Blocks, balloons and biscuits. All three of them are his favorites. They come in the equation together frequently. I play a facilitating hand in this merry combo of things. In order of precedence, it is biscuits, balloons and blocks, but he has taken a special liking to the newcomer of late.

I am not very good with biscuits though. His mommy and his granny are. They identify the timing, the amount and the ways of getting them across. The amount is decided by him rather. Regardless of how many pieces he has, upon being asked how many he would like to have, he says, “Two”, also indicating with his cute little fingers.

In the sidelines, I blow up the balloons. I do not pick the balloons. He does. He gives them to me and looks with an anticipating face. I like blowing up the balloons for him.

He demands tossing them up as well, even better if I manage to do the juggling, and he watches totally entranced. Playing fool is the best part for him and for me too. The blown balloon gets tossed up and I stand deliberately on their falling trajectory.

He giggles, sometimes letting out even a full blown laughter as the balloons land on my head and I feign, “Ouch! That hurts. Get out of my way.”

While it’s chiefly an observation with the balloons, it’s learning by doing and first hand involvement when it comes to blocks. It usually begins with a request to join his game, and I duly oblige. I have to lay the base, and we take turns adding into it.

I strike up the conversation all the while, and he actively participates. I play fool here as well and he enjoys just the same. Personifying the blocks, I warn them not to fall off my usual refrain being, “you guys dare not fall off; this is a house in the making for my babu.” He repeats the same, and this goes on. We build mostly an Eiffel Tower like structure, sometimes like Narayanhiti or like our own home for that matter.

The tower structure falls off eventually all the time prompting another bout of laughter in him. During our play together and in my quiet reflection, I wonder and ask these questions to myself.

We aren’t building just the blocks, are we? The mothers are imbibing him with the love beyond description in every session of biscuits, aren’t they? It’s not just the balloons that fly high, is it?