Of soft boys and men

The boys are 4 now. Almost 4 and a half. 

It's beautiful.

They hug, kiss, and thank me for the meals I make. They can't stand it if Kartik and I argue. Ajjus's face tenses when we yell. It's usually about the laundry, or the milk, or one of the countless other things that go into running a house. It's inconsequential and we know it. 

He doesn't, though. We are quick to reassure him, we hug and smile at each other to show him we are fine. His face relaxes, and then both of them rush in for a group hug. 

Our family hugs a lot. 

The boys get up in the morning and hug my legs when I am in the kitchen. Ajju randomly hugs people around him and gives them a kiss. He won't cuddle when we want, but he cuddles on his own terms. I respect that.

Sidhu demands cuddles, keeps track of the cuddles not given, tells me it has been too long. He is like a teddy bear come to life -- always wanting to be held close. I relate to that.

These summer weekends, when suddenly things are too quiet, I look in to see what they are doing and find them lolling on the bed, smiling at each other, and laughing at their inside jokes. A minute later, there is pushing and pulling and fights, but that's okay. They have learnt to hug and make up.

It feels like we are constantly telling them to speak kindly or be kind, but more often than not, they are so very kind. 

They say thank you, they say please, they pull out chairs for their grandmoms... They tell me I look beautiful when I dress up to go out. Each time they do this, we tell them how kind they are, how sweet the gesture is, because they need to know that being kind is always appreciated. 

It's okay if you forget your ABCs, but it isn't okay if you forget to be kind. 

They tell their dad off for shooing away a stray dog. He listens patiently and accepts their criticism. Sidhu tells me to first correct them gently before scolding them. I say I will do better. But most of the time, I say that he doesn't listen when I talk gently. Then I realize that I am being more childish than he is. 

One day, I am on my last nerve, trying to get Sidhu to sleep. He asks me if this is how to make a heart with his hands. I can't see, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I put on my torch. He folds his hands to make a heart. Heart means I love you, he tells me. I am not annoyed anymore. I make a heart too and show him. I love you too.

Ajju hated that I accidentally played a movie song that showed shooting. Don't play that song, Amma, he says, eyes wide with terror. I won't, baby, I tell him. I am more careful now. 

But they barely flinch when they see people kissing on screen. Why would they? They see it every day at home. They know and understand gestures of love. 

Sidhu cried for an animated movie, though. The movie was ending, the Yeti was going back to his family, and suddenly he was crying his heart out. I am tired, I want to sleep, he tells us. Only much later does he admit that seeing the Yeti leave his friends made him sad. His dad reassures him. I cry for movies too, he says.

That's where they get it from. It's obvious.

On a car drive with the entire family, Sidhu was desperately trying to touch me from the back seat. He hadn't seen me in a while, and I was driving, so he couldn't hold me. 

My MIL fondly calls him a clingy baby. Who in this house clings to Amma the most, she asks rhetorically. 

Ajju doesn't get rhetoric. It is Appa, he says. 

We all laugh. Kartik catches my eye. That is true, he announces. It is me.