The moment Lila walked out of her room in yet another elaborate costume, you could tell that this house was alive. It wasn’t the kind of childhood you see neatly stashed or organised away in boxes, nor the type curated for Instagram. This was real, throbbing, messy childhood. Which explained all the crayon trails left on walls, tables and the wood around but essentially it was all just stories etched into every corner.

Lila’s costumes were, in her words, introduced with “who am I now!?”  Each one demanded a show and tell performance, with dramatic pauses and curious expressions and gestures, as we all played along, guessing her characters. And when she walked out, fully transformed, she wasn’t just Lila. She was Elsa, a “spiky” (Australian for a plumber), a builder, and so much more. Her costumes, her mom told us later, were all hand-me-downs enjoying a rich second life.

When she wasn’t whipping up characters with her bright dupatta, she was busy doing acrobatics with it on the Pikler. Her mum said out loud “I wish the whole ceiling was the Pikler!” and we could see why – Lila was at home with it, up, down, sideways, with an occasional attempt at a one-hand-hang while simultaneously trying to knot the dupatta with the other. The striking thing about her is that this was the same little girl who, a year ago, could barely hang on to the Pikler for ten seconds! 

We watched in amazement how naturally Lila’s parents encouraged this kind of play. They weren’t orchestrating moments to “teach” her something. They weren’t overly focused on outcomes. They were just there, present and encouraging, answering her calls with “Yes, love!” or “Yes, habibi!” with a warmth that made the house feel like a safety net for all her grand experiments. 

The irony is that a lot of playgrounds and designated play areas available for her, around her, aren’t designed for the adventures she has at home. As people that have lived pretty much all across the world, Lila’s parents spoke of the stark absence of play areas that allow for risky play in urban Mumbai. While a generation ago, the same kids would play on the streets, dirt roads, in mud, on trees and in spaces that were much, much less controlled and supervised, kids today are increasingly bubble-wrapped in neatly structured, sanitised spaces, having highly controlled experiences punctuated by adult supervision. 

Lila’s playground wasn’t a manicured bubble. It was the whole house, with its living room climbing experiments and costume department. The experiments didn’t always succeed, but she never hesitated before starting a new one. It was that belief, we gathered, that was more important than anything else.

At the family dinner table we got to witness another masterpiece in the making - “Mister Tabula” came to life right there on a roti. Lila meticulously dabbed hummus for glue, added colorful cucumber bits for eyes (four, because why not?), and gave him a crooked little mouth. “I’ll eat you, Mister Tabula!” she declared with a lot of glee before rolling him up and taking a decisive bite.

Lila’s upbringing is a reminder of something simple yet profound - childhood happens in the in-betweens. It’s not the perfectly planned playdates or sanitized play areas. It’s the moments where a child, unhindered, can be exactly who they are. Dramatic, messy, imaginative, and wildly curious. And when those moments are allowed to thrive, something so simple and magical happens! 

Kids like Lila grow up believing they can conquer the world, one costume, climbing experiment, or hummus-covered personified roti at a time.