Friday, June 29, 2012

Play by ear?

Anirudh spent most of his summer vacations in Coimbatore where he made merry with his numerous uncles, aunts and cousins. One day, during one such summer, his mum and aunties decided to do what women on holiday (or just generally too) like to do, and left one of his uncle’s in-charge of the kids. His uncle concluded that the best way to avoid bringing the ancestral house down was to keep the brats busy with some show of magic! So he did the disappearing thumb routine, fished out a coin from one of their hair and even put up a card act.

Towards the end, he showed them how when he slipped a pearl through one of his ears it came out the other! He also explained to them on a serious note that, the pearl, when pushed up the nose deftly, would come straight out the mouth. Now this uncle had Anirudh and his cousin sister’s full attention.

So after the assembly had dispersed to various parts of the house, and the mothers had returned to head straight for an afternoon nap, the two little ones got cracking. Anirudh convinced his cousin that she let him try the pearl trick, on her. Happy to be a muse, she obliged.

In went the pearl from one ear—but showed no sign of coming out the other. After some serious shoving, both of them got quite impatient and irritable, genuinely wondering which part of the magic wasn’t working. When the pearl didn’t come out even when pushed with the aid of a cotton bud, Anirudh decided it was best to accept defeat with the ears, and move to nose.

So he picked another pearl and asked his ever-so obliging cousin to tilt her head back so they could get on with some serious business. But as fate would have it, her mother woke up and decided to quiz them about what was going on. A little mumbling and few odd explanations later, they scurried to the courtyard leaving the confused woman behind.

But Anirudh could not wrap his head around what had gone wrong, and why the magic hadn’t worked—while his cousin sat under a tree pondering over the meaning of life, with the pearl safely ensconced in her ear. And he could only think of one person in the world who had the acumen to answer his questions—his Mommy.

On he marched to her room, and gently shook her out of her slumber. Then he narrated to his sleepy mom, step-by-step, what had happened that day—concluding with his harsh disappointment that the pearl continued to defy the simple laws of magic.

Needless to say, the mother was wide awake in seconds, and a lot of yelling and panic ensued. In short, the pearl was sucked out of the little one's ear after a less than three-hour 'operation'. I'm not allowed to use the cousin's name because this event is still a mystery to most of Anirudh's family. 

PS: No eardrums were damaged in the making of this event, except Anirudh's uncle's—who was compelled to forget all about his magic tricks.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

A daddy's court-martial

Ishi’s daddy is an army man. When little Mr Ishi was all of two, his daddy was sent on a UN mission to The States for a year. The family didn’t see him through all that time. At the end of his work trip, Ishi’s parents planned to meet up in New York, holiday there for a while, and come back home.

Obviously, Ishi could not have been told his grandparents were going to take over because his parents wanted some alone time for three whole weeks. So to keep everyone happy, the story that was told to the little one was this: Mommy is going to get daddy back.

The year that his daddy was away, little Ishi had been spoiled rotten. His granny shielded his bratty behavior with the excuse that it was his way of coping. He just missed his daddy. So he went from one tender year to the other without really being checked for anything—a little strange since the parents, for obvious reasons, were otherwise strict disciplinarians.

His daddy, when he got back, was actually quite shocked to see what a little brat Ishi had become. So the first two times Ishi misbehaved, daddy let pass thinking his son was just acting out. And besides, he did feel guilty about missing important events in Ishi's life, like him starting pre-school and learning how to string complete sentences.  

But at the third, he decided it was time to take charge of the situation and reprimand his misbehaving beta. So down came the chides on little Ishi, to which the boy swiftly turned to his dad and said, “Mujhe kuch mat bolo, nahin toh Mummy ko boloonga…jahan se lekar aayi hai, wahin waapas chhod aayegi. Aur fir se lene bhi nahin aayegi!” 

(Don't say anything to me, or I'll tell Mummy...she'll leave you back to where she got you from. And she won't even come fetch you this time!")

Baby Ishi on the run

Monday, June 25, 2012

A choppy situation

As already established in the first post of this series, my eldest brother was an adventurous child. My second brother, on the other hand, was everything the first one was not. He was the obedient, silent, strong type. So if the first one, let’s say, dropped tea all over our new cordless phone, the second one would quickly dismantle it, wipe its innards clean and fix it right back, like nothing happened. Basically, they were as different as their hair types: tightly curled versus naturally straight.

Both of them spent the first ten years of their lives in Kuwait. Understandably, mum and dad always had a lot of dinners and gatherings at home over the weekends. Since the Indian community was much smaller then than it is now, everyone made an extra effort to meet over the holidays.    

So one such evening, the parents invited a couple over for dinner who they knew from Bombay. The kids always had strict instructions to stay in their room and play, while the guests and the parents chatted. They were promised good food as a fair trade, so more often than not they happily obliged.

Now my eldest brother can never sit still, especially when he is told that he must. While the second one continued to mind his own business and kept busy with his cars, the first one suddenly had a stroke of genius.

After a little chitter-chatter, mom decided it was time to lay out dinner. So she made her way to the kitchen, calling out to the boys as she passed their room. While she busied herself with the food, she heard their room’s door open. Then she heard them rush out to the hall, where daddy sat with the guests.

Then she heard the first one say this, “Look daddy! I gave him a haircut! It’s all nice and even now!” She decided it was best to abandon laying out the food, and rushed to where everyone was.

There, in the middle of the area surrounded by myriad expressions of shock, stood my eldest brother with a spray of Windex in his hand and a big smile. Beside him stood the second one, with a handkerchief tucked neatly in his tee, a sheepish look on his face and little hair left on his head.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

For the want of a key...

Mister M is the third of four boys. If I had the chance to sit with his mother for longer, I’d have enough material for this series to last at least a year. 

Though he was generally a quiet kid, who liked to mind his own business, Mister M developed a love for shiny things at a young age—an obsession that still persists. His mother learned of this the hard way, one lazy afternoon.

Though she generally kept things out of the reach of her four boys, which meant everything was mostly shelved, could she have had a completely fool-proof plan against a child who had eyes only for the sparkly?

So that afternoon, as Mister M’s mom was going about her daily chores, she noticed that her third little one had been out of sight for quite some time. She decided to go look for him. After a little scouting about, she found that one of the bathrooms was shut tight. That was strange, she thought, as the father of the house was at work, and the boys were all very little to be locking doors. So she yanked at it but it didn’t yield.

Then one of her sons strolled along, and she asked him if he knew where his sibling was. That’s when he absently pointed at the door in front of them.

Mister M’s mom began beating down at the door pleading for him to come out. She couldn’t even hear if he was saying anything or calling out for help because the door was so huge and heavy.

Some time and tears later, she decided to call her husband. Heavy or not, that door had to go down.

About an hour later, two workers from Mister M’s daddy’s office arrived at the house to break down the door. They looked at it sceptically, and then went around the area looking for other possible ways to get the child out. Then they saw the bathroom’s window.

Using all their might and a few tools at hand, they unhinged the window, and this is what they saw: Mister M sitting in the basin, with the shiny bathroom key clenched tightly in his hand, and a rather confused look on his face.

If he could have spoken, he’d probably just ask all of them to chill—as he was.

Happy little Mister M

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

A room of one's own

One unassuming afternoon, Aditi set out on a shopping spree with her mother, grandmother and aunt for the latter’s impending wedding. The women were, as any group of women going shopping would be, extremely excited. They headed to this swanky, newly-renovated store in the heart of the city for some very serious purchasing.

All of three, Aditi was quickly mesmerised by the colours and sparkly fabrics on display. So she set out to explore the store and its offerings while the ladies began short-listing outfits for her aunt to try. After every nook and cranny of the shiny new store was explored, she returned to the three hyper ladies who were surrounded by yards and yards of materials.

It was then that something quite interesting caught her attention. Her aunt kept going into a little room in the corner, and whenever she got out, she was wearing something new! As her aunt modelled a pretty outfit for her mom and granny, Aditi marched to this magical room.

A few minutes later, when it was time for the aunt to try something new, everyone realised that the changing room’s door was locked, and that little Aditi was missing.

Suppressing panic, they knocked at the door. Aditi responded with a playful giggle, and their panic hit the roof. They began to cajole her into opening the latch and stepping out only to realise that, though she had managed to lock herself in, the three-year-old didn’t know how to get herself out.

Everyone at the store got involved; tears started streaming down Aditi and her mom’s face. Her granny demanded her daughter to be strong, and on hearing her voice, Aditi demanded her grandmother to sing her favourite song. So while some singing ensued to calm the nerves, the workers at the store got their grey cells working.

They decided to saw a circle on the ceiling right about the changing room, and rope the child out. The only problem was that it threatened to cave out and fall on Aditi. Armed with the little one’s favourite music, her grandmother talked her into hugging the door tight while ‘operation hole in the ceiling’ proceeded.

The drama lasted about three hours and at last, little Aditi was saved from the evil changing room. Her mother warned her not to squeal a word to her father, and though she agreed, Aditi couldn’t contain her excitement about her (mis)adventure when she saw her loving daddy’s face.

At the end of the tale, Aditi’s mom told me that when she had gone back to the store a few months later, they brought to her notice how the latch in the changing room was now secured safely on top, far from the reach of children. 

All I could manage to say was, “You went back!?”

Monday, June 18, 2012

Lots of Love

My eldest brother is one of the most loving people I know. If he loves you, he has to show it, mostly through hugs. Not the regular, pat-on-the-back kind but the rib-crushing, knocks-the-air-out-of-you kind. Now that we have this important fact in place, we can move on. 

One day, when he was very little, he decided he wanted to adopt a kitten. Now my mom is dead against anything that crawls and is not her kid. Don’t get this wrong, she loves other people’s kids. But that’s all the crawling she can process amicably. Any other crawly thing that crosses her path must a) die or b) be scared to death by her screams.

But my brother is anything but a conformist. He found this cute little kitten while he was playing one afternoon, and decided to dote all over her. First he bullied someone to give him milk so he could fed her, then he rubbed her belly, smiling happily. By this time, both of them had mom’s attention.

Skeptically, mom marched over to them to see what was up. It was one of those moments for her, I'm sure, when she just knew disaster awaited because her kid was so happy. On seeing her, my brother took it upon himself to convince her that he really loves this kitten, and that he should be allowed to keep her. So he lifted the baby kitten, now full of food, and gave her a nice, warm hug.

Yeah, he hugged the kitten so tight that she died. My mom quickly snatched her away from his outstretched hands and his big grin instantly began to subside. Before he could wrap his head around what was going on, she demanded that he continue to play indoors that instant.

My poor, sensitive mother was left to deal with a situation that was way beyond her control. That day, she was completely convinced that her aversion to animals was a good thing after all, and that's why we were never allowed a pet. (She always narrated this story when we demanded one!) 

Also, it was years before he learned what his 'power of love' had done. 

PS: My brother has a very handsome pit bull, and a cat finally adopted him. And as per my knowledge, all of them are aging rather gracefully. 
This is a happy kitty, quite unlike the kitty who met her rather ill fate in my brother.

Saturday, June 16, 2012

Crazy things kids do

Kids are cute. When they are not hungry, wailing, speed-crawling over your favourite shoes (and then chewing on them), or generally getting on your last nerve, they are most adorable. I know several cute and adorable kids, who have grown up (in size) to stay the same.

One slow, weekday afternoon, we gathered on the mezzanine floor at the office for lunch. We’re one big, happy family when it comes to lunching. Everyone’s dabbas are up for grabs, lots of arms fly around, and one rarely leaves the table dissatisfied. But our animated banter is the only thing that comes close to the awesome food.  

So on that day, all of us randomly started discussing embarrassing things we did as kids. While some shared personal experiences, others told stories of their children – the kids of today. And then suddenly, in between fits of laughter, someone suggested that I blog about it.

I was a cute and adorable kid; and in most respects, I still am. (I’m only taking the liberty to say this because my mother couldn’t be bothered with this blog and you’ll never know what she has to say. Hah!). Today, as I look back at my years of tender innocence, I whole-heartedly blame my brothers for the slight traces of bratty behaviour.

Ok, not so slight: I couldn’t stand Barbie dolls, I loved Lego and I spent most of my childhood under a bob cut. Thanks to this major identity crisis, bruised knees were my favourite accessories for the longest time.

By the time I was ten, I had fractured my ankle, managed to stick a pencil in my eye, broken my arm and ripped my chin open (and tried to blame it on someone else: Scarlett, I’m sorry. It wasn’t you, it was me). I was also tied to a bench in the 3rd grade (Sister Angela, I will find you one day...), and had managed to stroll away with a stranger, mistaking him for dad, at Jogger’s Park. (In my defence, what a silly stranger! I did not look like his son! Oh wait, the bob cut...)

Anyway, I was my parents’ personal hell. But after that lunch conversation I realised that most kids are. And whether you like it or not, you were too. Kids are crazy and they do crazy things. This series of posts, which will be updated three times a week for the next three weeks, is a tribute to crazy kid stories. So share any funny/crazy story you have. The grosser the better!    

Love,
A crazy kid.

Does this child belong to anyone?

Sunday, June 03, 2012

Day 21: Little wonders

As I had promised in the first post, I’ve shared some interesting things I learned over the past 20 days. In the last post of my first series of ideas, here’s what I have to say: Living alone is much like wearing white during the rains or getting your hair coloured orange.

Everybody feels empowered and sexy in the beginning—swagger and all. People are patting your back for the bravado and loving your style. But secretly, they just feel bad for you. (No, not to your face. Imagine someone walking up to you and saying, Pardon me, but I think your head is ablaze. That’s just rude.) Not to mention, you’re pretty paranoid through most of the experience too.

It’s also one of those things you have to experience—like a brain freeze or cake overdose. It may hurt a little but it’s so worth it. Because, you know, if you did things keeping everyone’s opinions in mind, then you wouldn’t get about doing much at all.

As for me, the last 20 posts cut a fair picture of how I got by living alone. Do I want to do more of it in the future? To that I’ll say, do I really have a choice? But at least my journey was fruitful. I now know which of my skills need honing, and what frozen foods last the longest. Experience, in my case, has been a kickass teacher. Most of all, I’ve learned the importance of self-reliance and a positive attitude when unceremoniously dumped by the help.

Anyhoo, mom came home this morning and I’ve been stuffing my face and lazing around all day. Just like my old, spoiled (for the want of a better adjective) self.

Also, one of the first things she did was check on her plants. And this is what she saw:

I feel pretty...
So what I’m really trying to say is:

1) If I can do it, so can you.

Saturday, June 02, 2012

Day 20: Spring cleaning in summer

Today I decided to stay at home.

I slept for an extra hour, read the paper for a bit longer, and zoned out a little more too. But why I really skipped work is because mom is coming back tomorrow.

I requested my help and her mother, when they came on Monday, to show up on time today; a whole four days in advance. She vigorously nodded in the affirmative and, of course I should have seen this coming, didn’t turn up since then. She walked in with me after I got my back from the gym this morning. We had our breakfasts and geared up for some serious cleaning.

One of them took the kitchen, one the hall and I got cleaning with the rooms. We literally beat the dust out of everything. And then it happened: at about mid-afternoon, the house mysteriously looked brighter.

I slept for a bit before leaving for my dinner plans. I made about five friends in college and three of them decided to meet tonight—a reunion of sorts. So we met at this new joint in Andheri to laugh and eat our hearts out. I dragged them half way across the area for some ice-cream and they couldn’t have been happier about it.  

I’m now full of mashed potato, fish and lots of Gelato. And now, sleep is calling. 

So what I’m really trying to say is: 

1) Cleanliness is next to godliness, and also bloody therapeutic.

Friday, June 01, 2012

Day 19: Just clap already!

As this series is about to end, I’ve invited one of my best friends from high school to write for us today. Shivangi and I’ve known each other since we were 15 and we have a lot of lovely memories together. She’s one of those people I have so much to say about that I don’t know what to say at all. She grew up in Kuwait, went to university in Indiana, and will soon start working in New York City. Here’s what she has to say:

The good, the bad and the ugly

I’ll be honest—unlike most teenagers who dream of living alone, and having independent lifestyles with no one to lay down rules for them, I was perfectly content living at home with my parents.
 
I was always, what they call, a ‘mama’s baby.’ I needed my mom for every big and small decision. But I am ambitious too, and aspired to get an American degree from a good university. This dream forced me to leave home after high school and start living life all by myself in Bloomington, Indiana.

When my parents left Bloomington after helping me move into my dorm, I realised life alone was in fact harder than I had imagined. My first week of classes was the first time I had to wake up with an alarm instead of my mom’s loving screams. The fear that I wouldn’t wake up in the morning kept me up through the first week of classes. Then came many other disastrous first experiences—grocery shopping, laundry and ironing. 

I remember one night in mid November—winter had set in and it was really chilly and windy. At 11 pm, I realised that there was no milk for my morning coffee—one thing I can’t start my day without. So I rushed out in the cold to fetch milk at 11pm! And that taught me an important life lesson—refrigerators never automatically restock themselves.

But all in all living alone, for the last 5 years through my college education, has helped me become independent and self-reliant.

I still, of course, jump at every opportunity to go home but I know that I can survive in any part of the world. I think the most valuable lesson I learnt through these years is that planning ahead is very important: be it for bills, grocery, insurance or banking. Leaving things ad hoc can have disastrous consequences.

I am now preparing to start life on my own in New York City. But this time around, although I’m going to be in a much bigger and busier city, I feel prepared and ready for the challenge.

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