Saturday, October 29, 2011

Of Big and Small Brudders

The brat, sitting on sofa at Nana house, having been fed Nana's fabled chikken curry rice, looking to all purposes like a python just having ingested a goat and therefore immobile, watching Dabangg on television.
Chulbul Robinhood Pandey cracks a Main Badaa Bhai Tu Chota Bhai quip to Makhichoos Pandey. The brat jumps up in shock.
"Mamma," he sqùawked. "How d big brudder is shorter than the small brudder? He dint drink two times milk everyday? "
Mamma went on her metaphoric knees to thank the Lord for this heavensent opportunity.
"Yes, yes, yes," she replied and promptly elucidated on the need to have two glasses of milk a day in order to become tall and hansome.
This evening he reminded Mamma, "Gimme my glassofmilk. Or I will stay short."
Thank you, Salman. For being shorter than your chota brudder.
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Friday, October 28, 2011

So we went to see Ra.One

The brat has been itching to see Ra.One ever since the promos began on
the small screen. Everytime the Chammak Challo song would come on,
he'd bounce up and do the hand movements. Everytime the Criminal song
was on, he'd ask me leading questions about Akon, his antecedents, his
music, etc, leaving me to do some serious google baba research in
order to answer his queries. And then he was gifted a Ra.One
Playstation for his birthday which pretty much sealed the deal.
"I wantu see Ra.One in 3D. Is a game. ShahRukhKhan is a robot. I like
robots. They can run on walls."
Ergo, we went to see Ra.One. In 3D. The movie didn't start too
promisingly. Mamma was frothing at the mouth at the inappropriate
language being used. Abuses flew fast and thick while mamma tried hard
to cover the brat's ears. And got asked cheekily, "Wot means Tere Baap
Ka B%$#@d." for all her efforts.
The storyline was wafer thin, what made Mamma wake up from her
snoozing twice over was the entry of Rajinikant in a two minute walk
in part, which had Mamma whistling and hooting. The brat though, was
totally captivated with the special effects and the gaming and the
villians and sat openmouthed enough for wandering insects of the
flying variety to make a detour to inspect his dentriture. "Ossum" was
the verdict, when we emerged. Though Mamma had to be nudged awake and
told to snore softer in periodic intervals of the movie.
Then the questions flew thick and fast. "Shahrukhan made dis movie fer his son."
"Yes."
"Ossum. An he made the playstation game also fer his son."
"Yes, son."
"Wat's his son's name?"
"Aryan."
"Is so lucky. I wish dat my fadder wuld make for me a superhero movie."
I raised my eyebrows.
"Bud fusht pappa hastu become thin udderwise that suit will not fit him."
Errmmm.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Of 'I is faymuss'

Yesterday's edition of the Mint carried an article on the invasion of the Cricket Attax. Mamma had kindly. been interviewed by the journalist writing the piece for her opinion on why these infernal pieces of cards had gained the popularity they had, which of course, being the loquacious person she is, had shared her two cents of wisdom. Consequent to which the article led off with Krish Manral's birthday party.
When mamma showed the brat the article, his eyes widened in disbelief. He grabbed the newspaper and scampered down, it being time to go down to the park anyway.
By the time mamma reached down, he had already collected a sizeable audience around him and was explaining the article to them.
"This is Mint. Is newspaper. Only fer big peepul. Who do markitt. My pappa reads. Dat's my name. An my budday pahty. On d twennyfusht October. I'm givving krikit attax as redurn geefs. Yer coming?"
At last count my guest list had tripled.
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Monday, October 17, 2011

The birthday draws nearer

Just a few days to go till the brat turns eight. Eight.
Pick me up from the floor and hold those smelling salts under my nose
please, and yes, I will pay for the damaged tiling, thank you.
Eight.
Wasn't it just yesterday that he was a mewling parcel of flesh the
nurse deposited in my arms, giving me an anxiety attack about the fact
that this was it. I was now responsible for this person I had created
and that included giving up sleep for pretty much the next two years.
More if you keep in mind that he co-slept with us until very recently,
until a tormented Pappa, absolutely fed up of being shunted to the
very edge of the bed while said spawn of sperm slept in Vitruvian man
fashion occupying 9/10ths of said bed, despatched him to grandmotherly
care through the night given that sleeping in his own bed alone meant
every five minutes would have a rap on our door demanding
investigations of evilz hiding under his bed.
This morning he woke up early, given that his Diwali break had begun
and he could have slept in till whatever time he decided. He rubbed
his eyes, took himself into the bathroom, brushed, bathed and dressed
himself, and presented himself in full spendour. To "go to offis".
His video games held neatly in his hand. I flicked away a tear or two
of realising I was close to drawing my redundancy pay.
He walks on roads by himself, and refuses to have his hand held, which
makes for some heart stopping moments. He goes into stores alone, buys
stuff, gets change and comes back bursting with pride at a sense of
achievement. He no longer brat speaks too. But he does do the
occasional smart quip that makes me swell up chest in maternal pride
at him being a chip off this old block. He is taking a keen interest
in the planning of his party this year, deciding the theme, the guest
list, the return gifts and choosing his cake. He has an opinion on
everything, and no hesitation in stating it. Even if this is
contrarion to what everyone around him is saying.
Me? I'm hunting for some laser beam contraption thingie I can put him
under which will zap him right back to toddlerdom.
Okay. I exaggerate. But you get the drift. The maternal heart is heavy.
And I guess, I'm still better off than the moms of teenagers who are
spoken to only to be asked for car keys and weekly allowance.
So here's the brat. All dressed and dapper. As clicked this morning.
The birthdays. They come too soon.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Birthday party time again

Too soon, too soon. It barely feels like I've gotten over the madness
of the previous birthday and it's time for the next one again. You
might just find me shivering in a corner of a room, muttering
incoherently, the glazed eyed terrified look one has when one is
surrounded by hellions. Which I will be. Inevitably.
Around 30 to 40 of them pintsizes enclosed in a small room does not
make for much sanity to last through the course of an entire evening.
Anyway, since I am a mother committed to the task of having her child
have the best memories of his childhood possible, I've gone through
with the birthday party shebang all over again, even though I might
have to extricate my teeth and sell my fillings to pay for it.
This includes, hiring of venue, hiring of caterers, hiring of
decorators, hiring of games host, DJ and tattoo artist, and of course,
cake and return gift. Which I've been told has to be Cricket Attax.
"Fer everyone" Boys and girls. We are gender neutral in our love for
Cricket Attax apparently. And the theme of the party has to be
Cricket. I have nodded by head non enthusiastically thinking about how
wonderful it would have been if the child had inherited his X
chromosome donor's love for the printed word and fallen in love with
the wonderful characters from Enid Blyton or Roald Dahl. I could just
imagine a games host as a Willie Wonka and the servers at the party as
Oompa Loompas. But that is so not to be.
So a cricket party it will be. Venue, caterer, decorator, DJ Host, etc
all done. Now to keep the disprin and alcohol on standby to be able to
smile through the entire event beatifically.
Next year, I'm so just taking him out of town for his birthday.

Monday, October 03, 2011

Of aggression, playgrounds and extremes....

The brat, by all standards, is quite a 'fightercock' in his own terms
and that of the playground. In the new complex too, he has quickly
established his reputation as one who never hesitates to fight when
required. And sometimes even when not required.
In the same playground are a pair of twins, both boys whom I have been
observing for the past month and a half that I have been here. They
are approximately the same age as the brat, come down unsupervised and
are the baap of aggressive.
In terms of language used, in terms of fights picked up, in terms of
general behaviour. Two mothers warned me not to allow brat to play
with them, that complaints to their parents had fallen on deaf ears
and these kids got away with everything with nary a gently rebuke.
Yesterday I was strolling around when I saw both of them and the brat
involved in a vicious fist fight where both of them had ganged up
against the brat. I pulled the punching kids apart and tried to
reason. I tried to ask what had led to the fight and found that it was
general namecalling that had set the brat off. The brat was asked to
ignore.
The next I see them in a corner chatting with another little boy. The
boy waits till they turn round the corner and comes to warn me that
the twins are planning to throw stones at the brat. The brat, playing
peacefully with other friends now, is heckled by them and runs to
answer the namecalling with some of his own, when a stone whizzes
through the air and misses his forehead by a fraction. I run to them
and ask them to desist with the stone throwing and tell them in the
nicest way possible that is harmful and it could hurt the brat really
seriously, and I would be compelled to come tell their parents about
their behavior and their language.
They laughed in my face.
Come tell what you want, they told me. Our parents wont say anything.
Other kids gathered around and corroborated. "We go and complain and
their mother shouts back at us."
The manager of the club house passing by stopped and told me that
these eight year olds come down with knives in their pockets and have
been known to threaten other kids with it and all complaints to
parents have been ignored. "Instead, madam, they shout at me to mind
my own business. Don't let your son play with them."
Another mom walking by noticed the fracas and said, "We have all
warned our children to stay away from these two, they are very
dangerous."
Eight year olds. Dangerous. My heart sank. I wondered what they would
be link by the time they entered High School. The brat was duly asked
to steer clear. I gave them as much of a talk as I could about how no
children played with them, and did they like being disliked by all,
but I felt I was talking to a carapace with everything bouncing off
them.
I felt sorry for them. They had a life ahead of them, and were already
being shunned by their peers and considered it a status symbol that
everyone was scared of them. They had each other to play with. They
didn't need friends. But what sort of parents couldn't see that their
children needed to be brought in line?