She gasped and turned to him with a squeal — “Yes, baby!”
He broke into a chortle. Atharva kept his eyes alternating between the road and the rearview, where Yathaarth was quickly learning a new song.
It started with Mama, ended with Mama and had high notes and low notes in Zuvzuv.
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“Baba,” Yathaarth handed him his empty water bottle.
“You want more water?” Atharva sat back on the folding chair and reached for the thermos.
“Ello,” he pushed the bottle up. Atharva frowned, eyeing the empty bottle.
“Arth, beta, what do you want?”
“Baba ello!” He pushed again.
“Wait, I will have to check how hot the water is…” he began to reach for the thermos again but his son let out a wail.
“What is it?”
“Baba ello! Baba ello!” He cried, thumping his hands on Atharva’s thighs.
“He wants you to say hello to his bottle,” Iram came out of the tent they had set up on the edge of a step hill, now layered in ice like dusting of white frosting over chocolate cake. The sun glinted off bright and heavy and Atharva pinched his eyes, looking at the bottle. He brought it to his face. Yathaarth stopped wailing.
“Hello,” Atharva said to the bottle like a fool.
And his wail resumed. “Baba ello! Baba ello!”
“I said hello to your bottle, beta…”
“Baba ello!!!!” And this time his eyes teared up. Really, really teared up with a deluge. Atharva went to pick him up but he fell down on the snow on his bum, hard and resisting. His snowsuit was thick but still Iram reached for him. He refused to be picked up. Atharva gaped at his bottle in helplessness.
“Maybe he is hungry…” she guessed. “The terrible twos are coming.”
“Let’s get lunch…” Atharva reached down again and forcefully plucked his son up, kicking and screaming with snow in his fists. “Baba ello!” He flailed his arms and brought one to Atharva’s ear. He hissed, the snow sticking to his bare ear.
“Ooooh!” Iram exclaimed. Atharva’s eyes widened.
“Dil-ba-ro!” He mock-growled, holding him down with one arm on his lap and using the other to grab his bottle and bring it to his ear.
“Hello?” He said into the bottle, pretending it was a phone.
Yathaarth whooped in glee, wet eyes suddenly lit up.
“Can I talk to Yathaarth, please?”
And his son bounced in delight. Atharva brought the bottle down to his little ear.
“Ello!”
“Ask if you can talk to Baba now.”
“Ello! Baba ello!”
Atharva smothered his tiny tantrumy toddler with kisses, eliciting louder, happier sounds. The bottle fell to the ground and Iram must have reached for it because he was busy wrestling and mock-biting his way through the cutest, sassiest, happiest little boy.
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