Good Luck, Rishi!

 

Dedicated to my youngest nephew (as of now), Rishabh Iyer, a.k.a. Rishi... :)

NÉE Edmonton, Canada..

The temperature was minus-something degrees Celsius,

Freezing, chittering cold clipping at bones and shaking teeth,

When a young lad, hale and healthy, arrived to grace a household,

Which, like every other, was plagued by a pestering pandemic.

He was little, sweet, and playful- eyes like tiny stars twinkling into the snow,

Hands like tiny shovels, ready to scoop all the fractals of ice off the driveway,

A smile ready to ring in merriment in the form of shrill squeals and gurgling laughter..

An easy manner, a mild temper, an impatient presence, a sweet shyness-

Everything a blessing, heralding warmth in a land where one was chilled to the marrow.

They called him Rishi- short for Rishabh. I liked the name- I took a liking to it instantly,

Yet, Rishi preferred to be led along the house and garden through a series of gestures,

Rather than by the call of his name. It made everything so much more royal, regal-

And it made him, uncontestably, the most important person. He tugged mom, dad, granny,

Grandpa- along to his favorite nooks in old Home Sweet Home, 

But as he slid the window tenderly open, it was plain that his sights were on distant shores,

Alright, maybe, not so distant- just the meadow right outdoors-

Where bright sunshine shone crisp onto fruit-filled fields and orchards,

And blossoms lined rows of land, otherwise barren, snow-encrusted-

The little one longed wistfully for company in these near outdoors, as he cherished 

Other little ones, the closer to his size, the better. 

He yearned for a merry song to liven up the mood, toying listlessly, endlessly with 

Curtains, soft-toys, wheels (his favorite), and (how could I forget!), gadgets!

The guy is now a certified gadget geek-

Gizmos garlanding an aura that makes one feel ignorant-

The Gen-Z-er walks with well-worn pride with tablets, phones, earplugs,

Musical toys, digital xylophones- none phony, none unreal.

He's learning to type. Wrecking havoc on Grandma's keyboard has become

A cherished pastime- unplugging her P.C. beforehand, you know, just in case,

He typed in something offensive. Already a master of precautions!

Such a sweet smile, half-shy, half-mischievous, 

Trying out new tricks of the toddler trade-

I love the way he snatches Grandma's spectacles or yanks away her phone.

He knows how to show who's boss!

Rishabh Iyer, as he was christened, is a happy soul,

Yet, like all Iyer's (I'm included!), he is also inherently naughty-

A playful chap, he knows how to capture Grandpa's attention

In a jiffy, by sulking and squealing and slapping, outright. 

He knows how to behave with Grandma, she's a lot stricter, he sees,

And so contents himself with laying siege on her spectacles-

Well, that is one spectacle I wish I could treat you to.

When upset with food, or wishing to welcome sleep,

The bright one has merely to tear open some precious food-stuff,

Spilling its scrumptious contents on the floor, which he, of course,

Is too much of an authority to clean up at the moment.

His tantrums are temperamental- he brings them on, only when 

Absolutely necessary- otherwise, he's a jolly jovial young John,

If you know what I mean. Well, he's been springing through

Gold mines and rivulets of joy in his early days, 

But he's had his fair share of droughts, too. With a silent

First year- no kids to keep him company, no chirpy voices,

Caroling through the air- he's battled loneliness,

By being his own best friend.

Rishi's explored both stories of the house,

Paddling on carpeted floors, anchored on barely a finger,

Up and down the wooden staircase, like a busy landlord.

He loves exploring the house and garden, but knows

When to keep away from which place, for lack of 

Good weather, or good company. 

He's a water-weasel. Splashing away at will in sinks

And wash-basins- even trying the toilet seat,

In blissful ignorance. A lover of pleasant sounds,

Yet, a critic of disconcerting ones, as he 

Holds his palms tightly against his ear-drums 

When the mixer churns away, or the washing machine 

Rolls its drum, or when the T.V. plays music

He has absolutely no interest in relishing.

Rishi's multi-lingual. He understands Tamil, English and Hindi,

Not to mention, maybe a fair amount of Malayalam and Konkani,

Since these are essentially his mother-tongues. The Chitti-T.V.

Baby- he dances away at his cartoon shows, memorizing 

Tamil Nursery Rhymes through his intent observation 

And undistracted attention. He's one with great resolve,

Great restraint, great purpose. I can see it in the way,

He pulls the desired member of the family on a single finger,

To achieve the desired outcome. He's a wonderful kid,

With a vibrant future- and he colors this future in bright hues,

Pungent, pastel, black, grey, white- all shades, in turn.

I cannot but wait to see the picture that he's going to paint.

I stand corrected- the multiple pictures. 

I know, Mr. Rishabh Iyer, that this is unsolicited advice,

But take it from your sister-like Aunt whom you can call by name,

Who's just sixteen years the wiser (and sixteen years the more boring)

Than you, my little bundle of joy and mischief. Just hang in there baby,

There will be ups and downs- you've seen two years replete with them-

Yet there'll be fun, laughter, joy and contentment- guaranteed.

Just hang in there baby, be stoic and be strong, which you already are,

Be brave and be hungry, as you already are; be mischievous and be kind,

As you know, all too well, that you already are. But moreover, just be..

Be you, be all that is real in your world, and be the most obstinate

Color-changing chameleon there was- changing colors only by virtue

Of your own will, and not under the influence of your surroundings.

So just hang in there baby, wear your dimple proudly,

Hug your favorite toy, and say, to yourself, with me,

"Good Luck, Rishi!"

Creative Credit: The title of this cute poem is inspired by the Disney T.V. show, 'Good Luck Charlie', in which the protagonist, Teddy Duncan, makes sweet video-diaries for her younger sister Charlie (Charlotte, a baby), and signs them off as "Good Luck, Charlie!"