This is what I'd written originally. I'm posting all of it now, because I know it won't be read, such a long time after. Which is a good thing, I suppose...
Yesterday, in giddy anticipation of today, being the mother of 7 and all, something happened. Again.
Something involving an unlikely angel. An angel with a perky moustache and a pert nose that’s given to showering meteors of attitude on just about everybody, Prime Minister down; an angel who likes to keep up with the latest mobile phone schemes which he doesn’t fail to bring to his employer’s notice at opportune moments [like when the employer’s sharing a quiet, hand-holding moment with someone special]; an angel who hates being asked to stay overtime, for if he is, he’ll make sure you know how displeased he is by taking the longest, slowest, winding route around the city at 1 am.
An angel called T. D. [which is the obvious shortening of a very potently weighty name] who likes to turn up the volume of his favourite song on the radio, regardless of the tone, quality and length of conversation in the backseat.
T.D. [as he insists on being called even by his wife, we suspect] has, on the last two occasions I’ve met him, displayed the most puzzling hint of foreknowledge.
Every time he sees me, there’s a glint in his eyes. A glint that says “I know about all that’s gone wrong, but you’re right didi [big sister] this isn’t just coincidence. Now, where were we? May I please direct you to the stars?”
He smiles. And I smile, each time just as nervous as before. And somehow, once I follow his directions, everything seems spiffy, bright, hopeful.
***
I met my darling little Tara too, yesterday. Brat who shrieks and wants to grow up super fast just so she can chew gum.
Tara [abruptly stopping her squealing at the chappal-skating we were in the middle of]: “what are you eating?”
H: “who me? I’m errr… nothing, I was talking to myself.”
Tara: “no, I know you’re chewing on something.”
Pause
Tara [in reverent whisper]: “are you eating Bubblegum?”
H [feeling like a scum bag for lying]: “errr. It’s not bubblegum, it’s chewing gum.”
Tara [holding out her hand gleefully]: “give me chewing gum.”
H [rediscovering that age comes with a default license to play mind games with almost-four year olds]: “But I haven’t any. This was my last one.”
Tara [coldly]: “then swallow yours.”
H [fake-gulping]: “Ok.”
It’s such a prize to be old[er]. Na?
Tara left Delhi for good last night with her mother, M, and grandmother.
Minutes before their cab came to pick them up, as I was showing M a Himalayan story in the Bedtime Stories book I got Tara, she turned to me with a charming look. The kind of look that precedes a compliment. [How I LOVE that look!].
M: “Are you in love H?”
Huh?
H [chewing furiously, forgetting the lie to Tara, thinking damn, that’s not where I wanted her to go, AT ALL, really, this tongue-tying T.D.Singh-driven-white-zen-spotting business is getting embarrassing] “Err. No.”
M looked away, unconvinced. Tara squealed. I counter-bellowed. I tried to read a bit of the story out aloud. And then Tara tried to vaporise me with the car-lock remote.
H [disbelieving]: “She knows what vaporise means?”
M [nodding]: “Pogo”.
***
Can you fall, feel or look in love, well after saying s’long? Hanh?
Yesterday, in giddy anticipation of today, being the mother of 7 and all, something happened. Again.
Something involving an unlikely angel. An angel with a perky moustache and a pert nose that’s given to showering meteors of attitude on just about everybody, Prime Minister down; an angel who likes to keep up with the latest mobile phone schemes which he doesn’t fail to bring to his employer’s notice at opportune moments [like when the employer’s sharing a quiet, hand-holding moment with someone special]; an angel who hates being asked to stay overtime, for if he is, he’ll make sure you know how displeased he is by taking the longest, slowest, winding route around the city at 1 am.
An angel called T. D. [which is the obvious shortening of a very potently weighty name] who likes to turn up the volume of his favourite song on the radio, regardless of the tone, quality and length of conversation in the backseat.
T.D. [as he insists on being called even by his wife, we suspect] has, on the last two occasions I’ve met him, displayed the most puzzling hint of foreknowledge.
Every time he sees me, there’s a glint in his eyes. A glint that says “I know about all that’s gone wrong, but you’re right didi [big sister] this isn’t just coincidence. Now, where were we? May I please direct you to the stars?”
He smiles. And I smile, each time just as nervous as before. And somehow, once I follow his directions, everything seems spiffy, bright, hopeful.
***
I met my darling little Tara too, yesterday. Brat who shrieks and wants to grow up super fast just so she can chew gum.
Tara [abruptly stopping her squealing at the chappal-skating we were in the middle of]: “what are you eating?”
H: “who me? I’m errr… nothing, I was talking to myself.”
Tara: “no, I know you’re chewing on something.”
Pause
Tara [in reverent whisper]: “are you eating Bubblegum?”
H [feeling like a scum bag for lying]: “errr. It’s not bubblegum, it’s chewing gum.”
Tara [holding out her hand gleefully]: “give me chewing gum.”
H [rediscovering that age comes with a default license to play mind games with almost-four year olds]: “But I haven’t any. This was my last one.”
Tara [coldly]: “then swallow yours.”
H [fake-gulping]: “Ok.”
It’s such a prize to be old[er]. Na?
Tara left Delhi for good last night with her mother, M, and grandmother.
Minutes before their cab came to pick them up, as I was showing M a Himalayan story in the Bedtime Stories book I got Tara, she turned to me with a charming look. The kind of look that precedes a compliment. [How I LOVE that look!].
M: “Are you in love H?”
Huh?
H [chewing furiously, forgetting the lie to Tara, thinking damn, that’s not where I wanted her to go, AT ALL, really, this tongue-tying T.D.Singh-driven-white-zen-spotting business is getting embarrassing] “Err. No.”
M looked away, unconvinced. Tara squealed. I counter-bellowed. I tried to read a bit of the story out aloud. And then Tara tried to vaporise me with the car-lock remote.
H [disbelieving]: “She knows what vaporise means?”
M [nodding]: “Pogo”.
***
Can you fall, feel or look in love, well after saying s’long? Hanh?
12 comments:
that poor gumless child
Awwwwwww
Sometimes, one still does.
Tara ?? Sounds so Gone with the Windy--- relation?? You never know what four year olds will come out with,, but they seem to get right to the heart of the matter!! Was it that long ago??
Looks like you barely got the upper hand with Tara. Beware, H: playing mind games with four-year-olds can be disastrous -- for the adult! Those little things are cunning.
And yes, sometimes you can fall, feel, look (even more) in love after bidding someone au revoir. :-D
Hmm.. The child is the father of man?
:-D
Ben: wait till she bites you, the gumless child. Which is also why she’s planning to grow up real soon. I think.
Prude; Awww is right. :-D she is quite a doll.
HB: thassotroo. :-|
Nan: Never quite connected it with Gone with the Wind, but you’re SOOOOOO right about four year olds! But I didn’t understand the last question. My meeting with Tara? I met her on Saturday - the 6th of July 07.
Lizza: yes, well I was hoping that no one would comment on the fact that she did actually get the upper hand. Fake-swallowing is really such the most pathetic thing, isn’t it? I hear you sis, your advice, as always, is spot on [about almost-four year olds]. It’s interesting that you should say [even more] what you say. But whaiiiiiiii?
Julia: More like Amma of man. ;-)
Beeyootiful name, Tara. Where's she going? (I just have to stick my nose into everything y'know...)
In answer to your question: Oh yes, uh-huh! Very, very possible. It's one of the baggages one carries with them through life; willingly. ;-D
Oh no, Pin B [how very racy and rapper-ish]. on the contrary, I'd say, so nice of you to ask [me being wannabe 'English-English'-speaking coolio and all]
Tara's gone to Dehradoon, which is somewhere between Delhi and the Himalayas. Her mum's taken up a position to teach at a very chi-chi boarding school for girls. And she will go on lovely long treks to the mountain... which is why they've moved. The mountains, and the Almorah golden fish [the second happens to be very dear to me too].
You Madam H deleted my comment because I asked the question...
Very communist of you...
Answer the question for which you lied to tara's mom.
If you can ask me about my muse I need to know too...
so tell... no deleting this time
I didn't delete any comment from you Pricky.
Could be blogger. but then there should at least be some trace of a deleted comment. very strange.
And I would NEVER do such a horrible thing.
Then answer the question
*adamant expression with nose snubbed*
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