The little ray of sunshine that brought out the poet in me

For me, beating around the bush is now passe. I communicate with you today - almost six months after I arrived in China - because I want to relive an emotion I never thought I could feel.

I'm 28 years old. Irresponsibility and carelessness come naturally to me. Leave aside fathering a child, I'd run at the thought of anything permanent. But then, you only think you're in control of your life.

The wheels of change are now in motion. I hadn't planned for it.

A little over a month ago, I became a father (Yes, I did finally gather the courage to make my girlfriend a permanent fixture in my life two years ago). My daughter's name is Shaayari. It means poetry. I had chosen her name when I was 22, long before I'd even met my wife. Isn't it ironic?

For years, I've been typing the name on search engines and networking websites. There is still no evidence of a human with that name.

We were quite pregnant when we came to Beijing in December. We were scared and fighting with each other most of the time.

Even though my wife turned quite sensible when she conceived, I was still showing no signs of maturity.

The plan was to give birth in China. "12,000 kuai ($1,752.) for a normal delivery, 15,000 for a C-section," said an interpreter, translating for the Chinese staff at a nearby hospital.

The price was still lower than in some other international hospitals here. I could buy a brand-new car back home in India with the amount English-speaking maternity wards had quoted.