I was riveted by the sight of a parakeet doing somersaults on a luxuriant neem tree, and another parakeet watching from a distance. There was also a lapwing walking gingerly on the ground. We had started going to a park that had just come up in the vicinity, three km from our house.
Although not as large as the earlier park we used to visit, this was sufficient for a short jog.
After one round of the jogging track, my eyes fell on a small cottage-like construction on the left side of the park, under the neem tree. I guessed it belonged to the caretakers of the park.
Outside it, on a raised concrete platform, sat a woman oiling and plaiting her child’s hair.
“What’s her name?”
“Sunil,” she replied with a smile.
I know many girls and ladies named Sunil, so I was not surprised. I smiled back.
“By the way, madam, he is a boy; he has not had his mundan yet.” Before I could ask the question that was hovering on my lips, she had answered my unasked query.
“Actually, I want to delay the mundan because I like his long hair, and I love girls,” she said, with a wistful look.
“Oh!” My smile had become broader.
I again looked at the child; he had rosy, chubby cheeks, inquisitive eyes, a diffident smile, and kajal in his eyes. A cute boy of three.
Just then, two more kids came out of the house, chattering animatedly. They had a plastic bat and ball in their hands, and long cascading hair, tinged with gold of the westering sun.
I looked inquisitively at the mother, who smiled at me and then said, “The elder one is five, and the younger one is four.”
“Girls?”
“No, boys.” This was a pleasant-looking man who had come from inside the cottage, holding two steaming hot cups of tea. He handed one to his wife. “They are my brother’s sons. We haven’t had a girl in the family,” he added helpfully, noticing the visible surprise on my face.
“Ah,” I said.
“But we love girls, so we are postponing the boys’ mundan so that with their long hair, they continue looking like girls.” The man repeated what his better half had said some time back.
“Hope our next child is a girl.” The man said, looking shyly at the woman’s baby bump, which I had not noticed.
“Oh!” I silently added my hopes to theirs, smiling profusely.
Right in front of me was a very rare couple, desperately praying for a girl child after three boys in the family. Incredible, but true!
“Madam, Indian Women’s Team ney kya kamaal ker diya.” The mother said, eyes bright with admiration, and the father nodded vigorously.
On the 2nd of November, women cricketers created history with grace, grit, and gumption, beating South Africa by 52 runs.
It was a formidable team that lifted the World Cup Trophy, and Jemimah Rodrigues’ unbeaten 127 is forever etched in people’s memories.
“Harmanpreet’s captaincy will never be forgotten”. The couple said in one voice.
“Haan, kamaal kar diya,” they added, their faces sheathed in broad smiles.
The two elder boys were now in the park, playing cricket. The older one was scolding the younger one about his poor bowling, and the latter was muttering some incomprehensible words.
My mind was churning with the invincible spirit of the women’s cricket team, resilience, elegance, and brilliance in the DY Patil Sports Academy in Navi Mumbai on a sparkling Sunday, 2 November 2025.
The couple seemed to have read my lips. “This victory can never be erased from the history pages of Indian Sports.”
“Kya pata, ek Jemima Rodrigues paida ho jayey,” the mother said, shyly.
“Ya, ek Harmanpreet Kaur,” the father chuckled.
“Or a Smriti Mandhana with her masterful timing,” I jumped in, keen to show my love for our glorious winners. Honestly, what surprised me most was this unfiltered love for the girl child. The days of distributing sweets with excited cries of “beta hua” and sulking when “beti hui” seem to be giving way to a new age where girls have begun to be the dream child.
I could hear Bob Dylan singing ‘Times They Are a-Changin’!
They really are, Bob Dylan! They really are!
I am sure the couple is waking up every morning with the names of the players of the Women’s Cricket Team, the new world champions, hovering on their lips.
As a chant.
As a mantra.
As a benediction.
As a hope.
Click to Read all Seasons of Morning Meanderings
Dr Santosh Bakaya is the author of three mystery novels for young adults, and a book of essays titled
Flights From My Terrace, which was recently published as an e-book on Smashwords. Her poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi,
Ballad Of Bapu has been published by Vitasta Publishers, Delhi, India in May 2015 and has been receiving rave reviews from everywhere. Although a Political theorist, with a doctorate in political theory, it is literature which has been her first love. She was awarded the Reuel international award for language and literature 2014 for her long poem
Oh Hark!, which forms part of the
Significant Anthology. Many of her poems have figured in the highly commended category in Destiny Poets, a UK based website and many are part of international anthologies. Right now, she is giving the final touches to her satirical novel, tentatively titled
Sanakpur Shenanigans.
All Posts of Santosh Bakaya
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