My dear kids,
Do you know how many names you’ve had over the years?
Not official ones. Not the ones written on school forms.
The real ones. The soft, silly, accidental names that only exist inside a home.
The obvious ones came first.
Ari and Aru for Arhaan.
Rivi, Riv, and Rivu for Rivaan.
Those were easy. Natural shortcuts. Names that rolled off the tongue because we said them a hundred times a day.
But then came the fun ones.
I remember calling you Alioli and Ravioli.
Like the Italian food. Why? Honestly, I don’t remember. Probably because it just flowed. Some nicknames don’t come from logic. They come from rhythm. From love spoken quickly.
Arhaan, I also remember calling you Bumpy.
Not because you bumped into things.
But because, as a baby, you had the cutest, roundest little bum. It made sense at the time. It still does in my head.
But my favourite nicknames didn’t come from me or your mom.
They came from you.
Both of you were still babies. You had just started talking. Words were hard. Names were even harder. And somehow, instead of getting frustrated, you solved it your own way.
Rivaan, you couldn’t say Arhaan.
So you called him AiAi.
Pronounced Eye-Eye.
Arhaan, you couldn’t say Rivu.
So Rivaan became VuVu.
And just like that, without trying, without knowing it, you gave each other the best nicknames of all.
No adult could have invented them.
They only worked because they were yours.
For a while, our house was filled with “AiAi” and “VuVu”.
And honestly, it felt perfect.
Those names remind me of a time when life was simple. When language didn’t matter as much as intention. When love didn’t need to be clear, just felt.
You may outgrow these names. Or maybe you already have.
But they’ll always exist. Frozen in that moment when you were small, learning words, and unknowingly naming each other for life.
Some names are given.
Some are earned.
And some are whispered between siblings before the world gets loud.
Always,
Dad
My Dear Boys 