Chandigarh L&C - 3

Some Statistical data for better visualisation:-  

Arjun                40 years 5’3” 64 kg
Harmeet Kaur 50 years 5’9” 90 kg Babita              22 years 5’11” 80 kg
Kamla didi       60 years 5’10” 85 kg 


That afternoon, Babita was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in denim shorts and a vibrant pink tee. Arjun came down slowly, expecting a normal walk.

“Ready?” she grinned. “Today’s picnic is with all my friends.”

“But I thought I could just walk—”

“Uh-uh. House rule, remember?” She hoisted him up suddenly in a piggyback lift, wrapping his legs around her waist. “No walking. You’re our Chhotu Babu.”

At the park, Babita’s friends—six tall, athletic girls between 22 and 25—were already there on picnic mats, dressed in sporty outfits.

“There he is!” one of them squealed.

Babita swung Arjun around into a bridal carry and walked up proudly. “Girls, meet Chhotu Bhaiya. Or, as I like to call him, Babu Shona.”

The girls erupted in giggles.
“Oh my god! He’s so cute !!”

“He’s so tiny! He’s like a soft toy!”

Arjun tried to wriggle out. “I’m forty years old! Please, this is ridiculous—”
But one of them, Mehak, 5’10” and broad-shouldered, came forward. “So cute. May I?”

Babita grinned. “Of course!”

Mehak lifted him effortlessly in a cradle carry, tickling his cheek.
 “Babu Shona! You’re our mascot today.”

One by one, the girls took turns lifting him in different styles—over-the-shoulder, cradle, fireman’s carry—laughing, teasing, and showing him off to curious park-goers. An elderly couple even stopped to ask if he was their nephew.

“No,” Babita winked. “He’s our little boy. We take care of him.”

They even fed him mango slices and juice like a baby, cooing things like:

“Open wide, Chhotu Bhaiya!”

 “Awww look, he’s shy!”

 “He’s blushing! Sooo cute!”

Arjun buried his face in his palms.
At one point, two girls lifted him together—one holding his legs, the other his arms—and paraded him like a prize down the park lane, making mock announcements:
“Attention! Attention! Presenting our official baby tour guide!”

By the time they returned to the mat, Arjun was exhausted and completely red-faced. Babita sat down and placed him in her lap, rocking him gently while the other girls fanned him with paper plates.

He whispered, “I’m a grown man…”

“Yes,” Babita teased, brushing his hair, “Yes yes, we know. A grown man of 40 who belongs to the lap of a 22 year old college girl.”

The picnic was at its liveliest. Arjun, though thoroughly embarrassed, was nestled snugly in Babita’s lap, while her friends giggled, snapped selfies with him, and debated who should get the next turn to carry “Chhotu Bhaiya.”

Just as Arjun was being lifted by two girls into a flying swing pose—his arms out like wings, legs dangling—an unmistakable voice rang through the park.

“ARREEY BAAP RE! What’s happening here?”

Everyone froze.

All eyes turned toward the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Kamla Didi, storming across the lawn in her signature salwar kameez, dupatta fluttering behind her like a battle flag. Her bangles clinked loudly, her eyes blazing with purpose.

“What are you doing with my baby?”
Babita stuttered, “Kamla Didi—he’s just—”

Before she could finish, Kamla marched forward, grabbed Arjun right out of the girls’ hands, and cradled him tightly in her arms.

Arjun, flustered, muttered, “Kamla Didi… I was just—”

“Hush! Mummy's here now,” she snapped. “Look at you! Tossed around like a basketball. And that too by these young twenty year old college girls. Haw!”

She rocked him gently, glaring at the girls. “You girls think he's a toy? He's 40 years old! You should be respecting him—not throwing him up like a mango!”

One of the girls shyly replied, “We were just playing, Kamla Didi…”

“Play with your dolls, beti. Not with my Arjun Baba!”

Babita tried to intervene, “Didi, we weren’t hurting him—”

But Kamla was in full dramatic flow. “Mere Babu needs rest, warmth, softness. Lap comfort. Not being carried upside down by laughing teenagers! Shame shame!”

Then she sat right down on the grass, adjusted her dupatta, and pulled Arjun into her lap like a baby, cradling his head against her chest.
“You’ll stay with Mummy now. Enough of these games.”

“But Kamla Didi—” Arjun started, face red with embarrassment.

“Mummy!” she corrected, tapping his nose. “Say it.”

“Mummy,” he mumbled, defeated.

The girls watched in awe and disbelief as Kamla gently rocked him, humming an old lullaby. Some of them even chuckled softly.

“She really loves him,” one whispered.

“She owns him,” said another.

As Babita and her friends packed up slowly, Babita whispered to Arjun, “We’ll get our turns later, Babu Shona. Right now, you’re all hers.”

Kamla shot a sharp look and said, “Always mine.”

She hoisted Arjun back into her arms as she stood. “Chalo baby, we’re going home. Time for your haldi doodh and oil massage. And no walking. Mummy ke haathon mein hi jaayega.”

And just like that, under the setting sun, Kamla Didi marched off proudly, cradling her “baby” like a trophy—while the girls watched, amused, humbled, and a bit envious.

It was a quiet evening in the bungalow. Arjun had just finished his dinner upstairs, and Kamla Didi, their strong, sprightly 60-year-old maid, had come up with a firm smile and a folded shawl under one arm.

"Aa jaao babu. Ab tumhare mummy ke bina kaise neend aayegi?" she said with mock sternness.

Arjun blinked. "Mummy !"

Kamla Didi chuckled, took two confident steps toward him, and before he could escape, swoop—she had lifted him effortlessly into her arms like she was carrying her own toddler grandson.

"You call me Kamla Didi outside. But at night, I’m your mummy. Samjhe, chhotu?" she said, adjusting him against her shoulder.

"I-I’m forty years old!" Arjun protested, flailing his arms weakly, but Kamla was unbothered.

"Forty toh sirf kagaz pe ho. God made you small and soft so you can be carried around by old women like me," she said with a wide grin.

She walked him over to the large rocking chair she’d dragged up that morning and sat down with Arjun still in her lap, nestled sideways like a child. She hummed softly and began rocking.

Downstairs, Harmeet and Babita were watching a serial, when Babita suddenly perked up. "Ma, is that Kamla’s lullaby?"

Harmeet smirked. "Must be. Poor Arjun, he has no escape."

Babita laughed. "I'm going to see."

She padded up the stairs quietly and peeked into the room—and there was Arjun, bundled like a reluctant baby, half-asleep on Kamla’s ample lap, her arms swaying gently as she rocked him. His head rested against her shoulder while she continued humming.

"Aw, Chhotu babu in dreamland,"

 Babita whispered, stifling a giggle.
Arjun opened one eye. "Babita! Tell her to let me go!"

Babita folded her arms. "No way. She’s doing a great job. You look so peaceful."

Kamla raised an eyebrow. "Next time when I'm not at home, Babita bitiya, you also carry him like this. He won't sleep without being rocked now."

Babita grinned. "Deal. We’ll take turns."

Just then, Harmeet too arrived at the door and burst out laughing.

 “This Kamla Didi! When I said take care of him, I didn’t think you’d turn him into a human teddy bear!”

Kamla gave a smug nod. "Teddy bear toh hai. Bas isko pata nahi."

Arjun groaned but secretly melted into the comfort of Kamla’s arms. Her steady warmth, the quiet creaking of the rocker, and the rhythmic strokes on his back had already begun lulling him to sleep.

“Chhodo na mujhey,” he muttered, eyes closing. “Let me sleep..”

Kamla giggled. “Shhh…everybody go now. Mummy ka baby so raha hai...”

Arjun woke up with a gentle start, blinking in the golden morning light that filtered through the curtains.

 He stretched, only to realize he wasn’t in his own bed.

He was curled up—on a large mattress spread out in the living room downstairs, with a thick quilt tucked under his chin. Kamla Didi had already left after her early morning chores, but someone else was waiting.

Babita stood over him, arms folded, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Good morning, husband-ji,” she grinned.

Arjun groaned. “Not again…”
Babita didn’t give him a chance.

 With one quick motion, she bent down and scooped him up into her strong arms, easily carrying his 64-kg frame against her like a large doll. He squeaked in embarrassment.

“B-Babita! Put me down!”

She cradled him tighter, smiling sweetly. “I’m your wife now.. And this is our suhag savera. Shouldn’t I pamper my cute little pati like a good Punjabi biwi?”

“I’m 40!” he muttered helplessly, as she sat cross-legged on the floor, still holding him in her lap like he was her chubby baby.

“And I’m 22. What’s your point, Chhotu ji?” she teased, gently bouncing him in her lap. “Tumhare jaise pati toh baby treatment deserve karte hain.”

To his horror, she picked up a steel glass of milk from the table and offered it to him like a toddler.

 When he tried to resist, she simply rocked him with more force and brought the glass to his lips.

“Be a good baby and drink up. Or I’ll call mummy,” she threatened, meaning her own mother.

Defeated, Arjun sipped while she cooed, “Awww, mera pyara bacha…"

Once he finished, she wiped his mouth with the end of her dupatta, deliberately making a show of it.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “this lap is yours now. Your bed, your seat, your throne. Say it.”

“What?!”

She gave a mock growl and hugged him tighter. “Say it! Say this is my wife’s lap and I live here!”

Arjun flushed bright red. “Th-this is my wife’s lap… and I live here,” he mumbled quickly, trying not to meet her gaze.

“Good boy,” she giggled and gave his nose a playful flick. “Now let’s call some guests. It’s time for show and tell.”

About an hour later, Arjun sat nervously on a large divan, waiting. Babita had changed into a bright yellow kurta and matching dupatta and looked like a queen. He, meanwhile, was still in his cotton home clothes, too shy to step out of the room.

That’s when they arrived—Babita’s gang of energetic friends. Five tall, broad-shouldered girls aged between 22 and 25, all athletes from her college days. 

Arjun was horrified to find that this is a new set of friends. 

“There he is!” one of them squealed as Babita proudly pointed at Arjun.

 “Is this your… tutor?”

“My baby-pati,” Babita corrected them smugly.

“Oh my god,” laughed the tallest one, Jaspreet. “He’s so small and cute. Are you sure he’s forty?”

“He claims he is,” Babita winked. “But watch this.”

Without a warning, she marched up and picked him up again in front of everyone. “Chalo pati-ji, show them your throne!”

The girls burst into laughter as Babita walked around the room with him in her arms like a victorious bride.

“Babita yaar, let us carry him too!” said Priya, one of her friends. “He’s so light, I bet we can juggle him!”

“You may,” Babita declared like royalty. “But remember—he belongs to me. You carry him with respect!”

Arjun’s eyes widened. “N-no! Please—Babita—!”

But it was no use. The girls surrounded him, each taking turns to lift him in bridal holds, fireman carries, and cradles. They passed him from one lap to another like a prized teddy bear.

One girl bounced him like a baby and said, “Chhotu bhaiyaaaa… want milk?”

Another rocked him and whispered mockingly, “Shona babu, should I burp you?”

Arjun tried to squirm, but each girl was stronger than the last. They giggled uncontrollably every time he struggled and blushed.

By the end of the hour, he sat red-faced, back on Babita’s lap again, with five girls sitting around him grinning.

Babita kissed his forehead gently. “This is your life now, pati ji. We all love our baby-boy.”

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. Arjun, in his usual oversized T-shirt and track pants, had just settled with his laptop when he heard the unmistakable clinking of bangles, excited chatter, and the aroma of Punjabi snacks wafting upstairs.
Before he could guess what was happening, Kamla Didi knocked and entered with her usual warm-but-commanding tone. “Chalo beta, neeche chalo. Harmeet didi ka kitty party hai. Tumhare bina unka function adhoora lagega.”

“Kitty party? Why me?! I have work—”

Before he could finish, Kamla had already hoisted him up in her arms like he weighed nothing, chuckling, “Arey kaam toh zindagi bhar karte rahoge. Aunty log bula rahi hain—chalo baby!”

Arjun kept on protesting helplessly, “Why are you carrying me Kamla didi? I am going…let me walk down.”

Kamla did just laughed, “Mujhey achha lagta hai tujhey godi mey uthaney mey. Chal beta…”

He was gently cradled all the way down and brought into the living room.

The room was vibrant—decorated with marigold flowers and cushions, plates filled with samosas, dhoklas, and mithai. Six ladies, all decked in bright salwar suits and heavy lipstick, turned their heads in unison.

“Yeh raha hamara Arjun beta!”

 Harmeet announced grandly, motioning Kamla to bring him in like a royal offering.

Kamla gently sat him down on Harmeet’s large lap. Harmeet immediately wrapped her thick arms around him possessively, patting his head like a mother. “Yeh hai hamare tenant. Software engineer. Bachelor. Aur full-time baby,” she said proudly.

The ladies squealed with delight.

“Aiyyo! He’s so small!”

“Arey haan, such a cute sa boy!”
One slightly younger lady leaned in. “I’m 39. He’s 40? Nahi lagta yaar. He looks like a school kid.”

Arjun gave a weak smile, tried to say something, but Harmeet silenced him with a playful bop on the nose. “Chup! Baby ko bola hai chup rehne ko.”

After tea and snacks, one of the ladies named Meenakshi, who was a bit more athletic and perhaps around 42, said, “Harmeet, bas ho gaya tera lap time. Mera number!”

Without warning, she leaned over, easily lifted Arjun from Harmeet’s lap and plopped him onto hers.

“Arre, arre—!” he yelped, but her strong arms locked him in.

“Aunty ka Chhotu,” she sang as she bounced him gently, making the others laugh.

“Main bhi try karu?” asked a tall lady of 38, pushing up her sleeves. “Let’s see if I still have my gym strength.”

She stood up, took Arjun from Meenakshi like a parcel, and cradled him in her arms, parading around the room. Arjun tried to hide his face as the ladies clapped.

“Oh God,” he muttered. “I’m a grown man…”

“Yes I know, you are 40,” the lady who was carrying him teased. “But I'm 38, I'm 2 years younger than you. But tum merey bahonn me zyada cute lag rahe ho!”

Even the more senior ones took their turn—some lifting him in their arms, some making him sit on their knees like a prized doll.

Before leaving, they all decided to take a group picture—with Arjun as the center attraction.

“But how to pose?” someone asked.

“Easy,” said Harmeet with a smirk. “Babita lifts him bridal-style, I’ll hold his hand, and one of you feed him a laddoo!”

Babita entered and obediently lifted him again in front of everyone, like a triumphant bride. Someone shoved a laddoo in Arjun’s mouth as the camera clicked.

“Best kitty party ever!” they declared in chorus.

As the ladies departed, one joked, “Harmeet, agar tumhara tenant kabhi rent na de, toh kehna. Ek kitty pass le lo aur sab aunty milke sambhaal lengi!”


It was an early evening in Chandigarh. Babita came bounding up the stairs to Arjun’s flat in her usual lively way, dressed in a shimmering pink and blue Punjabi suit, her long braid swinging behind her like a confident declaration. Arjun opened the door, blinking at her brightness.

“Arjun ji,” she said sweetly, “chaliye, shaadi ka invitation hai. Mummy ke dost ke bete ki shaadi hai. Sabko milna hai. Aap bhi aa rahe ho.”

Arjun frowned slightly. “You want me to come with you? Babita, I don’t even know them.”

Babita leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Exactly. That’s why I’ll introduce you. As my baby husband.”

“W-what?! Babita, I’m forty! You’re twenty-two!”

She stepped inside without asking and patted his cheek. “And still lighter than my javelin. Come on, Arjun. Don’t fight fate.”

At the wedding venue—a sprawling Punjabi lawn lit with fairy lights and filled with laughing guests—Babita arrived like royalty.

Except she wasn’t walking alone.
She was carrying Arjun bridal-style in her strong arms, as if he were the blushing bride.

Heads turned. Some gasped. Some laughed. Some aunties clapped.
Babita beamed. “Hello everyone! Meet my baby husband Arjun ji! Software engineer by profession. Softie by nature!”

Arjun flushed deep red, looking away as Babita gently bounced him in her arms and kissed his forehead.

A nearby uncle raised an eyebrow. “Babita puttar, ki ho riha ae? Eh banda thoda wadda nahi?”

Babita grinned. “Oho Uncle ji, 5 foot 3 da software baby ae. Je tuanu pasand aaya, toh next marriage main baraat vich chuk ke le jaungi!”

Laughter exploded around them.
At the dinner table, there weren’t enough chairs. Babita didn’t hesitate. She sat down and pulled Arjun firmly into her lap.

“Babita please…” he whispered.

“No walking, no sitting alone,” she said firmly. “You’re my handbag tonight. If mummy can have Louis Vuitton, I can have Arjun Kumar.”

She fed him bite after bite—paneer tikka, rasgulla, and finally some sweet lassi. With every spoon, she’d coo, “Good baby! Swallow kar lo! Mera chhota munchkin!”

A couple of her friends came over. “OMG Babita! This is the Arjun?”
“Yes girls,” she said proudly. “My baby husband.”

The girls giggled and touched his cheeks. “He’s so soft! So cute!”

One girl even whispered, “Can I hold him for a while?”

“Later,” Babita winked. “Abhi mera haq hai.”

Later in the evening, the bride’s doli moment arrived. Seeing that, Babita got an idea.

“Wait here,” she whispered.
Moments later, she returned with a decorated palanquin that the venue was using for photos. Without warning, she lifted Arjun in both arms and gently placed him inside.

The guests turned their heads in surprise.

Babita stood beside the palanquin, hands folded. “Mera dulha ji! Please bless our marriage!”

Even the real bride burst into laughter seeing the scene.

Babita called over the photographer. “Ek special photo lo. Hashtag: #MeraBabyHusband!”

Arjun sat helplessly in the palanquin, surrounded by amused aunties and girls clicking selfies with him.

It was late at night. As they returned, Babita refused to let Arjun walk to the cab. She lifted him again, this time cradle-style, rocking him gently.
“You know, everyone loved you,” she murmured.

“I’m a software engineer… not a doll,” Arjun grumbled against her shoulder.

Babita giggled. “Doll? No Arjun ji. You’re my full-time baby boy. And now, everyone knows.”

The wedding hall had started to empty. Fireworks echoed in the distance, and the fairy lights blinked lazily. Babita, glowing in a pink lehenga, had just handed over a thoroughly exhausted Arjun—still dressed in his tiny sherwani and seated like a prop on her arm—to her mother, Harmeet.

But before Harmeet could even adjust him on her lap, Kamla Didi stomped into the scene, dupatta tightly pinned and eyes narrowed.

"Bas karo, ladkiyon!" she scolded, planting her hands on her wide hips. “Chale ho bacche ke saath jhula-jhuli khelne! The poor baby is exhausted! Dekha nahi jaata mujhe!”

Babita giggled, “Come on Kamla Didi, he's a full-grown man!”

Kamla snorted. “Uff! Chhoti moti ladkiyaan jinko khud sambhalna nahi aata, mera babu ko idhar udhar uchaal rahi ho! Hatt jaa!”

With a swift but practiced move, Kamla lifted Arjun right off Harmeet’s lap. He let out a sleepy protest, “Kamla Didi! Please—there are still people watching!”

But it was no use. Kamla tucked him against her soft chest and cradled him like a baby, bouncing gently, as she walked to a quiet sofa in the corner.

“Hushh... hushh… ab mummy ke paas rahega mera chhotu,” she cooed, settling down and rocking him. “Itna bhaari nahin hai. Mera toh haath ka khel hai ye!” She stroked his hair lovingly, ignoring the smirks and giggles from the others nearby.

Babita whispered to her friends, “Looks like I’ve been dethroned! Kamla Didi thinks he’s her baby now.”


(To be continued....)