Infants begin
with closed fists—
white and red,
like the sun
about to rise.
They grow,
thumb resting in their mouth,
fingers curling around
the saree’s edge of the mother,
the sacred thread of the father—
building a small,
secure world.
A few months later,
with tiny movements,
gentle manners,
they reach for toys—
holding them close,
day and night,
whispering in their own language,
never alone.
A soft toy becomes a world.
Sometimes it is a spoon,
a cup,
a tumbler—
clutched for years
as a secret friend.
Sometimes a locket,
a ring,
a bracelet—
shining with unseen magic.
And now,
Doraemon walks beside them,
on TV,
on mobiles,
everywhere they go.
These bonds,
woven with innocence,
give strength,
bring laughter,
carry a quiet promise—
that joy will stay,
and life will be kind.
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