The brat has a new icon. Ishaan Awasthi has been discarded for the mighty brute The Great Khali, who has, thanks to some wonderful endocrinal imbalance, attained an ungodly height of 7 ft 3 inches. So you have the wonderful vision, in black pants and no tshirt of gigantic megalithic Great Khali making mincemeat of the hapless person left inside the ring by cruel sadists, and a three foot nothing critter hopping on his feet in glee at the vision. Also in black pants and no tshirt, in obeisance to his new hero. "Mamma, mamma. Khalbali breaking uncle's head." Mamma feigns instant deafness and wonders how to get the infernal remote to herself, away from the wicked manipulations of Pappa, who no doubt, worried by the fruit of his loins worrisome preferences for Barbie dolls, and Barbie cars, and kitchen sets, and playing house house, has got the brat hooked onto WWF.
Everything from chocolate to brand new crayons to paint sets, to going to the park is offered as bait to get them eyes away from the gratuitious violence playing out in loops on the screen. Then the brat bounds up, suffused with the energy that comes from watching a fight too many. "Come mamma," he says jumping all around the room with nervous energy that refuses to dissipate until some fisticuffs have been swung. With Mamma being the target of the dissipation of said energy. "Lets do fighting fighting. I will be Khalbali. You be uncle with broken head." Mamma bristles. And then takes her revenge. "Does Khali fight with an aunty? No. He fights with an uncle." Brat looks quizzical. Wondering where this is leading upto. "So you must also fight with uncle. Go fight with Pappa." And then smirks as Pappa defends himself haplessly against the slew of tiny fisticuffs denting his stomach.