When friends come over

The monsoons have arrived in Mumbai with "all d thundering and lightning. Much to brat's disgust. He sat staring at the pouring skies with a scowl on his face.
He had finished his milk and his homework and it was now his usual time to go down to the park. The sky was showing no signs of letting up.
"Mamma, can I go down to play?"
Mamma indicated the rains with a gesture.
"Can I go down to play in the lobby?"
The lobby of the building we live in is often as wet at the compound and one has seen teeth being lost thanks to slipping on the wet marble thanks to insane running at top speeds, and therefore, the requeest was firmly denied.
"Den what I'll do?" said the brat plaintively, scowl still in place.
Mamma informed him that he had his books, his computer, his toys, his painting stuff, and therefore enough to occupy himself. And mamma had not yet mentioned television.
"I'm boredt. Whu I'll play with?"
Call your friends over home, mamma suggested, mourning the fact, that unlike her childhood when she was very happy to be left alone with a book to bury her nose in, the brat was the social kinds who needed an army of his four footers around to make his evening worth his while.
He traipsed off happily to the intercom and within the next five minutes rounded up his brigade of desperados. The bell began ringing incessantly two seconds later as a troop of six year olds filed in and simultaneously dived into the toy basket. Mamma got out the bowls of chocolate biscuits and wafers and buried her head in her book, and managed to complete three pages of a very gripping novel where everyone is cheating on their partner. Suddenly a loud crash, and sudden ensuing silence.
Mamma jumped up and ran to the brat's room. The entire contents of the toy basket lay overturned on the floor and all the mites looked on in horror, awaiting the yelling they were sure they were going to get. Mamma looked at the disaster all over the floor, and smiled. And asked them all to start tidying up and keeping the toys back in, and only playing with the toys they needed. And mamma stood and watched as they did so.
Once the room was clear, mamma moved back to her book and let them play in peace. Peace being a relative term since murder and mayhem seemed most audible. Finally, respective mothers of said children called and demanded their kids return home this very second, and tomorrow is school day etc. Mamma had all of them help the brat clear the room, put things back in place. Take their empty bowls and glasses into the kitchen and leave the room as spic and span as it was when they first entered.
As a particularly recalcitrant critter struggled against his natural instinct of leaving the mess be, he whined to the brat. "Next time, mere ghar aana. Wahan bacho ko kaam nahin karna padta hai!"
The brat gave him one dark look that would cut through steel.
"Arey, you is a beeg boy now. You hafftudu your own safai apne aap. Thats what beeg peepul do. If your mamma clears your room, dat means you is still a small chile."
Mamma smiled in evil manner from the shadows.