Invictus

I have been planning to write this since before you were born.

I imagined writing this while you were still in just a little grainy black and white image on a screen, or were making little bumps in your mother’s belly when you decided to do some kicking practise, or when the surgeon pulled you out – a little wrinkly thing covered in white goo but with a surprisingly loud voice.

I have wanted to write this while you were crying in your little white crib in the hospital while all the other babies seemed to be sleeping peacefully and making your exhausted mom and me worry if we were doing anything wrong

I have wanted to write this on the many many times I have held you since then, whether sleeping quietly on my chest or howling loudly for your milk like the little angry fire breathing dragon you can become when you are hungry or when you smile that smile which melts my heart or when you gurgle and laugh when I tickle your tummy, the laughter which is now my favourite sound in the world or when you sleep peacefully on your side with your head resting on your arm or curled up beside your mother’s sheltering warmth or when you try to do “tummy time” in your sleep.

I have wanted to write this on the hundreds of other times which seem to have filled my life with a happiness since you came, a level of happiness I have seldom known before.

Somehow I have never got around to doing this before, not before today, when I am away from you in a packed train full of commuters from London on their way home, when all the seats are packed and the unlucky stand between the seats, the smell of food from the row in front mixes with a hundred other smells and a hundred other noises, when I can no longer bear looking at the same old boring PowerPoint in my laptop and sleep eludes me as I look forward to the three and half hour journey on the not very comfortable seats of the 7.05 Great Western from London to Plymouth.

You are almost eight months now. Two little teeth have raised their hesitating heads in your lower gums and two more (we think) are about to emerge from the upper gums any day now.

You have picked up speed while crawling and today for the first time, attracted by the hair dryer sound which you seem to love for some reason, you crawled all the way from your play area in the living room to the bedroom.

You have started trying to stand. And you are falling every other moment. But we feel so proud when you don’t give up and start trying again the very next moment. Sometimes hurting yourself in the process, inspite of all the rugs and carpets and futons and yoga mats your mom and I have strewn all around the floor.

You have started nursery. Two days a week. It’s your first time alone with anyone other than with me and your mom. Your first “baby steps” into the great wide world, which can be beautiful and wonderful but also incredibly cruel and harsh.

What would I say to you if you could understand me. The following are my hopes, dreams and advice, from whatever little I have seen so far in the world. Maybe you will grow up and read this one day. Maybe you won’t. Maybe these will be useful. Maybe they won’t. But as a father I would always try my best for you as I know your mom would. So this is me, trying, And I hope it will be of some help someday. There is too many things I want to say to fit in one letter so I hope this is the first of many.

And let me just also say that I would love you even if you don’t turn out like any of the things below. Because I don’t claim to have all the answers. Or any of the answers. I just have my answers and these may or may not work for you. But anyway..

The Mountain

You were born in Plymouth. Nowhere near a mountain (unless you loosen the definition a lot, and I mean a whole lot, in which case you could consider the Tors, those little hills of Dartmoor which are not too far from Derriford hospital where you were born). So why does your name mean mountain born or belonging to the mountains. When people ask, we say that it’s because, I, your father, was born in the mountains (the foothills of the Himalayas in fact). But no, it’s not really because of that.

Its because I want you to be like a mountain Adrij.

A mountain, no matter how high it rises, has its feet always firmly in the ground. It doesn’t forget its roots and where it came from. I hope you don’t either, no matter where you go. And I hope that you never ever look down on others, no matter how high you rise and no matter where they come from.

Birth is a lottery. There will be many in the world who would be much luckier than you, have lives which you will look at and wish you were them. But always remember there would be millions of others who would give anything to be in your place as well. And that guy you might be laughing at or making fun of in front of your friends (and I hope you never do that) could have been much better than you if he had got the chances that you had.

And if someone laughs at you or makes fun of you or does something which makes you feel bad, remember Adi that a mountain doesn’t need to respond to people shouting it or throwing stones at it. The shouts echo and fade away. The stones roll down and disappear. The mountain stands tall, despite rain and snow, despite avalanches and storms. The mountain endures and all the rest comes and goes. If you start thinking you are like a mountain Adi, things will not bother you, and if they do, you might start taking that positively, thinking that’s one more challenge from god to make you a stronger mountain.

The Sky

The first name I had thought for you had a bit of sky in it. We never gave you the name, as your mother didn’t like it. Neither did your grandparents. But I wish there is a bit of the sky in your life.

I think I have been lucky. I have had a childhood where I have looked up often at the sky and seen it as it’s meant to be seen. The glorious dark black star studded sky which is one of the most beautiful sights in the world. I have looked at it awe and in wonder. And I have felt a connection to something beyond my tiny little self. To something which connects me to the first man who looked up and wondered and the last one who ever will. Something which connects the little me to the planets and the stars and the galaxies, to something beyond beginning and end, beyond time and space.

I hope you get the feeling of wonder too. It won’t be there all the time. It won’t be there on many days on end. But if you have it, it will come back, and lift you up even if it’s once in ten years. And this feeling of being connected to, being a part of something bigger than yourself, will probably be one of the best things you will ever feel.

The Superhero

I don’t expect you to be a superhero who can fly like a bird or spin webs of steel or do all the other super things which superheroes do.

But what I hope you can one day become is the superhero in your own story. What I hope you can one day do is think like a superhero. And that means you challenge yourself to be better than others but never show that you are better. You have a big heart and are able to remember and be grateful to the people who did something for and pay them back but also forgive and forget those who did something wrong because a superhero doesn’t need to hold grudges against ordinary people.

Forgive and forget doesn’t mean you always turn the other cheek – it just means you don’t need to do anything out of anger and rage. If you are trapped in a room with a deadly snake and it’s trying to attack you, you need to take action. Maybe even kill the snake. But you need to also remember that the snake can’t probably help it. But you can. You can act based on what needs to be done, not what your emotions tell you to do at the moment. And being a superhero means you have the confidence to do that and don’t feel yourself smaller because you couldn’t act out your emotion.

I think the most important thing being a superhero means is never thinking of yourself as a victim. It means you have the power not to complain and whine like others. It means you can meet whatever comes with equanimity. It means you realise that the world doesn’t owe you anything but also realise you yourself owe many things to many people. It means knowing that god has given you broad shoulders so that you can lift more weight, strong arms so that others can hold on to you, strong legs so that you can go the extra mile and wisdom to be able to smile through it all and see the big picture.

This doesn’t mean you never allow yourself to feel bad. It just means that you know that feeling bad is a feeling, just as feeling good is a feeling. Feelings will come and go, like clouds in a sky. It just means you don’t forget there is a sky behind the clouds.

This doesn’t mean you never cry. But it means you know your tears are precious, and rare, and private. Your tears are there for yourself not for others. Yours tear are there to grieve, and to heal. They are not there to be performative and they are not there to gain something from someone. And when Batman cries, what are the ordinary citizens of Gotham supposed to do.

This also doesn’t mean you never take help from others. Superheroes take help all the time. It just means that if you don’t start out expecting to be helped, you will be grateful for any help you get. If you start out expecting to be helped, you will be angry and hurt every time you don’t get it.

***

I think that’s probably enough for one day. My mind is full of things I want to say. But the train is about to reach Plymouth. So this will have to do for today..

***

PS: I just learnt while on the train that the Queen died this evening. I was reading this article about her. It made me think she was a superhero in many ways. You should read it if the link still exists when you read this.