The car drew up to a traffic signal and came to a halt as the light turned red. A truck went by leaving a cloud of smoke and dust in its wake. As the dust settled I saw them standing on the divider.
She was dressed in a brightly coloured salwar kameez, an orange and silver sweater and worn chappals, alta on her feet, looking around, bored. He wasn’t looking around at all and I didn’t notice anything about him except the bundle he held in his hands, swaddled tightly in a grimy blue blanket.
And right there, in the middle of the road, with traffic whizzing by on either side, he bent down and kissed the little pink chapped cheek peeking out. Again and again and again. He couldn’t stop kissing his baby and he didn’t care that he was in the middle of a busy road. And he didn’t care what the world thought about a man so openly smitten by his baby.
The light changed to green, the car jerked to life and sped off. I turned around, craning my neck to keep them in my sight for as long as possible. It’s always beautiful to watch a father falling in love.