Saturday, May 30, 2009
We reached sunny Goa by 2pm. Mamma sashayed into Fort Aguada lobby smelling of sick from head to toe, with the final throw up session happening as he stepped past the imposing doorman. You bet all the staff remember him and enquire kindly about his health each time he passes said entrance area edging away carefully while doing so.
A lie down after being washed cleaned up and force fed Electral did wonders and we were all set for the beach.
Did mamma mention we had packed the entire toy basket in one suitcase? Toys for the beach selected, packed in plastic bag, shorts pulled up over nu swimmin tunks and floral Hawaiin shirt worn and self examined carefully from every angle. "I lookin very hansome?" Mamma assured him his conclusion was accurate. "You is also lookin very priddy, mom." Mamma put this approval down to the fact that she was wearing more make up than clothes compared with her regular Mumbai dress code.
Mom is his latest term of endearment for yours truly. Frankly the one I loved best was the simple Maa. But I digress. "Thank you brat, shall we leave?"
"Pops, you is coming?" He enquired of his father kindly. "Don wastetime. Is already evening. If you don gerready fast I will leave you alone in dhotel. Den yu wilfeel very sad."
We reached the beach. Sat down at a shack. The pappa started on the beers. The mamma sipped her ice tea. The child sipped his chocolate milk. The sun sank in a fiery blaze. The brat sighed deeply. "I is nod going back tu Bombay. I is staying here only in Goa. Bombay is very boreding."
(To be continued)
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Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Therefore, we will be on a leave of absence for four days. Bear with us. Transmission will resume Tuesday. Updates on events du jour from Fort Aguada will be posted via the servile phone whenever time, exhaustion and irritation with spouse and child permits. Mamma requests all to chuck in a quick prayer to the Gods above that we dont tour neighbouring states before landing up at our destination this time round.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
I normally dont cross the blogs, but this one I just couldnt let go.
And what is worse is the woman is not putting up any of the comments informing her that the world knows she's flicked stuff.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The brat's pint sized friends had their fathers down helping them swing across the jungle gym and cycle and such like. The pappa never takes the brat down. The brat went up and whined about it. Mamma adding requisite key to the protests. "Other pappas are teaching your son to swing and climb," she said. The shame on you hung heavy in the air between the two.
The next evening, the Pappa changed into tshirt and jeans out of the shorts he had been lolling around all day and took the brat down. The brat couldnt believe his luck. He clutched his pappa's hand bursting all over the seams, metaphorically of course, pigs will fly before the brat bursts any seams, with pride. Calling out to all his pals enroute, "Lookit my pappa's come down to playwidme tuday."
"A, A, see, my pappa's comedaun tu playwidme."
Father and son went to the sand pit, and the playing started. Only pappa had got the message confused a bit. The play in brat's dictionary had gotten confused with military training in pappa's dictionary. Mamma traipsed along the jogging track watching the duo. "Pappa, Pappa, whatchyuis doin?" "I donwantu swing again. I is nod climbing. I don wantu run ten times." The evening breeze carried the squawks of brat's protests far and clear. People came into balconies and some most naturally wondering if this needed to be reported to relevant authorities, aka mamma, and mamma fielded calls from friends asking just what the Pappa was upto that the child was yelling in protest. Many rounds of swinging, climbing, jungle gym and running later, the brat and the pappa collapsed, exhausted into a conveniently empty swing, sweat pouring off their faces. The brat sulking. The Pappa content that he had made his son that much more of a man today.
The brat sat in the world weary way he has when things dont go to script. A slight frown marring his perfect brow. Then he spoke.
"Pappa, tomorrow, led it be. Mamma will ged me to d park. You go offis."
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Mamma explained patiently that the party would happen tomorrow as the birthday was tomorrow.
"Big peepul pud balloons on d walls?"
Mamma hastily divested him of such notions, dreading the sticking of said balloons on the walls after the harried blowing up and said balloons and the even more dreaded tying them up process. "No love, big people dont do balloons on the walls party, they just cut cake and eat dinner."
He looked puzzled but persisted.
"Big peepul get budday presents?"
"Yes," replied Mamma. "Anyone can get birthday presents."
The brat thought long and hard again.
And fell silent.
In the evening, he ran to open the door when his father arrived and led him straight to the wardrobe where he had seen Mamma hide Pappa's birthday present. Opened the door of said wardrobe and pulled out carefully wrapped parcel from hiding place sandwiched between pyjamas and nightgowns on Shelf B. And happily chuffed with self like a mini rooster, handed it over to Pappa.
"Happy Budday Pappa!!!!" he squeaked. "Thank you beta," replied a delighted Pappa and proceeded to demolish wrapping paper in the most un-recyclable fashion.
The brat stood by, hopping from foot to foot with excitement. "You laikt it Pappa?"
"Yes, beta, I like it a lot," replied the Pappa who likes anything that comes in a bottle and smells strongly. And needs to be sprayed. In case you're thinking other things.
"Now wherez my redurn geef?"
Monday, May 18, 2009
Girl with pretty flowered dress hot off the tailor's sewing machine (What??? this was the pre historic era, where you went to shops, picked up fabrics, went with fabric to tailors, grovelled at his feet, flipped through totally frayed design books and threw selves at tailor's feet in order to have said fabric converted into frock in time for the festivities it was bought for. Yes, this was also the era one got four new 'frocks' a year, for Christmas, for Eid, for the birthday and one random gift from kind relative returning from abroad for brief visit and therefore the distributor of largesse). Wears said frock and trips across to the playground to show off said frock to friends. One mite, with unnecessary demonstration of jealousy, splats a handful of muck on said dress. Girl bursts into bawling tears and then picks up handful of muck and splats splatter right back.
And stalks off leaving staring lot of mites behind, none of whom will ever dare spatter her again if they value their precious lives.
Cut to 2009
Brat puts on his new bummudas and tshird and goes down to the park to model said new raiment before the gawping masses. Disgruntled critter amongst gawpers takes it upon himself to divest brat of the primeval sin of vanity and heaves a pailfull of sand over him. The brat looks down at his ruined Ben 10 tshird in horror and gasps in rage. And then collars the offender and begins pummelling him to within an inch, to a cheering crowd gathered round. Mamma, who is doing her rounds wonders what the floor show is and dives in headfirst to dig out the child who is none too worse for wear. His opponent? An eight year old who almost reaches Mamma's shoulders.
"He made my tshird dirdy. So I punch him and hit him and tell him he's a bad boy. Okay Mamma? You is nod angry wid me? You is talkin to me?"
Mamma is a grudging mix of admiration and admonishing. She spews the spiel of resolving issues without fisticuffs to a not so repentant brat, and chortles within herself. The brat will survive. Even if he has to punch his way through the world.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
The brat looked at mamma, resplendent like a beached whale post ODing on extra krill. "Mamma, I don't wantugo home."
Mamma twitched the corner of her eyebrow up in question. Verbalising would require too much energy to be expended and might disturb the general feeling of benevolence ad infinitum I touched on earlier.
"You is nod shaooding ad me in nana house. You is nod saying do yer homevurk. You is oney eading an sleeping. Lesh stay here oney."
Yes. Mamma so doesn't need to get on the weighing scales right now. The tenously adhered to diet has been cheerfully cast off with ne'er a backward glance and plates heaped to within a foot are being balanced on protruding paunch in order to keep both hands free for speedeating practice.
Alas, the brat will never go into such rhapsodies over his mothers cooking ever.
Right now, the clarion call begins at 11 am. "Nana," he pipes up loud and sharp post demolishing milk, cheese, bread and egg in the name of a healthy breakfast barely an hour before. "I is so hungry. Why yer nod giving me lunch. "
Maybe mamma and son will need cranes to extricate them from the premises when it is time to leave.
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So tell me who you are, where you come from and what makes you crash land at karmickids? Make a fat old lady happy. And of course, I can start checking out the holiday brochures. Rejkyavik and Easter Islands. I'm really curious now. Want do a virtual handshake?
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Thursday, May 14, 2009
And of course belts, and shuz and machchin machchin sunglasses he can squint under.
Mamma shudders at the thought of adolescence striking such a dress up control freak. I miss the good old days when I just wrapped him in swaddling cloths that he had no power to express his disgust of, except by pooping or peeing immediately in said boring blah swaddle clothes the moment he was set down. Ah, for those days of innocence, and no 'mamma gerlost of mah house.'
Anyway, the brat was in a jumping trippy overexcited frame of mind to be going to nana's house in the light of day and woke up bouncing off the walls. "Whatchyupakked my bag?" he demanded, unzipping said bag and throwing out all the contents to the floor. "Why yu dint pack my blue tshird and my buttonwalla jeanz? And my Ben 10 Diamond Head tshird? And my Hulk tshird? And my Spyderman costoom? An my Badman costoom?"
"Why dont you pack what you want to take along yourself, brat?" mamma suggested in calm, zen fashion which a saner brat would have immediately second guessed to be fair warning to clear the premises while he was still in one piece. "Okay," he chirped in happy innocence, and sat down to the task at hand. "I wan Badman costoom and tshird. An Spiderman costoom. And Ben 10 tshirds. All of them. (Yes, dear reader, as the name of the character suggests we have all ten of them abominations, thankfully none yet of the new expletive deleted series called Ben 10 Alien Force.) He climbed into his cupboard, sat on the said shelf containing his various superheroed tshirts and threw the ones he wanted onto the bed, of course jumbling up the careful stacks of folded tshirts. Mamma watched in stunned silence as the entire lot of tshirts came tumbling right down to the floor. The brat sat happily, legs dangling off the edge of the shelf. "Mamma," he commanded. "Pack the blue tshird and the red foodball tshird and the black badman dark night tshirt."
Mamma obeyed meekly, too stunned by the total mess of said cupboard and spit polished floor to protest.
The brat clambered down and upturned his entire toy basket onto said bed already run over by clothes of various specificiations. Mamma sighed a sigh such as angels might have sighed when Lucifer strutted around chucking his harp and getting his pitchfork points sharpened. The brat threw handfulls of random action figures into the bag until it was very clear that this was a bag that would either close or give up the ghost or zip in the process.
Having done his mite of packing, the brat ran off to get bathed and ready. Mamma, with no early morning energy to get into arguments about the mess that needed to be cleant up and the refused items from said upturned toy basket needing to be put back into said bereft basket, began doing the needful herself. In normal circumstances she would have bellowed like a bull spotting waving red flags held by smarmy matadors.
The brat stared at her puzzled and then came right back, and began picking up with her. "Mamma, you is very good girl. You is cleaning up all the mess you made when you did packing. I help you. I is praood of you."
Guess who was deposited at Nana's house an hour later his ears reddened and smarting from the barking he got.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
I wonder now, what would it take me to take a loaded gun to my son? What levels of delinquency would he need to fall to before I bring myself to accept that he does not need support, that he needs to be cast off. Would it be stealing? I would look into the reasons and get him counselled and give him a second chance. Would it be drug addiction? I would try to get him detoxified and back on track. Would it be alcoholism? I would still have hope. And still try to get him off the habit. Would it be cheating? Would it be joblessness? Would it be sexual offences? Would it be a total disregard for decency and honesty and living a life that is in consonance with those he lives with as part of a family. What if it were all of the above?
It is a difficult situation to be in. I wish no mother ever has to be in such a situation. I do know though that I am not blinded by maternal love. I hope I become the kind of mom Nargis embodied in that movie. And I pray my son never gives me reason to become that sort of a mom.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Pappa grunted out a snore in reply. Brat clambered onto Pappa's rising and subsiding belly. And prised Pappa's eyelids open. The bellow that this resulted in had expectant mothers in the vicinity give birth immediately.
Brat clambered down post haste and fled to the drawing room, closing the bedroom door not so gently behind him.
"Pappa iz shoudingadme." He informed mamma in terrified tones. "I only tole him to gerrup. Its bright mornin. You only said nobody should sleep in bright morning.
Mamma nodded sympathetically.
"Next time Pappa makes me gerrup in bright morning, I will also shoudadhim. Loudly."
The brat had his dance class on Saturday afternoon, for which he spent almost the entire Saturday morning laying out his clothes. And changing the permutation combinations. And pulling out accessories like gloves, belts, caps, bandanas, sunglasses and such like.
Around half an hour before we were due to leave for said class, he lay down on the bed and began snoring gently. Mamma sprinkled water, yelled, tickled, intimidated and he couldnt be bothered to open an eye. Finally, mamma carried him physically and hauled him off to said dance class in the ensemble he had drifted off to sleep in. Namely pyjamas and a tshirt with a floral shirt on top. Dont ask. He dresses like a bag lady at home. He awoke in the thick of the class to realise he was dressed like a floral garden and hid behind a pillar, refusing to come out. When Mamma went to investigate, she was greeted with an indignant kick. "Why you is brung me in dis? Eveybudy will laffatme."
He was dragged out after much coaxing by said dance sir, and did his routine. At the end of the class, he fled without a backward glance back up home. Mamma ran behind to find him cowering in a corner of the lift. Terrified of being spotted by udder peepul. We reached home, he changed into his swankiest multipocketed chain belted, shiny gold leaf horrific tshirt worn and fingerless gloves and sunglasses added to complete the look. He marched down with a swagger. Accosted the first mite he met on the way to the park. "Lookatmenow. I lookin very hansome no? I wearing proper clothes now." The terrified victim nodded meekly. The brat was satisfied, and heaved an audible sigh of relief and validation, and looked back at a horrified mamma trailing in his wake, wondering how to stop this inquisitor. "I is going to ask eveybudy if I is lukin very hansome..."
On Sunday morning, the brat awoke at the unearthly hour of six am, when saner children sleep and let their long suffering parents sleep as well. He began pushing insistently at the mountain labelled Pappa snoring next to him, apparently having forgotten the ear drum rupturing bellow of the previous day. "Pappa gerrup. Lesh go to the playzone. And den we go to Sopperzsop to buy toyz."
Pappa opened one sleepreddened eye in a questioning glance.
Brat is nothing, if not a brave brat. He repeated his demand which naturally was a red flag to Pappa bull. The bellow could be heard for miles around and the echo had tidal waves breaking the banks of the creek up front.
The brat fled out, and mamma fled out behind him.
The brat looked at mamma piteously. "Why this pappa shoutz eveyday in d mornin? How it can be a gudmornin then?"
Monday, May 04, 2009
"Mamma," he piped up, his tone indicative of the searing questioning that was to follow.
"Yes, brat," replied mamma, wits being collected back from the land of nod where they were fleeing swiftly given half a snore.
"When I grow up and become very beeg youwil grow ole and die?" A slight note of panic crept into his voice. Which mamma, in her half sleep failed to detect. And replied flatly, "Yes," believing honesty is the best policy. "An pappa? An daadi? An nana?" The panic amplified. His voice sounded close to tears. "Eveybudy wil die when I grow up?"
Mamma thought hard and long and swiftly changed her policy given that tears had started pouring down a small face.
And gentle sobbling had begun. The snoring pappa mountain stirred and propped himself up in silent query.
"I don wantu becom beeg. Mamma, you don grow ole an die. Stay young only. Whuwil feed me and gimme bath and take me to skul?"
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Sunday, May 03, 2009
The brat lay on mamma's hand in normal fashion. And looked on transfixed. "What is it, brat?" Asked mamma, looking at the expression of awe and wonder. The brat blinked and gulped and declared in the quietest tones ever, "Mamma you is got black grass in yer armholes!"
That visit to the parlour is so overdue. Or maybe mamma could do a Julia Roberts.
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Friday, May 01, 2009
Each mommy to be had a virtual doula assigned to her, and I was doula to Poppins mom and became doula by default to Maggie. I had already seen the delectable Munch earlier, when Maggie was down in Mumbai last year. Sweetpea I was dying to see!
My chance came the other day with Poppins Mom down in Mumbai to attend a wedding literally a suburb away. We planned to meet at Inorbit, and yours truly rushed through the day to reach on time. The brat was left at home. Reached the meeting spot to find Poppins Mom as glowingly gorgeous as ever and the Sweetpea! A clapping, happy, smiling bundle of delight, who even broke her own rules to sit in her doula aunts lap for quite a bit.
Just adorable, creating tremendous uterine contractions with her cuteness. For all ye who were part of the mega baby shower, am so so glad I had the chance to be part of it. I definitely felt an extra something connection to the Sweetpea almost wondering why she didn't come to me immediately, arms outstretched.
Tharini, Altoid, Gauri, Sue, MayG and all you wonderful blogging mommies, take a bow.
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