she learnt the word aaba when she touched the ac vent in my father's car. she delighted over the word and the sensation. i said, hawa. she laughed and parroted, aaba.
in khandala we sat at the edge, looking at the valley below. the plants and her wispy curly hair danced. she shouted, aaba. i clutched her madly. we did a wild jig in the aaba.
i got the angle wrong and out poured cold water instead of hot. she held her palms out in the stream of water and said, aaba. i said no sanah, paani. she smiled and said, aaba mum ( her word for water)
so aaba is not wind...today i gave her a glass of water. she sternly said, no. aaba mum. obediently and meekly i got the cold water.
language is a storm in a tea cup.