Shweta ~ The Little Angel(Shibabrata Sen Chaudhury) Flicking through the pages of a magazine during the flight back to my country, a feeling of homeliness had already started taking some shape in me, when I paused to take a second look at a particular page. This was one of those nappy advertisements where a flesh coloured baby is featured with a rubber nipple stuck to its mouth. The charm in the look and its gleaming eyes were enchanting. It seemed to pull me towards the cosy past with her. I rested my head on the seat and stretched my limbs at the legroom available. To get a better view of those memories surfacing in my mind I closed my eyes after placing the open magazine on my shirted chest. Perhaps the baby in the ad could listen to my heartbeats. Then, I could relate things clearly, as my mind started to flash her images in the darkness of my closed-eye vision. She is the angel born to my older sister, four years ago.

It was almost late in the evening when Papa broke the news of her birth. I felt the echo of his joyous tone in me over the telephone. Soon after he hung up, a terrible excitement ran down me. The day was the First of November. It was a short conversation with Papa, so I couldn’t ask him much about her looks. But thought about several names I could give her. I had to wait for twelve more days to see her because I didn’t have any day-off from my classes. The night sky was lighted with fireworks of Diwali and the world was in the mood of celebration. Amongst the rumblings of distant firecrackers slept the little angel, when I observed her for the first time. The silent innocence of her appearance soothed my eyes. I carefully placed my palm on her tender forehead and caressed it for a few seconds. I wanted to do it for a long time, but couldn’t, as it might have awakened her. The next day I left for hostel with a latent feeling about her. She had already occupied a space in my heart.

Two months later was my second meeting with her. Her mother had named her ‘Shweta’. All the names that I conveyed to them were dropped, which had pricked my boyish ego for some time then. I went into the room where she was lying at her cradle. Sister was lightly pulling the cord fastened to one end of it. This time she wasn’t asleep. I noticed her beautiful eyes glisten in the brightness of fluorescent light. Bending over close to her, I gave a cheesy grin and repeated the same with a nod of my head for few times. She chuckled back at me after a while, which exposed the naked gums along with a portion of wet tongue in between the soft pink lips of hers. Such an activity made her drool badly; however she seemed to relish it. I sat beside my sister, chatting with her and occasionally staring at my little princess. Few times I saw her sight focused on something at the ceiling, where she was lost in her own world. I wondered if she was trying to explore anything in the realm of her thoughts. Whenever her eyes caught me eyeing her, she chuckled instantly. And every time she drooled. The event went on till sister took her on the lap to breast-feed and told me to leave.

The next rendezvous was during her ‘Annaprasan,’ a Bengali ceremony where the baby is ritualistically fed with rice for the first time. The guests and the hosts were busy chatting to each other. Few were busy snapping photographs of the star, on the day. She was sitting at her pram, dressed in a white fluffy frock. The art of sandalwood paste on her forehead brightened her charm. However, she was getting annoyed at regular intervals due to the strangeness of her surroundings. I couched her on my arms and walked to the garden in the premises. I wanted to soothe her, but I didn’t need to do anything extra. Her crying face turned to normal, as soon as we were out of the party. This is the first time I felt a special closeness with her. The little charmer laid her head on the left side of my chest, as I had to place my palm on the back of her head to support her posture. I noticed her little fist clenched on some part of my T-shirt near the right hand side ribs, while strolling in the garden. The touch of her head on the chest had caressed my emotions. Listening to the chirp of birds, I wondered if she had made them feel her presence in the place. After a while, I carefully seated her on a bench there, with my hands yet supporting her back and tickled the chubby belly to make her laugh. This made her burst into cackles. I observed the flash of two immature teeth. Both of us enjoyed the giving and taking of the same till I heard sister calling me. I got back to the party, where her mother took in charge of her again.

By that time I was confident about the soft corner we had built in our hearts for each other. Whenever I visited sister’s place, a glance on me used to light her smile in excitement. I often lifted her by gripping the armpits and snapped my hands in the air upwards to listen to the instant cackling. Sometimes, I used to place her before the big wall-mirror at the house and stood quietly to notice her reactions. For few seconds she used to stare at her reflection with inquisitiveness and then crawled to slap at it, with her delicate palms. I cherished the mystery of mirror in her mind. Once, I also patted her to sleep by laying her on my stretched legs. Initially she was flailing her arms when I rested her head on a pillow placed towards my feet. However, a light shake of my legs and patting on her back had gradually calmed her motions. I noticed her eyelids droop, though I didn’t sing a lullaby. It gave me a fatherly feeling for the first time at young adulthood.

She had just learnt to stand on her feet and take a few faltering steps at the age of nine months, when I moved abroad to pursue higher education.

Basking in the moments of proximity with ‘Shweta ~ The Little Angel,’ I fell into a gentle slumber. I opened my eyes hearing the announcement made by a stewardess at the quiet journey. Looking another time at the baby in the magazine, I pushed the button to upright the position of my seat and put it inside the pocket of the front seat along with other journals. The Emirates craft would kiss the soil of homeland in fifteen minutes. I removed the earmuffs after adjusting my watch. The time in India was half past seven in the morning and temperature outside was 28° Celsius. Yet, in a hangover from the dreamy emotions, I drew a picture of her changed looks in imagination.

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