To Sharan, with love.

Sharan, tomorrow you are going to be 2 months young. This is my last resort to speak with you. I want you to read it when you learn to. All my past attempts have been in vain. Either you are busy with breakfast, lunch or dinner or you are smiling in your dreams, and I do not feel like waking up the little angel in his cradle.

As time progresses you will realize that you are born to the most charming and loving parents you could have bargained for (though they promise me today that what ever you wear or carry will be bought specifically for you, but the experience of being the second child makes me believe in inheritance), you have grandparents who will pamper beyond the definitions of pampering.

And you will also realize that you have an insane-uncle who cannot make out the difference between magenta and mauve for nuts, but yet wants to describe the world to you with his limited writing skills. If you have read this far you might have also realized I did write to discard my worldly wisdom to you. Here you go!

As you start wearing clothes bigger than baby size and start to think for yourself, you would want to do a whole bunch of things which may not be taken very well by your parents and their parents. You can bank on me; I will always support you in each and every endeavor as long as you are willing to ache, bruise and toil and accept the consequences like a man. This will make your self a man of not bookish knowledge, but first-hand-experience because sound judgment comes from experience good or bad. I will work with you to make your every dream a reality.

Welcome to this world where your dreams and aspirations should become your religion!

PS: When you are reading this if your name is not Sharan, the men of the family lost the battle in naming you. It would have been an experience nonetheless.