We all were full of words, everyone asking questions and trying to answer at the same time. Finally, someone suggested we take the party to Ved’s house in Delhi where we planned to stay the night. From the airport, Raj’s parents traveled to Karol Bagh where they were staying with Raj’s aunt.
When we first arrived at Ved’s house, Raj and I tried to rest, since we had not slept on the flight. Christopher and Sub-hash were wide awake, having slept easily on the plane. Ved’s son and daughter, a few years older than Subhash, entertained him and played with him. At one point I was talking to Ved’s kids in Hindi, thinking they might not know English well enough to converse. To my dismay, the daughter asked in a loud voice, “Uncle, don’t you know English?”
I was stunned, and her father corrected her. “You do not talk like this to your uncle.”
“Oh, it is okay,” I said, and from then on I conversed with her in English. Later this became a joke, and my sister-in-law also made a comment, saying “Krishan, you must talk in English with my kids.”
I spent most of the day and evening talking to my parents. As evening approached, Raj took Christopher by taxi to her aunt’s house in Karol Bagh where her parents were staying. They would stay the night there, and the next day I would pick them up on the way to Malaudh. Meanwhile, the excitement and chatter at Ved’s house did not stop until after midnight. We drank cup after cup of hot black tea, and Ved’s wife cooked a meal and snacks for us to enjoy. Subhash, a naturally happy and friendly child, kept everyone busy. He interacted easily with my father and amazed everyone with his intelligent remarks. Like me, he did not act shy around strangers, instead seeming to thrive at this social gathering. The laughter and the stories continued relentlessly until finally, my parents observed how tired I must be after all the traveling. Exhausted from the long day but happy that we were together once more, we all went to sleep, eager for the next day to begin.
In the morning, we left New Delhi at around ten o’clock. We rode in my sister’s chauffer-driven car to pick up Raj and Christopher, and then headed toward Malaudh, approximately 200 miles away. On the way, we stopped at Lake Karnal for lunch and some fresh air, as well as to give Subhash a taste of the outdoors in India. We stood beneath the cool shade of the trees and admired the shimmering blue water, pointing out to Subhash the boats floating leisurely and the fishermen waiting for the fish to bite. Raj placed a small blanket on the ground, set Christopher on it, and proceeded to change his diaper, folding it up when she was finished and disposing of it in a nearby garbage bin. Raj’s mother watched curiously, but did not say anything. Raj also pulled out a small jar of mashed Gerber carrots and began feeding Christopher.
After leaving Lake Karnal, we stopped in Mandi Gobind-Garh to visit my brother’s family, my maternal uncle, and my maternal grandmother. From there, we drove to Samrala to eat dinner with my sister and her family. My sister and her husband received us into their home with great excitement. They could not get enough of Subhash and Christopher, and they played with the two children while we talked. We did not leave Samrala until 10:00 p.m.
It was 11:00 by the time we reached Malaudh. We were tired from the long day and ready to settle down at my parents’ house. We began to unload our suitcases, and once inside, Raj rummaged through the baby bag, looking for Christopher’s bottle so she could feed him. It was a special kind of bottle with disposable plastic bags we inserted so we would not have to wash the bottle.
“Kris, I can’t find the bottle case,” Raj said frantically after several moments of searching. “We must have left it in Samrala.”
How would we feed Christopher now? He was beginning to cry, and Raj held him on her lap, trying to soothe him, but he only cried harder. I found a cup in the kitchen, and we mixed his Similac formula in that, but Christopher only pushed it away, scrunched up his face, and continued to cry. He was so used to his bottle with the American-made nipple that he would not accept anything else. Raj was getting upset and did not know what else to do. Right away, I told my brother that he needed to go back to Samrala to get the bottle. The car was still parked outside so he left immediately. In the meantime, I asked my father if any shop in Malaudh would have baby bottles.
“It’s a small place,” my father answered. “All the shops are closed by now.”
Looking from Raj’s anxious face to Christopher wailing on her lap, he knew something must be done.
“I will be back,” he said.
He walked down the street to a neighbor’s house, persuaded him to open his shop, paid for a bottle, and brought it home, all within fifteen minutes. However, Christopher still would not accept it. He wanted his own bottle with the American nipple, not these different Indian nipples. Frustrated, Raj and I tried to keep Christopher calm while we waited for my brother to return from Samrala.
In the meantime, Subhash had to go “number two.” I took him to the lavatory on the roof, which, having no light bulb, was pitch black inside. Subhash immediately began screaming, “Nooo, nooo, I don’t want to do it! I don’t want to go in there. Don’t make me!”
Ignoring his protests, I carried the struggling Subhash into the lavatory and sat him on the four bricks. Wailing at the top of his lungs, Subhash would not use that dark room sitting on bricks over a dark space. Seeing this would never
