Though its not going to make me a rich man financially, I'm still liking the idea of having finally written something!!! :-)
P.S. It's not just a rip-off of this blog... some of the events are not mentioned on this blog :-)
“Papa, you should stop smoking”, Stwabbit advises.
“Why?” I ask.
Stwabbit: “Because, it’s not good for health.”
Me: “So, what happens if I keep smoking?”
Stwabbit: “You will die!”
“And, what will happen if I die?” I persist, hoping to get some emotional jazz from her.
“Who will drive us around, then?!!”
A couple we know is considering adopting a child - they have a biological child, and wish to complete the family with an adopted girl child.
Stwabbit broke this news to me.
“What does adoption mean?” I ask her.
“Oh, when people have children and are unable to take care of them, they give the children away to people who can. That’s adoption”, she replies, in a matter-of-fact manner. “Just like in the movie Juno.”
Profound wisdom.
Stwabbit’s teachers are a frustrated lot. Here’s what they had to say to the Missus, at the parent-teacher meeting…
1. She is EXTREMELY talkative. Though she sits on the first bench, next to the quietest boy in the class, that does not deter her from yapping continuously. The ‘quietest boy in the class’ is no longer so - she has taught him the joys of yapping, too!
2. She loves “object talk”. She delivers a speech to the entire class, every hour…
3. She talks to the Disney characters on her pencil-box. She also makes all her classmates greet her pencil-box every day!
4. She’s been giving fashion tips to her teachers, expecting them to be meticulous in the way they dress…
5. The teachers thought she’d control her yapping if she were made monitor of the class, so they gave her the coveted post for a fortnight… in gross abuse of the position, she would go to every desk and chat with her friends. That put a hole in the theory!
I feel bad at having missed the session - I’m going to make it a point to be there, the next time around!
When I reached home in the afternoon, yesterday, Stwabbit was taking a nap. Since it was time for her to be woken up, I went up to her and cuddled her. She stirred. She doesn’t like me cuddling her, especially on hot afternoons.
“Let me cuddle you”, I said. “Soon, you’ll get married and go away!”
Without opening an eye, she replied, “That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to get married and have children. I want to live in peace!”
On a recent visit to the zoo with Stwabbit and her friends, we saw some black bucks, among other animals. The Missus passed a comment: “Look! That’s what Salman Khan had shot!”
That night, Stwabbit had a question - “Why did Salman Khan (her favourite actor) shoot the black bucks?”
“For fun”, replied the Missus. “Some people hunt animals just for fun!”
“It’s not nice to kill harmless animals!” exclaimed Stwabbit.
The Missus, being a staunch vegetarian, saw a window of opportunity to propogate her preferences.
“Well, don’t you do the same when you kill harmless hens and fish, just to eat them?!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Stwabbit replied, “They are food! Besides, hens are not harmless - they pecked at Mr. Meddle (ref: Enid Blyton) when he tried to gather eggs!”
The conversation ended there, as the Missus couldn’t come up with a befitting reply.
A while later, Stwabbit made another profound observation.
“So, Salman Khan is a bad man. He’s no longer my favourite actor.”
“Then, who’s your favourite actor, now?” I asked.
“Hmm… I think it’s going to be Shahrukh Khan. Unless he’s been hunting harmless animals, too…!”
It’s 6:30 in the morning, and we’re all late in rising. Stwabbit has no intentions of going to school, and insists on stayng in bed.
The Missus tries to cajole her.
“Did you like the sandwiches in your tiffin yesterday?” she asks.
“Hmm… yes.”
“So, do you know what you’re going to have for tiffin today?”
“Yes.”
“What?” asks the Missus, a bit surprised.
“Nothing”, comes the reply.
“Why nothing?!!”
“Because I’m not going to school today. That’s why!!!”
It’s mid-May, and the heat is unbearable. I’ve just returned from an appointment with a client, and have travelled 46 kms. in the sweltering heat on my motorcycle. I’m back home, now, and have had a light lunch. I decide to take a nap.
I’m lying face down on the bed, the fan spinning at full speed above me. My hand dangles from the side of the bed and I find it a rather comfortable position. I drift off to sleep…
Suddenly, I sense some discomfort. I realise my dangling hand is no longer dangling - it’s resting on the bed. I adjust it to dangle again. Before I know it, it’s back on the bed! I open my eyes to see Stwabbit, a little more than a year old then, staring into my face with a mischievous grin. I am irritated - I let my hand dangle again, turn my face away and doze off again. Stwabbit dutifully puts my hand back on the bed. I look up and give her a strong glare. My glare is met with a toothless smile.
All my exhaustion seeps out. I break into a smile. She turns and crawls away, looking back playfully…
At times, the Missus and yours truly often try to mess with Stwabbit’s mind by telling her she has to choose whether she wants to be a boy or a girl. Last night, once the lights were out, we posed the same question to her. We told her that we had to inform her school about what she finally decides to be.
“I want to be a girl!” says Stwabbit.
“Why?” I ask. “Why don’t you want to be a boy, like your Papa?”
“I WANT TO BE A GIRL!” she reiterates, “I don’t want to have to wash my baby’s potty! That’s what Papa’s are for!”
“Mamma, would you like to buy this?”
We’re at a departmental store, purchasing our monthly groceries. Stwabbit is standing there, among the shelves, holing a tube of ‘Fair & Lovely’, a much-advertised fairness cream.
“No!” exclaims the Missus. “I’m fair enough, thank you!”
Stwabbit follows her around, tube in hand.
“You’ll look beautiful, like Aishwarya Rai!” she pleads.
“I don’t want to look like Aishwarya Rai! Put it back on the shelf!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure! PUT IT BACK!!!”
There’s a pregnant pause. Then, Stwabbit turns around and shrugs.
“Oh, well. If you don’t want to be fair and beautiful, that’s your problem!”
“Mamma, can you buy me a guitar?”
“Fine,” replies the Missus, without giving it much thought.
“And a tabla! I love the tabla!”
“Okay.”
“And could I have a piano, too?”
“Uh huh.”
This was getting too much for me. I couldn’t afford a piano even if I were to sell the shirt off my back.
“Is that it? Nothing more on your list?” I ask sarcastically.
“I’d like a bow and arrow, too,” Stwabbit replies.
“You can’t make music with a bow and arrow. What do you want that for?” I wonder aloud.
Without a moment’s hesitation, pat comes the reply:
“To shoot you with!”
My dad called me to remind me that I had yet to chronicle this incident…
Usually, it’s one of us who have to tell stories to Stwabbit. When my parents are around, my dad is the chosen one. One afternoon, though, Stwabbit decided it was her turn to entertain him. Here’s how the story went…
Once upon a time, deep in a forest, there lived a proud and mighty lion. All the other animal cowered when he roared. He was the king of all he surveyed. And, he lived life, king size.
One afternoon, having spent a hectic morning roaring and frightening the other creatures, and having had a satisfying meal on one of them, he settled down under a shady tree for his siesta. The lion snored, and that was almost as frightful as his roar.
A mouse, living nearby, was unable to partake of his afternoon nap because of the lion’s snoring. He decided to make the most of the situation and have some fun. He stepped out of his humble abode and crept up to the lion. The lion snored on. The mouse tugged at the lion’s tail. The lion snored on. The mouse climbed onto the lion’s back. The lion snored on. The mouse ran up and down the lion’s back. The lion couldn’t care less. The mouse decided to slide down the lion’s nose… whee… once, twice… The lion gave a mighty roar and caught the mouse deftly in his paw.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?” growled the lion.
“Uh… just admiring you, your Majesty,” squeaked the mouse.
“You tiny little creature… do you know that I could devour you in one gulp if I so desire?” said the lion.
“You probably could, but this is no time for a snack!” came the cheeky reply. The lion was taken aback.
The mouse continued, “Let’s cut a deal. You let me go, and I’ll give you an IOU. If you ever need my help, you can encash it!”
The lion was amused. “What use can you ever be to me?” he asked.
“Don’t bet on it, buddy boy. Here, note down my cell phone number, and if you’re ever in trouble, just give me a missed call,” said the mouse, matter-of-factly.
The lion extracted his cell phone from his arm-pit (lions don’t wear clothes, so they don’t have pockets, you know!) and noted down the number, just to humour the mouse.
“Ciao!” said the mouse, as he scampered away.
Days passed, and life in the forest continued as it had for ages. The lion was in his kingdom, God was in his Heaven and all was fine with the world. The lion soon forgot about his encounter with the mouse.
One fine day, as he strutted about complacently, the lion walked straight into a hunter’s trap. Finding himself trapped, he growled and roared. But, the Moving Finger had written, and having writ, moved own. The mighty lion had been captured. His end was near…
The lion , exhausted by all the roaring and growling, lay down, resigned to his fate. Tears streamed down his face as he recalled the glorious years he had spent, ruling the forest. Hours went by, and the lion lay tired and hungry, entangled in the net.
It was nearing dusk, when a thought struck the lion. He remembered the IOU of the mouse, and wondered if that could be encashed before his imminent death. After all, you don’t waste IOUs, do you?
So, the lion reaches out for his cell phone, and gives the mouse a missed call. And one more…
Suddenly, as though by magic, the mouse appeared before the lion!
“In a spot, pal?” asked the mouse.
“Uh… kind of. Hey, do you think you can get me out of this mess? You owe me one, you know,” the lion reminded him.
“Sure thing. What are friends for?”
The lion squirmed at the thought, for noone really wants a mouse for a friend, but he decided to let it pass for the moment.
The mouse made a few calls, and before long there stood an army of mice before the lion. In a flash, the mice had gnawed away the net. The lion was free!
Well, to cut a long story short, the lion and the mouse became inseparable pals from that day on.
Moral: Always carry your cell phone; and remember, help is always a missed call away!
Stwabbit’s version, my eloquence. We make a great team!
Last evening, the missus, my daughter, and yours truly were traveling home, doing our balancing act on my bike. Not one to stay silent for long, Stwabbit (as we shall call her henceforth) entered the inquisitive mode.
“Papa, why are thieves bad?”, she asked.
“Well, it’s because they steal from others. They don’t work to earn, but instead take away from others”, I replied.
“How do they steal?”, was the next question.
“When people go to work and their houses are empty, they break locks and enter houses”, was my explanation.
The next thing I know, she’s bawling.
“What’s wrong?”, I inquire.
She bawls harder. I’m perplexed.
Further probing on my part reveals the following, between sobs:
“Why don’t they ever come to our house? Don’t they consider my toys worth stealing?”
Early one Monday morning, on our way to school, I noticed my daughter was not as chirpy as she usually is. She had a glum expression on her face.
“Why are you so unhappy?”, I asked.
“I don’t like going to school!”, she replied.
“Why? You have so much fun in school. You get to meet your friends and play with them”, I reasoned.
“”My teachers torture me!” she exclaimed.
This worried me. Was she, at the age of six, being subject to harsh punishment meted out by her teachers? Was her school, known for it’s orthodox views, subjecting her to corporal punishment?
“What do they do to you? Do they hurt you?”, I asked anxiously.
“They don’t let me play all day! They expect me to learn new words and write them! They don’t even let me fall asleep in class!”, she burst out.
Maybe I should bring this up at the next parent-teacher meeting…
I attended my daughter’s parent-teacher meeting at her school this morning.
“Your daughter is very intelligent, Mr. S”, the teacher said.
I beamed at the other parents, feeling a notch above the rest.
“However,” the teacher continued, “she prefers to keep her intelligence under wraps! All she’s interested in is talking all day!”
Ouch! It was like falling off the balcony from the 10th floor!
We’re in the doctor’s waiting room. There are three others ahead of us. The missus is leafing through a magazine, I’m twiddling my thumbs, and my daughter’s sitting on a chair with a bored expression on her face.
“When do we go in?” she pipes.
“Not for a while. There are others ahead of us”, explains the missus, without looking up from her magazine.
A frown envelops my daughter’s face. Tears swell up in her eyes…
“I can’t be first at anything! I don’t stand first in school, and now I can’t be first at the doctor’s clinic. Why?!”
Needless to say, we were allowed in - first!
My daughter regarded this photograph with a frown on her face. I was reeling under the amazing progress in genetic engineering, so a frown was not exactly the reaction I had expected.
But then, I had forgotten that a daughter is essentially a female of the species. She explained,
“This is what happens when you don’t take care of your skin. Look at this poor zebra, it’s skin has started peeling off! That’s why I apply cream all the time!”
“Mama, if I take a bath with this soap, will all the kidas wash away?”
This question was posed to my wife while she was giving my baby a bath. The soap alluded to is Lifebuoy, a brand which claims to offer a germ-free living experience (where else, but on television?!!).
“Of course”, replies the wife (oops, I did it again!).
“Good!” exclaims my daughter, as she scrubs herself violently with the bar of soap.
By now, the Missus is curious - why is the li’l one asking this question? Has she been up to something we should know about?
“Darling, why do you ask?”
“Oh, Papa says I’m full of kidas. I’m going to wash them all off!”
My apologies to all those who might not be familiar with Indian terminologies. Just pass up this post - it’s too complex to be translated!
Children have increasing wants. And adults take it upon themselves to spoil them silly.
There had been a phase in my daughter’s life, when she would rattle off a list if she was ever asked, “Sweetheart, what do you want?”. It’s cute for a while, but it gets rather embarrassing at times when your child makes demands from perfect strangers. It would be rather awkward for the missus and myself.
Fortunately, problems tend to present their own solutions over time. Now that my daughter’s been exposed the to world and how it works (through television, what else!), she’s learnt a thing or two from beauty pageants. Now, if she’s asked the question, she answers with a smile: “World Peace!”
At 4 years of age, her interest in boys was amusing and disturbing at the same time. Looking around, I noticed there were enough males to keep any woman happy for a long, long time. What exactly did she mean?
Realizing that she hadn’t quite got through to me, she explained, “Look, Papa, there are so many sea-girls (seagulls!) flying about. Where are the sea-boys?”
