I am the title of a story of a name

I am the year 1998. I am excited to be here as the end of this millennium is just 2 years away from me. While I won’t be there to experience it, I am sure my successors will enjoy the celebrations. Of the 12 months I am carrying within me, the third one is March.

I am the month of March in the year 1998. I like my name. It has an energy to it that the melancholic June lacks. On all the 31 days I carry within me, many babies are born in all parts of the world. I'm in my second week right now and the babies that were born last week are now almost a week old.

I am a day in the second week of March in the year 1998. I don’t know exactly which day am I because memories are a weird thing. Often times they don’t diminish but change. This gives me the ability to be any day that I like in the week. I’ll be Wednesday. Even though the sun is rising through a sweet winter fog in the morning, I am warm enough to give a cozy feeling to the residents of Satara.

..

I am Satara, a small town in Western Maharashtra. It’s the second Wednesday in the month of March 1998. Essentially, I am green. Large Peepal and Banyan trees are spread all across me and concrete has not yet completely taken over the red soil. I cozily reside in the middle of seven large hills from the Sahyadri mountain range. I was hurt when recently in my southern part, a new real estate project got signed. They cut many trees. But I suppose I’ll have to change as they are calling it development.

..

I am the living room of a small 1BHK apartment in eastern Satara. I am getting old but the family which is living within me is keeping me young. Their love is infectious, actually. The people who were living here before are supposedly my owners. Each month, the father in this family gives some money to the father in that family. The mothers have no say in this. I think the kitchen knows more about them as they are always there.

A week or so ago, the mother in this family delivered a baby. It is a boy. They are all very happy. Maybe they wanted a boy. Like any other baby, he cries a lot. As they are low on money, they have not been able to afford a cradle. The eldest sister of this young boy has created a makeshift cradle made up of some blankets and shawls in my left corner. The baby gets extremely happy when they swing him. The window above the makeshift cradle told me that the baby likes to look outside when she is open. She thinks that he is trying to locate the sun as each morning, the sunrays fall on him, softly touching his face.

I am the window in the living room of this old, rustic 1BHK apartment. The baby’s arrival in this house is indeed a happy time. His mother, Savita opens and closes me each morning and evening without fail. Savita means Sun. Last week, I heard the father tell her what they should name the baby. It’s something which literally means Brightness or a strong ray of sun. I am excited to see how the baby reacts when it gets to know it.

..

I don’t know who I am. They say that I am the makeshift cradle but I think I am still a blanket. But I wouldn’t argue much. As a blanket, I always lay down on other people. This is the first time that I am holding someone. That too, this beautiful young baby boy. It’s a really beautiful feeling. I think he really likes the red threads in between the dominant yellow in me. Also, I think my smell is really comforting for him as he sleeps very calmly whenever he leans on one side and breathes in me. Maybe it reminds him of his mother.

Many people are looking at him today. I hear a lot of noise. People chatting. They seem like relatives. The baby’s maternal grandmother has come from a faraway town. She is unnecessarily taking the baby in and out of my hold multiple times. Some of his cousins are pushing me to and fro a lot. Although it hurts my back, I am happy that it is making the baby happy. I heard that all of these people are gathered here today for his naming ceremony. I wonder what will they name him.

..

We are the baby’s mother’s hands. The naming ceremony has started and we have just passed on the baby to the lady next to us. The baby will be passed throughout the circle of these women and they will make a Kurr! Sound in his ears. At the end of the circle, the baby will come back to us. We are getting impatient as the other hands don’t hold the baby the same as we do. We know it. He knows it. And that’s what matters.

Okay! He is finally back to us. Slowly, we are keeping him down in the cradle. A lady, we think she is the father’s sister, is supposed to say the name into his ears as we keep him down.

..

I am the left eardrum of a human baby-Kurr! I am quite weak right now as some-Kurr! Some of my skin is still taking proper form-Kurr!  We (me and all the other parts that are making this body) have only recently come into this world. I don’t know if this baby is a boy or a girl as I don’t have access to either its mind or its body. It may also be very early to ask this question.

Oh wait, they are keeping us down, I think. Now, I must be ready to receive that word. The name, I mean. I suppose this word will stay with him for the rest of his life.

Tejas!