The Divine Aura - Part IV - First Friend

With shoes came confidence, and with confidence came... mischief.

She quickly figured out that walking meant independence, and independence meant she could reach previously forbidden territories. The morning walks with Patti evolved from simple living room to kitchen journeys into elaborate exploration expeditions.

"Kitchen polama?," Patti would announce, finger extended for gripping.

But my daughter had other plans. Three steps toward the kitchen, then a sudden detour toward the garden. Patti, still connected by finger, would be dragged along.

"Kanna, kitchen intha pakkam" Patti would say gently.

She would look up with an expression that clearly said, "I know where the kitchen is, Patti. But look at those butterflies and green plants and colorful flowers!"

"Buu! Buu!" she would exclaim, pulling Patti to the garden.

"Yes, yes, Buu! Some other day. Today kitchen, it has ladoos!"

The mention of "ladoos" would usually redirect the expedition, but not always. Sometimes she would become so fascinated by the butterflies that she would let go of Patti's finger entirely and use both hands to explore the garden.

"Kanna! Hold Patti's finger!" Patti would say with slight panic.

But she was now a confident walker. She would take three or four independent steps, arms outstretched for balance, before sitting down suddenly with a surprised expression.

"Uh oh!" she would say, looking around as if wondering how the floor had suddenly appeared beneath her.

Patti would hurry over and help her back up. "Come, kanna. Patti verala pudichikkoda!. We will walk inside the house until you are completely on your own."

And off they would go again.

By evening, when I came home, she had usually perfected at least one new walking skill during her day-long practice sessions with Patti. These skills needed immediate demonstration.

I had barely settled down before she would come toddling toward me, her squeaky shoes announcing her approach.

"Papa! Papa!!" she would say in her baby language, positioning herself at one end of the living room.

Then, with the dramatic flair of a performer preparing for the most important show of her life, she would begin her evening walk demonstration. Sometimes it was walking while carrying her favorite teddy bear. Sometimes it was teaching the teddy bear how to walk. Sometimes it was walking backwards (which usually lasted two steps before she remembered she couldn't see where she was going). Sometimes it was the "walking while spinning" technique, which impressed but made Patti nervous.

"Careful, kanna," Patti would call out. "Walking first, dancing apparama!!."

But she was an artist, and artists must express themselves. She would attempt elaborate walking combinations - walking while clapping, walking while waving, walking while trying to carry three toys at once.

Each performance would end with her reaching me and throwing her arms around my neck in victory, looking at me with an expression that clearly said, "Papa? Did you see your amazing daughter being amazing?"

"Kanna, you are a blessing to me and seeing you perform like this is totally out of the world for me Kanna..!!"

And she would giggle with pride, ready to perform the entire routine again.

After dinner, she would say in her baby language, "Patti?"

Patti, despite being exhausted from a full day of being a human walking stick, would never refuse.

"One small walk, kanna. Just to the bedroom."

After a few baby steps, she would raise both hands asking Patti to carry her - already feeling sleepy, her walking expeditions could wait until morning.

"Oh, Kanna, thookkam vandhudichha da?" Patti would lift her delicately, remove her shoes, and give them to me before taking her inside to sleep comfortably.

After being tired from walking and playing all day, she would already be asleep in Patti's arms without even waving me goodnight.

I would watch this with my heart full of gratitude for Patti's endless patience and my daughter's boundless trust. Two generations connected by a simple finger-hold, creating memories that would last forever.

As days turned to weeks, her confidence grew exponentially. The finger-holding became optional rather than essential. She would start her morning walks gripping Patti's finger tightly, but by the end of their expedition, she would often be walking independently alongside Patti, occasionally reaching up to pat her hand as if to say, "Inga dhan irukken, Patti. Don't worry."

The house itself seemed to respond to these walking expeditions. We baby-proofed everything twice, moved breakable items to higher shelves, and installed soft corner guards on every piece of furniture. But despite all our precautions, she had an special ability to find the one thing we had forgotten to secure.

"How did she reach that?" I would ask, watching her somehow manage to grab a delicate item from what we thought was an unreachable shelf.

Because with walking came everything else - jumping, running, climbing, dancing and spinning all got added to her long list of capabilities.

Every day, she would gain a new skill and demonstrate it to Patti and me. Our explorer continued expanding her horizons, getting more curious and doing more exploration and investigation. We watched her with a mixture of pride and mild terror, wanting her to get her balance correct in everything she did.

She completed her most ambitious walk today - from the front door all the way to the back garden, a journey that required navigating three rooms, avoiding furniture, and resisting the temptation of at least five fascinating distractions along the way.

She did it all by herself, only occasionally reaching out to steady herself against a wall or Patti's ever-present hand. When she reached the garden, she turned around, saw the distance she had covered, and broke into the most triumphant smile.

"Papa! Patti!!" she called out, as if announcing to the world that she had just conquered Mount Everest.

And in a way, she had. Every step a victory, every wobble a lesson learned, every successful journey a building block toward the countless adventures that await her.

But this one distraction always got her full attention - the butterfly that made her go silent was there in the garden on that small tulasi plant in the backyard.

As she took her most assured steps, chasing that bright butterfly with determined joy, I moved instinctively to guard her from falling while my sparrows fluttered with unusual excitement around us. I asked her to wait, promising to catch the butterfly for her, but before I could move, something wonderful happened.

The butterfly had landed gently on the palms of a new boy - our new neighbor with the same kind eyes as my daughter. He stood by our gate, smiling with such natural kindness, carefully offering the butterfly on his palms to her over the garden boundary.

And now, the same Divine Aura started from the Butterfly and covered the boy and my little kid, they are within the Aura, smiling and giggling inside"

I stood there in a pleasant shock.