RAYA FF: TVAM, MAMA JEEVANA HETUNA

A new morning...🌅

A new day
A fresh morning
Birds came out of their resting places to chirp and announce the arrival of the new morning as the sun rose slowly above the horizon. The enormous garden of Kapoor Mansion looked like it belonged to a royal palace as the beautiful arrays of flowers and the thick branches of the trees at KM welcomed the new day by dancing in sync with the gush of a fresh morning breeze that also rustled the curtains and allowed the sunlight to sift through them into the room of the much-in-love Kapoor couple from Bandra, who were sleeping cuddled together in each other's embrace. Priya still had her head nuzzled in Ram's neck while he held her protectively with his one arm around her shoulder.

The sunlight disturbed Ram's slumber as he moved his head and slowly opened his groggy eyes to a beautiful new day, which had the potential of becoming a very special day for them. It took him two minutes to register their sleeping position and to recollect the eventful previous evening. He moved his head to look at the angel, who was nuzzling against the warmth of his body. There she was... his wife, who looked like a beautiful shining star scintillating brightly as the sun rays fell on her face, looking especially serene with an evident new glow on her face. Perhaps this was the glow that everyone called "the pregnancy glow." He smiled to himself, thinking of the very implication of that phrase.

His gaze shifted to Priya's still flat stomach, and he felt something stir within him—something that he couldn't understand... a myriad of emotions—joy of possibly embracing fatherhood, yes; love and respect for his wife for possibly carrying the symbol of their love, absolutely; worry for her mental and physical health, heck, yeah; but also a fear. Yes! He was terrified out of his wits.

He loved and knew how to love everything and everyone in his life. For his company and employees, his love exuded in the form of big deals, massive profits, and high-paying jobs. For his friends, he was a goofball friend who would crack stupid jokes just to see them roll their eyes while giving him the tiniest smile because he knew they loved seeing him be playful like that. For his mom and sister, he was a son and a brother who regularly got them diamond-studded jewellery and designer stuff because, for them, the language of love was materialistic goods. For his brother—who had majorly transformed after Priya came into their life from being a materialistic guy who wanted expensive cars to being his baby brother who wanted his time—he would go out for a game of football every Sunday with him. For Meera Ma, he would go and have Saturday night dinner with her at home because she wanted his love in the form of a son who liked being fed and pampered by his mom. In the case of Sara, Sandy, and Akki, he showered them with regular movie dates or occasional Saturday outings because they needed him to be their brother figure who laughed, joked, and went places with them.

For his beloved... his Priya, he could give her the whole world and still feel it was less, but all she really wanted and loved was his unwavering trust in her, and so he gave her exactly that, in addition to all the expensive gifts which she'd scold him for, but then what else would you expect from the woman who staunchly held her agenda against capitalism despite being the wife of one of the top capitalists of the country, and, so just to poke her, he would get her extravagant gifts because he loved hearing her shout at him for overspending.

He giggled first as he thought of how just a week ago she shouted at him for getting her a new Tiffany ring, and then he sighed. He sighed because he was back to being afraid—afraid of being a novice at abiding by a new kind of love—the love one has for their children. This would be something new, something he had no idea how to do—to love a little human being who would be totally dependent on him and his wife for everything. It would be a love different from every other love he ever knew or had because this love would come with a responsibility—the responsibility of being a good parent. But what did he know about being a good parent? Perhaps Yash Uncle could give him some tips, but just some tips. Would that be of any help to him? Sure, he had his dad, who loved him. Sure, he had Yash Uncle, who was his father figure, but all they were to him were figures of fatherly love—none having taken him along with them on their journey of fatherhood by being a constant parent to him.