Friday, May 6, 2011

Pocketful of Froggies


She had just turned four, but was very much aware of her surrounding and senses. That did include flavours and aromas from the kitchen. 
She was fussy about food and never ate anything that was supposed to be eaten by a four year old. She knew her alphabets. She knew her steps to dance on "Didi tera dewar diwana". She had a behemothic temper to those who did not comply with her demands. 
She would fake a tummy ache the moment the mother had to leave for office. She would gleefully leave for school and bite her teacher's arm because the unfortunate teacher did not wish her 'Good Morning' properly. 
Her parents would cry blatantly to the Doctor Uncle who visited her, because she was too haughty to go to some doc off course; who would in turn tell her harried parents that she was quite a normal kid. 

Moreover, she wrote her B's and D's all mirror images of the actual alphabets in her strangely beautiful handwriting. She sniffed the books in the mother's library meticulously. She would scold the pet dog, Jock, if he ever dared to take his lunch before she reached home from school. She nipped fudge brownie from the fridge while the house help took a nap and fed it to Jock. She strung a wooden guitar, tunelessly and asked the father to come all the way back home to clap for her. 
She never played with barbie dolls or kitchen sets. She wanted to compete with the seven year old boys she practically lived with. One seven year old would endlessly tease her on how she being a girl should not interfere in his football practice and she stood there staring at him. Minutes later, all everybody could see was the boy bleeding from his forehead. She threw a stone at him and ran away. She hid in the boy's toy cupboard an entire evening, while her parents searched the entire township and cops were being summoned. She also loved digging holes of sand at construction site, one time she handed the mother a piece for house decoration which turned out to be dried cat poop. She once dug her teeth into the house help's feet because he refused to give her the electric stove lighter. 

All the signs were there. Present, right there. The parents were bringing up a problem child. 

But outside the presence of those seven year olds and the four unfortunate people who lived in the house, she was a doll. She was the most polished four year old anyone could have ever met. She knew her nursery rhymes and number songs and how to greet people. To the point, she even knew when not to cry for food and disturb others. So no one really believed the parents when they told tales of the brat they had at home. 

Encouraged by the desultory good behavior of the little girl outside of their home, the parents started having  dinner parties at home.

That monsoon evening a few friends of the parents were invited. The Mother was busy with cooking her signature dishes, the Father was the babysitter. Later they tidied the home, fluffed up the pillows, made the house smell good and dressed their daughter up in a frilly frock while the brat made a face never made in normal world of kids.
Friends came, conversations kicked off. Our brat got some applauds for the new poems she had learnt at  nursery school after which she was left on her own to sit on her wooden horse. Sneaking out to the garden was not that difficult either. 
She returned to the living room and stood in front of the guests, waiting to be noticed and cheeks pinched.  No one really noticed her taking handful of little frogs from the pockets of her frock and hurling them at the guests sitting on the big couch.
Frog after frog came out of her pockets, some escaping her little hands. Shrieks and shrills echoed the living room and then a firm hand picked the Brat up and put her down on the big, rocking chair.


Silence enveloped the room and then suddenly all the adults got busy looking for hopping, jumping frogs. The Brat looked gleefully at the Mother who was fuming back at her. The large rocking chair's slight back and forth motion ensured that the Brat did not get off it for the next few minutes or so. She looked amusingly at the hither-tither around. The Mother gave up and asked her if she was hungry. The Brat nodded and the Mother handed her a piece of crispy cottage cheese Fry with tomato ketchup smeared on it.
The Brat licked the sauce with satisfied delight and then her tiny teeth bit into the flaky paneer flesh. She liked it, finished it in no time and reached her little hand for another! Which the Mother handed over only too eagerly. At least her four-year-old was eating something. Which meant the Mother was going to make Paneer Fry for the Brat for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the next three years. 


7 comments:

  1. Ab yeh hui na kuch baat. bahut sahi.. shabash india !

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  2. A little birdie tells me that this one is autobiographical.. And I am on the verge of believing the little birdie!! :P

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  3. @rohan: indeed shabash india!!

    @sam> well the little birdie is right this time. I have to accept. touche'

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  4. hehehe...
    frog in pocket OMG.... I reallty cant tolerate them... I would really be jumping and hopping even witha sight of them..

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  5. hehe, Is this really autobiographical ? ;)

    If it is, you were one interesting kid :))

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  6. Chakoli, now that you say frogs I'd do the same! as a four year old frogs did not intimidate me then!

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  7. Serendipity, yes it is!! Ohh yes! interesting and nerve wrecking kid I was!

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Why I write this ?

so you finally want to know. Well very often I have a writer's block. I am over burdened by my own thoughts. Sometimes i do take the pain of puttin them up, mostly i do not. This is a peek-a-Boo of what i see, what i feel and what i want you to know. Bear with me! Happy reading!