose. We tried to play quietly. As he rushed towards us, you would hide behind me, and I would take that scolding for you. And you knew how to make up for it—just a hug!

“Chavi, I forgot. Put the milk in the fridge,” she shouted from the living room. “Okay.” I looked at the container, and my eyes caught something unexpected. “Ashu, what are you doing, baby?” I asked him while doing the dishes. I left them then and there. “I am helping you, didu,” he said, slowly trying to put that container, but his hands slipped. The milk spilled on the fridge shelves. He started crying his eyes out, messy but adorable. “Baby, it’s okay. Didu will clean it. Now stop crying.” I carried him in my hands. My mom came rushing to the kitchen. “Can’t you do anything right? I told you to do it. Now the whole fridge is a mess. Give him to me.”

“I am not the one who should expect an apology from her.”

But there were things I couldn’t take scolding for. They would fight. “Do you think I am resting at home?” So I covered your ears. “You are not earning, just have to do housework.” But mine were still open—just to hear how to break things when you are angry, or how to throw things when you can’t suppress anymore, or how to cry after everyone is asleep.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Mom said while leaving for the store. “Okay, so I’ll give him a bath then,” I asked for her permission. She didn’t answer. “So let’s take a bath, Ashu baby.” I poured water on his hair while putting back his head so he wouldn’t be shocked or scared by it. “Come on, let’s dry ourselves. We are all clean, clean.” I dried his hair and put powder on him, and put lotion on his hands like a soft plushie toy, with his favorite dress with bunny ears. “What are you doing?” my mom shouted while putting down the things on the bed that splashed like tomato sauce. “Why did you… you didn’t have to give him a bath.” She searched his nose and ears while staring at me. “No, I am sorry, but I was careful, really careful.”

“But I am his mom. I know how to take care of him. Go, do your work.” From that day onward, she would bathe him and then go outside. She never left him with me alone.

Mumma would hold you and leave, and Papa wouldn’t come home, so on that bed I fell asleep when the tears became dry and the night felt cold, holding my teddy bear just like you. The darkness of the room, the noise made by the tree, or the shadows somehow kept me company.

Slowly, I knew that I just couldn’t keep you to myself. As Mumma really wanted to play with you, feed you with her hands, and sing rhymes together. She would wake up early to make breakfast for you now. “I made it after so much work, just one bite,” she would try every possible way just for that one bite. “No, I don’t want to.” So I would feed him while we sang Baby Shark. “Mumma, my lunch,” I would try the slowest pitch of my voice. “Yeah, I’ll make it.” Or how she took you in her hands as soon as you came while I just held your backpack. Papa took you to the park with your friends. I saw your videos, playing happily, having ice cream together—just the two of you. “Didu, see a teddy bear.” He would be so happy with that toy. “Ashu, let’s play with it. You know didu really likes teddy bears.” But still, we had to do our homework together, right? And you forgot that.

Now, you don’t have much time for me. And you still make noise, and Mumma doesn’t scold you for that. But from a participator, I shifted to an observer. I was happy, knowing that you don’t cry for me now or insist on eating from my hands. Still, you only eat the food made by me. You don’t do your homework, but you have me. You like your video games, but I am still stuck singing Baby Shark while doing the dishes.

When we were playing with the neighbour’s kids, you snatched when he was playing with your toy. “You can’t do that, Ashu, he is your friend.” And you hid behind Mumma. When I tried to talk, to tell you that you did wrong, she threw my hands away when I held you by your shoulders, as if I was a stranger. You were crying just because of me, and all she did was lock the room door. And I was waiting for you to stop crying. I would call your name, but you wouldn’t talk to me, nor let me hold you. I collected every memory with you like my remote control car. But at last, I couldn’t have it for myself. Now, as I played my part, I couldn’t play with my car for my age. I couldn’t remember what I liked. Did I hate doing the house chores, or just hate being an adult? When we go outside, Mom cheerfully said, “They always stick together,” but held your hand tightly. “She is perfect at everything, but still she is a child.”

After that day, “Should we play with teddy, Ashu?” I would pat your head or hold you. But you wouldn’t hug me back. “It’s my teddy.” He took it back from my hands and threw it away. And I sat there for an hour, looking at the teddy that was lying down with no emotions. We stared at each other silently until the child on the road caught my attention—or I would say his remote control car, the same one I wanted, just a different color. And while I adored that car, he looked at me and ran away with it.

“Look, my remote control car,” Ashu was showing his birthday present to his friends. I asked him, “Can I look at it?” He showed it to me while still holding it in his hands. I looked at my father and then my mother. For his whole birthday, I was standing in the corner. After a few hours, my mom said, “Why are you behaving like this?” I said, without looking at her, “Didn’t you have money for my books? So how did this expensive toy come from?” The answer was unexpected, yet expected. “Are you really jealous of your little brother?” Her voice was low but sharp. My father looked at me with disgust, like I had committed a crime, and they both left with a fact in their eyes—that I was the problem. And I smiled until every guest left.

At last, they were still fighting. And Mom covered your ears and left with you. Papa wouldn’t come home.

With a question in my mind,

So who am I? A child I am, or the child I was?

And I slept with my teddy bear, who had one eye and one ear torn.

That was the only thing that was mine.

Between a child and a mother