"Perfect," I say, casually. I'm calm. I'm proud. I also learn my wife's girlfriends wanted to come out of the nightclub earlier, but my vindictive better half insisted on staying longer. She wanted to pay me back in the same coin. Well played.

Shaayari wakes up the second she feels her mother's touch. She smiles, and goes back to sleep in her arms without a care in the world.

I can't begin to tell you how beautifully amazing fatherhood is. Strange, because the words "I'm pregnant" almost never brings a smile to a man's face.

My daughter's shown me a glimpse of heaven on Earth.

We head out on the streets of Beijing and the Chinese walk over and begin conversations. They're sweet enough to talk slowly, in Chinese, but our clueless smiles for responses to probable questions make it quite clear we don't understand a word.

Pretty girls smile at me as they walk by. Cab drivers show surprising amounts of patience to help me fold the pram and then unfold it at the destination. At times, they even ask if the blaring Chinese radio isn't disturbing the kid.

And cars have stopped trying to run us down at the city's zebra crossings. They wait for us to pass, though only if the pedestrian signal's green.

I shouldn't really be complaining considering I come from India, where respect and courtesy for pedestrians is unheard of, and crossing a street under the influence is a common way of committing suicide.

It's natural for us to expect some courtesy on streets away from the sub-continent, just to reassure ourselves the world's still sane.

Shaayari rides unaware in her pram that she's made the world a better place. There are very few things that can sedate a mind as restless as hers, like the outdoors, milk (till it begins to drip from her ears), slumber, a hot bath, and rock music.

No, I didn't love her the moment I saw her. I found her cute and knew she was my responsibility.

Six weeks later, now I realize I have only just begun to fall in love with my daughter.